His cock stretched me so perfectly I could barely think straight. I gripped the edge of his mahogany desk, my knuckles white as Damien thrust into me from behind with a force that made my entire body shake. His hands—those strong, commanding hands that signed million-dollar contracts—gripped my hips hard enough to leave bruises, and God help me, I wanted them to mark me. "Fuck, Sophia," he groaned, his voice rough with need. "You're so fucking tight." My pencil skirt was bunched around my waist, my silk blouse torn open with buttons scattered across his office floor. I didn't care. Nothing mattered except the feeling of his thick, nine-inch cock sliding in and out of my dripping pussy. I could feel every ridge, every vein as he pounded into me mercilessly. His right hand released my hip and slid around to cup my breast, squeezing my full 36DD roughly through my lace bra. The material was already pushed down, my nipples hard and sensitive as he pinched one between his fingers. "Yes," I moaned, pushing back against him, taking him even deeper. "Don't stop." The office was on the top floor of Chen Industries, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Manhattan skyline. Anyone in the building across could probably see us, but that only made it hotter. Damien Chen, the thirty-two-year-old CEO, fucking his forty-year-old executive assistant on his desk at nine o'clock at night. He pulled out suddenly, and I whimpered at the loss. But then he spun me around, swept everything off his desk with one arm—laptop, papers, expensive pen set crashing to the floor—and lifted me onto the cool surface. "I want to see your face when you come," he said, his dark eyes burning with lust. I spread my legs wide, giving him a perfect view of my glistening pussy. He stroked his massive cock, the head already wet with precum and my juices. Even after three months of this secret affair, the sight of him still made my mouth water. He was beautiful—six-foot-two of lean muscle, sharp jawline, black hair that I loved to pull, and that cock that seemed custom-made to destroy me in the best way possible. He thrust back inside me in one smooth motion, and I cried out, my back arching off the desk. My breasts bounced with each powerful thrust, and he leaned down to take one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard while he fucked me relentlessly. "Touch yourself," he commanded against my skin. I slid my hand between us, my fingers finding my swollen clit. I rubbed in tight circles, the dual sensation of his cock filling me and my own touch pushing me closer to the edge. "That's it," he praised, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Come for me, Sophia. Come all over my cock." The orgasm hit me like a tidal wave. I screamed his name, not caring who might hear, my pussy clenching around him as pleasure exploded through every nerve ending. He followed seconds later, burying himself deep and groaning as he filled me with his hot cum. We stayed like that for a moment, both breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat. Then reality started to creep back in, as it always did. This was wrong. So wrong. Not because he was my boss—though that was complicated enough. Not because I was eight years older than him—though that raised eyebrows. No, it was wrong because in two days, I was supposed to marry his father. --- I met Richard Chen six months ago at a charity gala. He was sixty-two, distinguished, recently widowed, and charming in that old-money way. He pursued me with the determination of a man who knew what he wanted, and I—lonely after my divorce, flattered by the attention—said yes when he proposed after just four months. I'd never met his son. Damien had been overseas expanding the Asian markets for Chen Industries. Richard mentioned him occasionally, always with pride, but our paths never crossed. Until my first day as Richard's assistant. I'd taken the job because Richard insisted—said it would be good for me to understand the family business. I walked into that top-floor office three months ago, and there he was. Damien Chen. My future stepson. The attraction was instant and mutual. I saw it in his eyes the moment our hands touched during that first introduction. The way his gaze lingered on my body. The slight hitch in his breath. I should have requested a transfer immediately. Instead, I stayed late that very first night to finish some reports. He stayed late too. One thing led to another, and I ended up bent over the same desk where I'd just come apart in his arms. We told ourselves it was just once. A moment of weakness we'd never repeat. We were liars. Now, three months and countless secret encounters later, I was in too deep. Every touch, every stolen kiss, every time he buried himself inside me, I fell harder. "We need to talk," Damien said, pulling out and grabbing tissues from his desk drawer. I sat up, suddenly feeling exposed. I pulled my bra back into place and searched for my torn blouse. "There's nothing to talk about." "Sophia—" "Your father and I are getting married in two days." I found my blouse, realized it was unwearable, and grabbed my coat instead. "This has to stop." "Then don't marry him." I froze, my arms halfway into my coat. "What?" Damien had already tucked himself back into his perfectly tailored pants. He looked composed, controlled—everything I wasn't. "Don't marry my father. Be with me instead." My heart stuttered. "You can't be serious." "I've never been more serious about anything." He crossed to me, cupping my face in his hands. "I'm in love with you, Sophia." The words I'd been desperate to hear and terrified of all at once. "Damien, we can't—" "Why not? Because of the age difference? Because I'm your boss? Or because you're too afraid to admit you feel the same way?" "Because he's your father!" I pulled away, my voice rising. "Because this would destroy him. Because it's—" "I don't care." His jaw set in that stubborn way I'd come to know. "I don't care about any of it. I care about you." Tears stung my eyes. "You should care. He's your father. He loves you." "And I love you." He stepped closer again. "Tell me you don't feel the same. Look me in the eye and tell me this is just sex, and I'll let you walk out of here. You can marry him, and I'll never bring this up again." I opened my mouth, the lie ready on my tongue. But I couldn't do it. Because somewhere between the stolen moments and forbidden touches, I'd fallen in love with my future stepson.