Submission Clause

Cassandra Hart had never believed in playing fair. Not when her rent was due, her credit cards were maxed out, and her so-called “merits” kept getting passed over for men with mediocre smiles and less experience. If the system was rigged, she’d rig it back.

And Daniel Cross? The elusive, quiet CEO of Lexington Tech? He was her target.

He didn’t yell in meetings, didn’t boast at board dinners, and always had this unreadable expression behind his rimless glasses. No ring. No kids. Just a clean, clinical office and long fingers he never seemed to stop tapping against the table. She figured he was harmless. Passive. Easy to push.

All she had to do was lean forward, smile sweetly, and let her blouse fall just enough to give him incentive.

So when she booked a "progress review" after hours and saw the flicker of interest in his eyes, she knew she had him.

“Mr. Cross,” she said softly, closing the door behind her. “Thank you for seeing me so late.”

He didn’t look up from his tablet. “You asked for this review. I assume you came prepared.”

Prepared? She was wearing no bra, a silk blouse she’d unbuttoned down to scandal, and a pencil skirt barely decent enough for an HR meeting. “I’ve exceeded every benchmark,” she said, walking closer. “I thought it was time we talked about…advancement.”

She leaned over his desk, letting her cleavage kiss the surface. She saw the faint twitch of his jaw.

“I know how things work,” she whispered, looking up at him. “You have power. I want a little of it.”

He finally looked up. And something shifted.

Gone was the passive calm. His gaze hardened. Heated. Dangerous.

“I think you’re underestimating me, Cassandra,” he said, standing. Slowly. Calmly.

Her heart skipped. She didn’t move. She didn’t want to. Something in his voice—low and commanding—froze her in place.

He came around the desk, circled her like a wolf.

“You think you’re the first to try this?” he asked, brushing a finger over her bare collarbone. “To parade in here, offering your body like a bribe?”

She parted her lips, but nothing came out.

“I’ve ignored it all,” he murmured, now standing right behind her. “Until now.”

He grabbed her waist and bent her over the desk so fast her breath whooshed out of her. The wood was cool against her cheek. She gasped, heels lifting slightly as he pressed her down.

“Wait—”

“Don’t play coy now,” he growled. “You came here wanting something. You’re going to get it.”

Her skirt was yanked up over her hips. He pulled her panties down and tore them off with a sudden, ruthless grip that made her moan before she could stop herself.

His hands—large, strong—gripped her ass, spreading her wide. She whimpered, humiliated and aroused.

“You wanted rough?” he said against her ear. “I’m not the man you thought I was, Cassandra. I'm worse.”

She twisted to look at him, her face flushed. “I thought you were...”

“Spineless?” he asked, undoing his belt. “Soft?”

She nodded, but her body betrayed her. She was dripping, thighs trembling.

He didn’t take his time. He slammed into her in one brutal thrust, and she cried out loud—shocked, breathless. He was big. Too big. She clawed at the desk, panting.

“Oh my—”

He pulled back, then rammed into her again, harder. She choked on a moan, eyes wide.

“Say it,” he grunted. “Say I’m not soft.”

“You’re not,” she gasped, body jerking with every thrust. “God, you’re not.”

He fisted her hair, yanking her head back so he could look into her eyes. “This pussy’s mine now.”

She wanted to argue, but his cock was stretching her so deep, she couldn’t speak. She was whimpering, drooling onto the desk, shame and lust tangling.

He slapped her ass—once, hard—and she jolted, clenching around him.

“You like that?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Louder.”

“Yes!”

He fucked her harder then, slamming into her like he was trying to brand himself inside her. The sound of skin on skin filled the office. Her heels slipped, and he lifted one leg onto the desk, changing the angle. She sobbed as pleasure slammed through her—sharp and unforgiving.

Then he pulled out.

She whined, empty.

But he wasn’t done.

“On your knees,” he ordered.

She dropped without thinking, mascara smudged, thighs shaking. He grabbed her jaw, sliding his cock across her lips. It glistened with her slick.

“You want that promotion?” he said.

She nodded, licking her lips.

“Then prove it.”

She sucked him in, moaning as he hit the back of her throat. He didn’t let her set the pace—he grabbed her head and fucked her mouth just as ruthlessly, her eyes watering, makeup streaked. She gurgled around him, clutching his thighs.

When he pulled out, he smeared his cock across her face, letting his cum touch the bridge of her nose.

“Get on the couch,” he said.

She obeyed, crawling to the sleek leather, spread open like an offering. He entered her again—this time slower—but he gripped her throat with one hand and her thigh with the other, holding her exactly where he wanted.

“You came here thinking you could play me,” he said, biting her earlobe. “Now you’re going to come when I say so.”

She whimpered, eyes fluttering shut as his thrusts deepened, steadier now but no less intense. He angled his hips until he hit her spot perfectly, and she arched into him, gasping.

“I—I’m close,” she sobbed.

He tightened his hand around her throat. “Now.”

She shattered, spasming around him, legs shaking uncontrollably as pleasure detonated in waves.

He growled and buried himself inside her, his release hot and thick. She felt it all—every pulse, every twitch—while still shaking from her orgasm.

When he pulled out, she was limp and breathless, body wrecked and marked.

He fixed his shirt, grabbed her chin, and tilted her face up.

“Promotion’s yours,” he said, voice like sin. “But next time you want something, you ask. Don’t play games you’re not ready for.”

She nodded, speechless.

He leaned down, kissed her jaw gently, and walked out like nothing had happened.

And Cassandra Hart? She wasn’t sure if she’d just won…or surrendered.