The desk
Damien Voss had memorized the exact cadence of Lila Hargrove’s footsteps.
He sat alone in the darkened executive suite on the forty-second floor of Voss Capital, city lights sprawling like a glittering web beneath the floor-to-ceiling windows. The monitor in front of him glowed with four live feeds. One showed the empty bullpen where her desk sat. Another captured the hallway outside the intern lounge. A third was the hidden camera in the women’s restroom on the twenty-third floor—angled just right to catch her reflection in the mirror when she fixed her lipstick. The fourth was the one that made his cock twitch hardest: the feed from the tiny pinhole camera he’d installed in the air vent above her bed in that shitty one-bedroom apartment she shared with her dying mother.
19 years old. Barely legal for the kind of things he’d been dreaming about for fourteen months straight.
He watched her now on the main screen. She was still at her desk even though the rest of the summer interns had clocked out at six. The clock on his wall read 9:47 p.m. Her chestnut hair was pulled into a messy bun, strands sticking to the nape of her neck from the long day. The cheap white blouse she wore clung to the swell of her tits—small but perky, the kind that would bruise so fucking prettily under his palms. Her black pencil skirt had ridden up just enough to show the lace tops of her thigh-high stockings. She thought no one noticed those. He noticed everything.
Damien leaned back in his leather chair, palming the thick ridge of his cock through his slacks. He’d been hard since lunch when she’d bent over the copier in front of him, that tight little ass presented like an offering. He’d jerked off twice already today—once to the shower footage from this morning where she’d fingered herself quietly under the spray, whispering some boy’s name he’d already made a mental note to ruin—and once to the way she’d licked strawberry gloss off her bottom lip during the morning briefing.
Tonight was the night.
He knew about the money. Three thousand dollars skimmed over six weeks from the dormant Hargrove Family Trust account—her own mother’s emergency medical fund, ironically. Tiny transfers. Smart enough to be almost invisible. But nothing was invisible to him. He’d let it slide just long enough to build the perfect trap.
On screen, Lila rubbed her temples, then quickly glanced over her shoulder. She’d been doing that more lately. Feeling the weight of eyes she couldn’t see. Good. Let the paranoia sink in deep. He wanted her wet with fear before he even touched her.
Lila Hargrove’s hands trembled as she closed the last spreadsheet.
The office was a tomb after hours. The only light came from her monitor and the faint glow of the emergency exit signs. She swore she could feel someone watching her again—that prickling heat on the back of her neck that had been following her for weeks. At first she thought it was just exhaustion. Mom’s latest chemo round had been brutal, the bills piling up like accusations. But the feeling had grown teeth. She’d started checking her apartment locks twice, sleeping with the lights on, deleting her search history like a criminal.
She hit “save” on the file and stood, smoothing her skirt down. The summer internship at Voss Capital was supposed to be her golden ticket before college started back up in the fall. Pre-law. She was going to be the one who finally dragged her family out of the hole. Instead she’d become a thief. Three thousand dollars. Just enough to keep the power on and the morphine coming. She told herself she’d pay it back before anyone noticed.
The elevator dinged behind her. She jumped.
“Working late, Miss Hargrove?”
The voice was low, velvet-wrapped steel. She spun around.
Damien Voss stood ten feet away, hands in the pockets of his tailored black suit, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. At 34 he looked like sin carved into a man—sharp jaw, storm-gray eyes, black hair tousled just enough to look like he’d been running his hands through it while thinking filthy thoughts. He was taller than she remembered, broader. The kind of presence that sucked all the air out of the room.
“Mr. Voss,” she breathed, heart slamming against her ribs. “I was just finishing up. I didn’t think anyone else was—”
“Everyone else left hours ago.” He stepped closer. The scent of him—dark amber, expensive leather, something colder—wrapped around her. “Except you. And me.”
Lila swallowed hard. She’d only spoken to the CEO twice before: once during her interview when he’d stared at her mouth the entire time, and once in the elevator when he’d held the door and let his gaze drag down her body like he was measuring her for something. She’d told herself it was nothing.
Now he was looking at her the same way, but slower. Hungrier.
“I should go,” she said, grabbing her purse.
His hand shot out and closed around her wrist. Not hard enough to bruise—yet—but firm enough that she felt the power in it. “Not yet.”
She tried to pull away. He didn’t let her.
“I know what you’ve been doing, Lila.”
Her stomach dropped through the floor.
He smiled, slow and cruel, and pulled his phone from his pocket. One tap and her own voice filled the air—grainy audio from the hidden mic he’d planted under her desk weeks ago.
“…transfer complete. Three hundred dollars to Mom’s account. No one will notice. No one will notice. Please, God, no one will notice.”
Damien killed the recording. “Six transfers. Three thousand total. From a dormant client trust. That’s felony embezzlement, little girl. You’re nineteen. First offense. They’ll still bury you.”
Lila’s knees buckled. She would have hit the floor if he hadn’t caught her by the waist and backed her against the edge of her own desk. The wood dug into the backs of her thighs.
