The Ghost in the Boardroom

Elliot’s POV

It’s seventy-two fucking hours since I walked out of that hotel room with Scott’s taste still on my tongue and his cum-stained moans echoing in my head. I sat at the head of the long mahogany table in my top-floor office, fingers drumming silently on the armrest while executives droned on about quarterly art acquisitions.

Scott McAllen.

That bold, expressive artist with the hazel eyes that talks too much. The way he’d challenged me both nights “Sneaking out again?” still burned. No one talked to me like that. No one got under my skin like that. I never repeated partners. Never. The “Ghost” didn’t do seconds, let alone thirds. One raw, breeding fuck and disappear. That was the rule. The only way to stay safe after what my father drilled into me as a teenager.

Yet here I was, rock-hard under the table just remembering how tight Scott felt clenching around my cock while I choked him and pumped him full.

“Mr. Travis?” One executive waited for my input on the latest batch of submissions.

I nodded. “Show me the shortlist.”

They projected the pieces. Most were forgettable except for one that caught not just my attention but my executives.

“Whose is this?” I asked.

“It’s from a new hire, sir. Our new junior curator assistant. Scott McAllen. He pitched it during his interview.”

Scott? Working here? In my building. Under my control and I didn’t know.

Heat flooded my veins. I wanted to bend him over this table right now and remind him who owned that hole. But my father’s voice echoed in my head. “Weakness gets you exposed and attachment gets you destroyed.” My family already pushed that fake engagement shit for the merger.

“Bring him up,” I ordered, keeping my tone bored. “Now.”

I leaned back, adjusting myself discreetly. My cock throbbed at the thought of seeing him again. This was dangerous. He made me feel things I buried years ago. I knew I couldn’t afford that especially with my type of family.

Minutes later, the door opened.

Scott’s POV

My heart slammed against my ribs as I followed the assistant to the executive floor. It’s been three days of silence from Elliot Travis after he finally gave me his number. I’d jerked off twice this morning just remembering how he’d bred me the second night, whispering filthy shit while choking me. Now I had a real job and I couldn’t stop thinking about a man whose full name I just got to know.

The assistant opened the door. “Mr. McAllen, he is here.”

I stepped in. The room gave a powerful aura, with a long table, city view and serious faces. Then my ID card slipped from my shaky fingers and hit the floor.

“Shit…” I bent down fast to grab it.

When I straightened up, our eyes locked.

Elliot Travis sat at the head of the table like a king on a throne. The same man who had choked me, bitten me, fucked me raw and pumped me full of cum twice. My boss, the fucking CEO.

My stomach dropped. Heat rushed to my face and my cock. No. No way. The shy guy from the party? The one who stuttered when I caught him sneaking out?

I smiled, warm and hopeful, like the idiot I was. “Hi. It’s good to see…”

“Gentleman,” Elliot cut me off coldly, voice like ice. “Your name?”

The room went dead silent. My smile faltered. What the hell?

“Scott McAllen, sir,” I said, keeping my voice steady even though my hands trembled. “I brought the piece you called me up for.”

He barely glanced at me. “Proceed.”

I swallowed the hurt and confusion and got into my pitch, hands moving expressively like always. I could see that everyone was already impressed following the smiles on their faces and how they nodded to what I was saying. Everyone was impressed except for Elliot.

Elliot. Acting like we’d never shared the same bed. Like he hadn’t whispered “good boy” while flooding my guts.

It hurt. Even my body remembered him. My hole clenched remembering his thickness. My neck tingled where he’d left marks I still hid with a collar. I felt aroused and angry together, making everything worse.

The others asked questions. I answered boldly, challenging their views a little, staying true to myself. They loved it. Elliot stayed silent, pretending to be unimpressed, but I caught his jaw clench when I described the “loneliness” in the painting.

“Enough,” he said finally, waving a hand. “Impressive technique. We’ll review internally and get back to you, Mr. McAllen. You can return to your desk.”

Just like that. I was dismissed. No recognition. No warmth.

I picked up my portfolio. “Thank you for the opportunity… sir.”

As I turned to leave, our eyes met again.

I walked out, legs shaky, mind spinning.

Back at my desk on the lower floor, I dropped into my chair and stared at nothing. Elliot Travis. CEO of Zenex. The man who ruined me for anyone else was my boss. The same boss who just looked at me like a stranger.

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number, probably him? No. It must be Jayden congratulating me again.

I leaned forward, elbows on the desk, trying to breathe. My ass still carried faint soreness from him. And he sat up there pretending I was nobody.

Why pretend? Why act so fucking cold after the way he held me?

I couldn’t focus the rest of the day. Every email blurred. Every time someone said “Mr. Travis,” my body reacted. By the time I left the building that evening, my head was a mess.

I got home, collapsed on my couch, and stared at the ceiling. The marks on my body were fading, but the memory of his hands wasn’t. His cock stretching me. His voice growling as he bred me deep. The rare gentle way he traced my spine afterward.

“Fuck you, Elliot Travis,” I whispered, even as my dick hardened at the thought of him.

I grabbed my phone, thumb hovering over his contact. Should I text? Confront him? Or wait for him to make the next move?

Before I could decide, a new email popped up, an internal Zenex notice about a late-night project assignment. From the CEO’s office.

My heart raced.

This wasn’t over. Not even close.

And I had no idea if that terrified me… or excited me.