LOGINThe office had never felt so small.
Every desk, every chair, every polished marble surface was suddenly irrelevant. Nothing mattered except the space between him and me. Drake’s eyes—dark, stormy, impossible—locked onto mine. The kind of look that saw everything and yet demanded more. “Sit,” he said, voice low, dangerous. Commanding, but not cruel. More… intimate. Personal. I obeyed, heart hammering so loudly I was sure the entire floor could hear it. He walked around the desk again, deliberate, predatory, like he was stalking me in a way that made my stomach twist in anticipation and terror. “Do you know how hard it is,” he began, voice barely above a whisper, “to keep my hands to myself?” I shivered. “I—I can’t even imagine.” “You can,” he countered softly, his gaze flicking to my lips for a fraction of a second, “because you feel it too. Don’t lie to me.” I swallowed. My voice faltered. “I… I feel it.” A small, dangerous smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Good,” he murmured. And then he closed the distance. His presence engulfed me. The heat radiating off him was addictive, suffocating, impossible to ignore. “Drake…” I whispered, barely audible. “Yes?” His voice was silk, velvet, and fire all at once. “I… I shouldn’t…” My words faltered, a weak protest. He pressed a finger gently against my lips. “Shh. Don’t fight it. Not tonight.” And then… his hand brushed mine. Not the accidental touch of a colleague, but deliberate, intimate. Fire shot up my arm. My pulse skyrocketed. “I’ve wanted this,” he confessed, voice low and raw. “Since the day you walked in here. But I… I didn’t know if I could. If I should. If I had the right.” I couldn’t stop myself. “Then… don’t think. Just… be here.” And he was. Closer. Closer. Until I could feel the rapid beat of his chest, the heat radiating off his skin, the dangerous edge of desire in his every movement. For the first time, he seemed… he let his guard down just enough for me to see it—the tension in his shoulders, the tiny hitch in his breath, the way his jaw flexed as he fought something inside him. “I shouldn’t want you like this,” he whispered, eyes dark with something fierce and unspoken. “I shouldn’t feel this. But I do. God, I do. And it scares me… because I can’t stop.” My chest tightened. “I feel it too,” I admitted softly. “I… I want you.” The air between us became unbearable, charged with something deeper than lust. Something forbidden. Something desperate. Something almost… dangerous. My knees threatened to buckle. “Do you trust me?” he murmured. I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” His lips captured mine in a slow, deliberate kiss—possessive, consuming, testing boundaries I had only ever imagined in stolen thoughts. The office ceased to exist. Files, deadlines, rules—all meaningless. There was only us. Only the heat, the ache, the raw pull of forbidden desire. His hands traced my sides, over my ribs, careful, calculated… yet claiming. The kind of touch that made me dizzy, weak, and utterly addicted all at once. I clutched his shoulders, trying to ground myself, but every second with him sent me spiraling further. And as the kiss deepened, has his hand begun conquer ,trace and to own every part of me. "Uhhh, Drake..." I moaned his name. He's unraveling the desires inside of me. With his suffocating and addicting kisses , I'm thirsty... of more of him. In an instant he lifted me as he sat on his table and carried me to sit on his lap facing him. I wrapped my armes around his neck as he unbottoned my blouse and then I removed it for him and tossed it on the floor as soon as he unbottoned everything. He leaned again and kissed me. This time deeper yet softer, delicate but deeper. He bit my lower lip and sucked my tongue ,sucked it like hell driving me crazy. His lips traced back down my neck then he unhooked my bra ,tossed it aside then he adored a look at both my bobbies cupped both of them on his hands in admiration ," These are mine now ,Sabrina, only mine," he says. My boobs are heavy and big and I know they're one of the reasons why I'm a head turner and I'm proud of that. I have big boobs and big booties because I workout to fit, I'm a figure OC that's why. He put one nipple inside his mouth and sucked ir hard. " Ahhhh," I moaned again. He looked up to me and smirked without releasing my nipple and sucked it again as he watched my reaction. I didn't look away and he saw in my eyes the hunger,the lust that he has unraveled and I want more. He released that nipple and licked the other,circled it with his tongue and brought my nerves sensational feeling I never felt before, then he kissed it and sucked again Deeper. Harder. Owning. Wanting.i He sucked it on and on while his hands lifted my pencil cut skirt and he slid his fingers inside the tiny garment