“Please,” she whispered, voice cracking. “My mom—she’s dying. I was going to pay it back, I swear—”
“Shhh.” He pressed one finger to her lips, then replaced it with his thumb, pushing it inside her mouth like he owned it. “You’re going to pay it back. Tonight. With this tight little intern body you’ve been teasing me with for months.”
Her eyes widened. “Mr. Voss, no—I—”
He grabbed her by the throat and slammed her down onto the desk. Papers scattered. Her laptop clattered to the floor. The sound of her own panicked gasp echoed off the glass walls.
Damien shoved her skirt up to her waist with his free hand. She wasn’t wearing panties under the stockings—laundry day, she’d been in a rush. He laughed darkly when he saw her bare, shaved pussy already glistening with terrified slick.
“Look at that. Already wet for your CEO’s cock. Pathetic little intern slut.”
She tried to kick. He pinned her legs open with his hips, the thick bulge of his erection grinding against her clit through his slacks. The friction made her whimper despite herself.
He ripped her blouse open. Buttons pinged across the floor. Her bra was plain white cotton; he tore it down the middle like tissue paper and palmed one small breast hard enough to make her cry out.
“These tits have been driving me insane,” he growled, pinching her nipple until she arched and sobbed. “Every time you leaned over my desk I imagined biting them raw.”
He leaned down and sucked her nipple into his mouth—hard—teeth scraping, tongue flicking. At the same time he freed his cock. Nine inches of thick, veined heat slapped against her stomach. The head was already leaking.
Lila’s eyes flew wide. “No—no, please, Mr. Voss, I’m a virgin—”
He laughed again, the sound pure evil, and lined himself up at her entrance.
“Not anymore.”
He thrust in to the hilt in one brutal stroke.
Lila screamed. The stretch was fire—too big, too sudden, tearing her open. She felt something give inside her and blood slicked his cock as he bottomed out against her cervix. Damien groaned like a man tasting heaven and started fucking her like he hated her.
Every thrust slammed the desk against the window. Her back scraped raw on the wood. He kept one hand around her throat, squeezing just enough to make stars burst behind her eyes, the other mauling her tit, slapping it hard enough to leave red handprints.
“Fuck, this cunt is tight,” he snarled, hips snapping mercilessly. “Squeezing me like it knows it belongs to me now. Say it, Lila. Say ‘Thank you for raping my virgin pussy, sir.’”
Tears poured down her cheeks. She shook her head, choking on sobs.
He slapped her—hard—across the face, then again on her other tit. The sting made her clench around him involuntarily. Pleasure spiked through the pain and she hated herself for it.
“Say it or I send the proof to the police and your mother’s hospice right now.”
Her voice broke. “Th-thank you… for raping my virgin pussy… sir.”
“Louder.” He pounded harder, balls slapping her ass, the wet obscene sound of her unwilling cream coating him.
“THANK YOU FOR RAPING MY VIRGIN PUSSY, SIR!”
Damien grinned, feral, and reached between them to rub her clit with two rough fingers. Fast. Vicious. Her body betrayed her completely—hips jerking, pussy fluttering, a humiliating orgasm ripping through her so hard she squirted around his cock for the first time in her life.
He didn’t stop. He fucked her straight through it, drawing it out until she was a sobbing, twitching mess.
“Pathetic,” he whispered against her ear. “Coming on the cock that’s blackmailing you. You were made for this.”
He pulled out suddenly, flipped her over like she weighed nothing, and slammed back in from behind. The new angle hit deeper. Her cheek pressed to the cold desk, drool and tears pooling under her face. He fisted her hair and yanked her head back so she could see their reflection in the dark window—her ruined, mascara-streaked face, his powerful body dominating her completely.
“Watch yourself get raped, little girl. This is your new life.”
He reached for his phone, still buried inside her, and hit record. The red light blinked on.
“Smile for the camera, Lila. This is the first of many.”
She tried to turn away. He slapped her ass hard enough to bruise and kept fucking her, the phone capturing every wet thrust, every broken sob, every time her eyes rolled back when another unwanted orgasm built.
When he finally came it was with a guttural roar, flooding her wrecked pussy with thick, hot ropes of cum. He stayed buried deep, grinding against her cervix like he wanted it to take.
He pulled out slowly, watching his seed leak down her thighs. Then he stepped back, cock still half-hard and shining with her blood and cream, and tucked himself away.
Lila slid off the desk and crumpled to the floor, skirt around her waist, blouse hanging open, thighs trembling.
Damien crouched in front of her. He cupped her tear-streaked face almost gently.
“Clean yourself up, intern. Tomorrow you’re signing a new contract. Personal services. Twenty-four seven. Or everyone sees exactly what a desperate little whore you really are.”
He stood, straightened his suit, and walked toward the elevator.
Over his shoulder he added, “And Lila? Next time I fuck you, you’re going to beg for it.”
The elevator doors closed.
She was alone with the wet spot on the desk, the ache between her legs, and the certain knowledge that the eyes that had been watching her for months now owned her completely.
