TEACH ME HOW TO BURN (AN MXM SPICY COLLECTION)

Logan Wale paced around his office like a Man on heat. He stopped at some point to stare through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the glittering city below.

He was pissed, and rightfully so. He'd single handedly built his company from the ground up and at thirty six, he'd been named one of the top CEOs in his country.

But with having board members as influential as Thorne Smith, some decisions were forced on him. And it was fucking irritating!

A personal assistant. For six fucking months. And not just any assistant, it was the spoiled son of his biggest share holder Thorne Smith. He'd met him a few times and the dude had always made it his duty to subtly tease him.

The door opened behind him without a knock. Logan turned slowly, his expression already annoyed and irritated.

Damon Thorne sauntered in like he owned the place. Twenty-seven, sinfully beautiful, with tousled dark hair that looked freshly fucked, sharp cheekbones, and full lips currently curved in a lazy smirk. He wore a tailored white shirt with the first three buttons popped open, revealing smooth skin and the hint of a collarbone, paired with black pants that clung to long legs and a firm ass.

His hazel eyes locked onto Logan immediately, sizing him from head to toe without shame.

“Mr. Wale,” Damon drawled, voice smooth like whiskey. “I’m here for my… orientation.”

Logan’s jaw tightened. Heat flared low in his gut, it was so sudden and primal, he crushed it immediately.

“You’re late, Vale. Twenty-three minutes late, and I'm this office, that’s grounds for dismissal.” Logan said.

Damon shrugged, dropping into the chair across from Logan’s massive desk without invitation. He crossed one leg over the other, the movement pulling his pants tighter across his thighs. “Traffic. And please, call me Damon. We’re going to be very close for the next six months, right?”

Logan remained standing, towering over him. He was taller, broader, built like a man who dominated every room he entered. “This is not a game. Your father wants you to learn responsibility. You will show up on time, do your work without complaint, and keep your mouth shut unless spoken to. Understood?”

Damon’s gaze dropped deliberately to Logan’s crotch for a split second before flicking back up. He licked his lower lip. “Yes, Sir.”

The word sparked a sinful fire in Logan. His cock twitched traitorously in his tailored trousers. What the fuck is wrong with me?

He had never looked at a man like this. Never. Women were simple, controllable. This… this was nothing.

“Eyes up here,” Logan growled, voice low and dangerous. “I don’t care how pretty you think you are or who your daddy is. Cross me and I’ll make these six months hell.”

Damon’s smirk widened. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, giving Logan a perfect view of the smooth line of his throat. “Pretty? You think I’m pretty, Mr. Wale? That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”

Logan’s hands curled into fists at his sides. The urge to grab that smart mouth and shut it up was overwhelming. He turned sharply and walked back to the windows, hiding the growing bulge in his pants.

“Get out. Start with the reports on my desk. I expect them summarized by five.”

Damon stood gracefully, taking his time. As he passed Logan on the way out, his shoulder brushed Logan’s arm deliberately. The contact was warm and electric. “Looking forward to working under you,” he murmured, his breath licking Logan’s ear.

The door clicked shut.

Logan stood frozen for ten full seconds, breathing hard. His cock was now fully hard, straining painfully against his zipper. Rage boiled in his chest, rage at Damon, at the surprising situation, and most of all at his own body for betraying him.

“Fuck,” he hissed.

He stormed to the door and locked it with a sharp click. Then he dropped into his leather chair, yanking his belt open with violent motions. His thick cock sprang free, heavy and flushed, the head already leaking. He wrapped a large hand around it and squeezed, eyes closing as unwanted images flooded his mind.

Damon on his knees. Those full lips stretched wide around his cock. That smart mouth choking and drooling while Logan fucked his throat raw. Damon bent over this very desk, pants ripped down, that perfect ass red from spanking as Logan slammed into him.

“God damn it,” Logan groaned, stroking faster. His grip was brutal, almost punishing. Pre-cum slicked his palm, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet office. He imagined gripping Damon’s hair, forcing that pretty face down until his nose pressed against his pelvis. Imagined the way Damon would moan like a slut, pushing back for more.

He was straight. He’d always been straight. This was just stress. Just that teasing little whore’s fault.

His balls tightened. Logan’s hips bucked up into his fist as he pictured spreading Damon’s cheeks and burying himself balls-deep in that tight, hot hole. Claiming him. Ruining him. Making him scream “Sir” while the whole building might hear.

“Oh fuck! Shit!” Logan came hard, thick ropes of cum shooting across his desk and onto his shirt. His whole body shuddered with the force of it, a low guttural groan escaping his throat. Even after he finished, his cock gave a few more weak pulses, as if still hungry.

He stared at the mess, chest heaving. Shame rolled through him like acid.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” he whispered, voice raw. He grabbed tissues from the drawer and cleaned up furiously, wiping his cock and the desk like he could erase the evidence. His hands were still shaking.

This couldn’t happen again. He would not let that boy break his control.

His phone buzzed on the desk. A new message from an unknown number.

Damon Vale: Did I make the big bad CEO hard on my first day? I can still taste your eyes on my ass. Let me know if you need help with that “stress relief,” Sir.

Logan’s spent cock twitched again in his pants. He deleted the message instantly, but the words burned behind his eyes.

Six months.

He was already fucked.