that is now covering the wetness of mine. He felt it. He carressed it. He traced the folds of my vulva with his fingers and that skill of him if you call it skill, brought me into a different heights i have never been before. The feeling is addicting, it weakened my thghs but the wrakening felt addictive, I want more. His finger traced the small skin,the most sensitive skin of my clitt and that's the most electic and mind-blowing part he dared to touch and he moved his finger there, softly at first ...then stroked it more this time faster and the feeling made me shiver in exquisite sensation I love but I cannot explain....I moaned his name... over and over.." yeah...ahhhhhhh there....oh Drake please don't stop...ahhhhhhh" and I begged for more. then I realized one terrifying, exhilarating truth: I had crossed the line. There was no going back.The office had never felt so small. Every desk, every chair, every polished marble surface was suddenly irrelevant. Nothing mattered except the space between him and me. Drake’s eyes—dark, stormy, impossible—locked onto mine. The kind of look that saw everything and yet demanded more. “Sit,” he said, voice low, dangerous. Commanding, but not cruel. More… intimate. Personal. I obeyed, heart hammering so loudly I was sure the entire floor could hear it. He walked around the desk again, deliberate, predatory, like he was stalking me in a way that made my stomach twist in anticipation and terror. “Do you know how hard it is,” he began, voice barely above a whisper, “to keep my hands to myself?” I shivered. “I—I can’t even imagine.” “You can,” he countered softly, his gaze flicking to my lips for a fraction of a second, “because you feel it too. Don’t lie to me.” I swallowed. My voice faltered. “I… I feel it.” A small, dangerous smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
The office was dead silent.Not the usual, pleasant kind of quiet. Not the kind that lets you concentrate on spreadsheets or sip overpriced coffee without interruption. This was heavy, loaded, the kind of silence that makes your skin tingle and your heart hammer like it’s trying to escape.I had stayed behind, like he asked. After hours. Alone. With him.And suddenly, I realized just how terrifying—and thrilling—that could be.The elevator had chimed down an hour ago, sending the last few stragglers into the night. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered softly, bathing the open-plan office in a sterile, almost clinical glow. But Drake’s office… Drake’s office felt different. Dangerous. Magnetic. Alive.I tried to tell myself I was professional. That this was just business. That I wasn’t currently burning alive from a single glance he gave me when he said:“Stay after hours today.”I gripped my pen like it was a lifeline and tried to focus on the folder he had left on my desk. Contr
I spent the rest of the morning pretending I wasn’t combusting from the inside. Which would’ve been easier if the walking, brooding source of my internal meltdown wasn’t thirty feet away behind a glass office that somehow made him even hotter in 4K. Every time he moved, I felt it. Every time he stood, I felt it. Every time the hem of his white dress shirt tugged against his torso, I really felt it. I swear, God was testing me that day. Because Drake Peterson, CEO of Peterson Luxe, slayer of spreadsheets and sinner of souls, kept doing things he didn’t normally do. Like loosening his tie. And rolling up his sleeves. And leaning back in his chair like he was posing for some “CEO thirst trap” calendar. And every time he did, his eyes flicked up— Right. At. Me. I pretended not to notice. But my pulse was out here sprinting the Olympics. And then the real hell began. 12:40 PM — Lunch Hour That Wasn’t “Sabrinaaaaa,” Myla sang from beside me, leaning on my cubicle wall. “Lunc
If anyone had told me that my first day as a secretary for a billion-dollar jewelry empire would feel like preparing for the Hunger Games, I would’ve laughed. Now? I’m sweating through my blouse like my soul is trying to escape. Peterson Industries—home of luxury, power, and salaries that could fix my entire bloodline—is a 98-story mirrored tower stabbing the New York skyline. From the sidewalk, the building gleams like someone polished it with liquid ambition. Inside, the air smells like wealth, espresso, and expensive perfume I will never afford. I keep fixing my hair’s loose strands as I follow the HR assistant toward the top-floor penthouse office. My heels click so loud I feel like the whole hallway is judging me. “Don’t talk unless Mr. Peterson asks you to,” the assistant whispers sharply. “Don’t look too long into his eyes. And for the love of God, don’t ramble.” “I don’t ramble,” I whisper back. She gives me a skeptical side-eye. Okay… sometimes I ramble. When I’m nervou







