TAKING MY BOSS COCK RAW (1)

CHAPTER 1

I was already running as fast as I could when I stepped off the private elevator onto the 52nd floor. Four hours of sleep, if you could call it that. My apartment’s radiator had clanked all night, and the alarm on my phone had gone off three separate times before I finally dragged myself out of bed. But I couldn’t be late. Not again. Damien Knight didn’t tolerate excuses, and I needed this job more than I needed oxygen right now.

The executive suite was quiet except for the low hum of the city far below and the soft click of my heels on the marble. His office door was already open, which meant he’d beaten me here. Of course he had. The man didn’t sleep; he conquered.

I balanced his black coffee in one hand (no cream, no sugar, exactly 190 degrees) and the stack of contracts he’d demanded by nine in the other. My skirt felt too tight after last night’s stress-eating, my blouse a little wrinkled from the subway ride. I probably looked like hell, but there was no time to fix it.

He was standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows, back to me, phone pressed to his ear. Even from behind, Damien Knight was unfair. Broad shoulders filled out a charcoal Tom Ford suit that probably cost more than my yearly rent. Dark hair cut sharp, just long enough on top to make you wonder what it would feel like between your fingers. I hated that I noticed. I hated that I always noticed.

I cleared my throat softly. “Your coffee, Mr. Knight.”

He ended the call without a goodbye and turned. Those eyes storm-gray and colder than the marble under my feet, locked on me immediately. He didn’t speak, just held out his hand for the cup. I stepped forward, careful, so careful.

And then my heel caught the edge of the rug.

Time slowed. The cup tilted. Dark liquid arced through the air in a perfect, damning splash across his crisp white shirt and down the front of his jacket. The scent of burning coffee filled the room instantly.

I froze, heart slamming against my ribs. “Oh god, I’m so sorry...”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t curse. Just looked down at the spreading stain, then back up at me. Slowly. Deliberately.

The silence stretched until I could hear my own pulse.

“Cancel my morning,” he said finally, voice low, controlled. “All of it.”

I swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“And close the door.”

My fingers shook as I set the contracts and the now-empty cup on the side table. I turned to leave, but his next words stopped me cold.

“Not to leave, Miss Harper. To lock it.”

I hesitated, hand on the handle. The click of the lock sounded louder than a gunshot in the quiet office.

When I faced him again, he hadn’t moved. Just stood there, coffee soaking through his shirt, outlining every ridge of muscle underneath. He was thirty-four, 10 years older than me, and built like he spent his billions on private trainers instead of sleep. I tried not to stare. Failed.

“You’ll pay for this,” he said quietly.

My stomach flipped. “I...i can call the dry cleaners, have someone here in..."

“I don’t mean the suit.”

The words hung between us.

He took one step forward. I took one back, my spine hitting the locked door.

“I’ve watched you for months, Lila.” He said “The way you bite your lip when you’re concentrating. The way your skirt rides up when you reach for the top shelf. The way you pretend you don’t feel me looking.”

Heat flooded my face. My thighs. “Mr. Knight—”

“Damien,” he corrected. “You’re going to be saying it a lot today.”

I should have been terrified. Should have threatened HR, should have run. But my rent was two months late, my credit cards were maxed, and the truth was, I’d spent too many nights imagining exactly this: him close enough to touch, voice rough with want, eyes stripping me bare.

He closed the distance until I could smell the coffee on him, mixed with his cologne—something expensive and dark. His hand lifted, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth where I hadn’t realized I was biting my lip.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

I was.

He leaned in, lips near my ear. “Good.”

Then he stepped back, leaving me breathless against the door.

“Take off my jacket.”

My fingers fumbled with the buttons. The soaked fabric was warm from his body. I peeled it down his arms carefully, trying not to notice how the wet shirt clung to his chest, how the outline of his nipples had hardened in the air-conditioning. Or lower. God, definitely not lower.

He watched me the entire time, unblinking.

When the jacket hit the floor, he started on his cufflinks. One. Two. Dropped them into his pocket with deliberate slowness.

“Shirt next.”

I reached for the top button. My knuckles brushed his throat. He inhaled sharply.

The fabric parted slowly, revealing inch after inch of tanned, sculpted muscle. A faint trail of dark hair disappeared beneath his belt. I wanted to trace it with my tongue. I hated that I wanted to.

When the shirt hung open, he shrugged it off and let it fall. Then he just stood there, half-naked in the morning light, letting me look.

And I did. Couldn’t stop.

He was beautiful in the way predators are, sleek, powerful, dangerous. Tattoos I’d never known about curled over one shoulder: Latin words I couldn’t read, something sharp and geometric down his ribs. His abs flexed when he breathed. A thin scar cut through his left pec. I wanted to ask how he got it. I wanted to lick it.

“Eyes up, assistant.”

My gaze snapped to his face. He was smiling now. Not kindly.

“You’ve been a very bad girl this morning.”

My mouth went dry.

He stepped closer again, crowding me against the door. One hand planted beside my head. The other lifted the empty coffee cup from the table, turning it slowly in his fingers.

“I think,” he said softly, “it’s time you learned what happens when you make a mess in my office.”

His thumb traced my lower lip, pressing just inside. I tasted coffee and him.

“Open.”

I did.

He slid his thumb deeper, watching my mouth stretch around it. My tongue flicked instinctively. His eyes darkened.

“Good girl.”

Then he pulled away, leaving me aching and empty.

He walked to his desk, sat in the massive leather chair like a king on a throne, and spread his legs slightly.

“Come here.”

My legs moved before my brain caught up. I stopped between his knees, close enough to see the bulge straining against his trousers. He was hard. Because of me.

He leaned back, studying me.

“You have two choices, Lila. You can walk out that door right now, and tomorrow you’ll be looking for a new job. Or…”

He let the word hang.

“Or you stay. And you pay for that coffee with every inch of your body. All day. However I want.”

My breath hitched. My nipples tightened against my bra. I should say no. Should run.

Instead, I whispered, “What… what do you want me to do?”

His smile was slow, wicked.

“Start by getting on your knees.”

The city sparkled behind him through the windows. Fifty-two floors up. No one could see us.

I sank down between his thighs, hands on his knees, heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.

He reached down, cupped my chin, tilting my face up.

“That’s one,” he said.

My brows furrowed.

“One what?”

“One orgasm you’re going to owe me for every drop of coffee on my suit.”

He glanced down at the discarded jacket.

“I count at least twenty.”

His thumb brushed my lips again.

“We’d better get started.”