Prologue
"You've been staring at that spreadsheet for three hours, Daddy." I murmur, my voice low and deliberately husky.
Silas freezes. The clicking stops. He doesn’t turn around, but the muscle in his jaw jumps. "Go to bed, Elena. It’s late."
"I'm not tired." I let my fingers trail down from the headrest, brushing against the short hair at the nape of his neck. It’s damp with sweat. "I’m bored."
He spins the chair around, swiveling to face me. His eyes are dark, framed by reading glasses that make him look severe, academic. He looks me up and down, scanning the oversized t-shirt I stole from his guest room, the way the hem barely covers the tops of my thighs. But there’s no heat in his gaze, only a weary sort of annoyance.
"You are a child," he says, his voice flat. "Go to your room."
"I haven't been a child for a long time, Daddy." I step closer, straddling his legs before he can stop me. I sink down onto his lap, my knees pressing into the leather chair on either side of his hips. The heat of his thighs radiates through the thin fabric of my panties.
He grips my waist, not to pull me closer, but to hold me away. His hands are huge, palms rough and calloused, and the strength in them makes my breath hitch. "Elena, get off. Now."
"I know you look at me," I whisper, leaning in so our noses almost brush. "When you think I’m not paying attention. I see it."
"You’re imagining things," he snaps, though his eyes dart down to my mouth for a fraction of a second before snapping back up to my eyes. "I am eight years older than you. I changed your diapers, for God's sake."
"And now you want to fuck me." It’s not a question. I grind my hips down, feeling the hard ridge of the chair beneath us, searching for the reaction I know is buried under all that propriety. "I'm not a virgin, Dad. I don't need protecting. I need cock."
He flinches as if I’ve slapped him. "Stop talking like that. You sound cheap."
"I feel expensive," I counter, reaching between us to palm the front of his trousers. He’s half-hard already, a traitorous reaction to the friction, to the proximity. "And you feel ready."
He grabs my wrist, his grip bruising, and tears my hand away. "I don't take advantage of little girls who don't know what they're asking for."
"I know exactly what I'm asking for." I twist my wrist in his grasp, not fighting him, just testing the boundaries. "I've asked for it from strangers in bar bathrooms. I've asked for it from my father's business associates in their hotel rooms. Why not you?"
His expression curdles, a mix of disgust and something darker, something volatile. "You’re acting like a whore."
"I am a whore," I say simply, staring him down. "And you’re a man who hasn't gotten laid in six months. I can smell it on you."
He stares at me, his chest heaving. The air between us crackles, thick with tension and the smell of ozone from the storm outside.
He’s fighting a war with himself, his moral compass warring with his biology. I can see the moment the compass spins out of control.
"You think this is a game?" he asks, his voice dropping an octave, turning into a low growl that vibrates in my chest.
"It’s only a game if you don't finish it."
Something snaps behind his eyes. The cold, distant guardian vanishes, replaced by something predatory, something starving. He releases my wrist only to grab a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. The sting on my scalp is sharp, immediate, and sends a jolt of electricity straight to my clit.
"If you want to act like a slut," he hisses, his face inches from mine, "I’ll treat you like one."
"Finally," I breathe, a smirk playing on my lips.
He doesn't give me time to gloat. He crashes his mouth against mine, not a kiss but a violation. His teeth graze my lip, his tongue forcing its way past my lips, tasting me with a desperate, hungry intensity.
It’s messy and wet, the sound of our mouths smacking obscenely loud in the quiet room. I moan into his mouth, grinding down against the growing bulge in his pants, desperate for friction.
He tears his mouth away, breathing hard, and shoves me off his lap. I stumble back, catching myself on the edge of the desk. Before I can straighten up, he’s out of the chair, looming over me. He looks terrifying—his glasses are askew, his tie loosened, and his eyes are burning with a ruthless, demonic light.
"Bend over," he commands.
I don't hesitate. I turn and plant my hands on the mahogany desk, scattering papers to the floor. I arch my back, pushing my ass out, presenting myself to him. I’m dripping wet, my panties soaked through, and I know he can see the damp spot darkening the fabric
He steps up behind me, his body heat radiating against my back. He doesn't touch me yet. I hear the metallic rasp of his belt buckle being undone, the sound of a zipper lowering. My heart hammers against my ribs
"Look at this," he says, his voice dripping with mock disgust. He hooks a finger into the waistband of my panties and yanks them down to my knees in one violent motion. The air hits my exposed skin, cool and shocking.
"So eager. This pussy is dripping, Elena. You’re practically leaking down your legs."
"Please," I whimper, pushing back toward him.
"Please what?" He lands a sharp smack against my right ass cheek. The sound cracks through the room like a whip. I cry out, the sting blooming into a hot, throbbing heat. "Please fuck you? Please treat you like the dirty little girl you are?"
"Yes," I gasp. "Fuck me. Use me."
I hear him spit, and then I feel the wet warmth hit my asshole, sliding down to my cunt. He rubs the head of his cock against my slit, coating himself in my wetness. He’s huge, thick and heavy, the heat of him searing my sensitive skin.
"You've been teasing me for months," he growls, lining himself up with my entrance. "Walking around in those tiny shorts, bending over in front of me. Did you think I wouldn't notice? Did you think I wouldn't want to bend you over the nearest surface and ruin you?"
I grip the edge of the desk until my knuckles turn white. "I hoped you would."
He thrusts forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke.
I scream, my vision whiting out. He stretches me open, filling me so completely it borders on pain. He doesn't wait for me to adjust.
He sets a punishing rhythm immediately, his hips snapping against my ass with wet, slapping sounds. Every thrust drives the breath out of my lungs, forcing me onto my toes.
"Is this what you wanted?" he snarls, grabbing my hair again and pulling my head back. "You wanted this old man's dick inside you? You wanted to be split open?"
"Yes! God, yes!" I moan, the words tearing out of my throat. "Harder!"
He leans over me, his chest pressing against my back, his breath hot in my ear. "You're a tight little slut, Elena. Fuck, you feel good. Better than I imagined. I’m going to wreck this pussy. I’m going to make it so you can’t walk tomorrow without remembering who fucked you."
His words are filthy, degrading, and they only make me wetter. I clench around him, feeling every vein, every inch of him as he pounds into me. The desk rattles beneath us, the remaining papers shaking.
"Look at you," he spits, releasing my hair to grab my hip, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "Taking it like a pro. Just like you said, right? You’ve done this a thousand times. But none of them fucked you like this. None of them owned you."
"Yours," I gasp, the word dragged out of me by the force of his thrusts. "I'm yours, Daddy!"
"Damn right you are," he growls, his rhythm turning erratic. "This hole is mine now. You’re going to beg for it every night. Do you hear me?"
I hear him. I feel him. The coil in my belly tightens, threatening to snap. The storm outside rages, but it’s nothing compared to the storm he’s unleashing inside me. He reaches around, his fingers finding my clit, rubbing it roughly in time with his thrusts.
"Cum for me, whore," he commands. "Cum all over my cock."
The command breaks me. I shatter, my orgasm ripping through me with the force of a tidal wave. I scream his name, my pussy clamping down around him like a vice. He roars behind me, his hips stuttering, and then he buries himself deep, flooding me with his hot, thick seed.
We collapse forward onto the desk, both of us gasping for air, sweat slicking our skin. The rain continues to beat against the glass, indifferent to the devastation we’ve just caused. I can feel his heart hammering against my back, matching the frantic rhythm of my own. He’s still inside me, still hard, and I know, with a certainty that settles deep in my bones, that this is only the beginning.
