SLAP!

That's the sound that reverberates throughout the room as my hand makes contact with the fleshy ass cheek of Cindy. 

Why did my hand make contact with her ass cheek?

I think the better question you want to ask yourself is why Cindy, my intern, is bent over my desk. Why her panties are casually strewn on the floor, and her short little skirt unzipped and on the floor. Why my pants are around my ankles with my fucking boxer briefs. 

And why is my cock going in and out of her at a furious clip, making her gasp and moan like a fucking whore. 

Don't roll your eyes at me, darlin'. Those moans coming out of her mouth are positively whorish.

"Oh fuck yeah, baby, fuck me just like that," Cindy groans out right at this moment. See? I told you. Is that the way younger interns talk to their managers nowadays? Is that just the new culture for kids these days? 

Then, to leave no doubt in mind, she lets out a loud, "Unghhh, your cock is stretching my pussy out so good."

I seriously can't fucking make this up. Instead, I focus on pistoning my thick cock in and out of her. 

Don't be shy. You can take a look if you want. Yeah, that's my cock. All men have them, so you can stare. But make sure you open your eyes wide, baby, because while all men might have cocks, they don't have what I'm packing down there. 

See how it's slicked with pussy juice? Well, that's because my cock has literally ravaged Cindy's pussy with pleasure. In a few more minutes she won't be able to do much more than grunt and groan. She'll be a quivering fucking mass of flesh because of my cock. It's 12 fucking inches of lust muscle. Pussy pleasing power. Fuckpole. 

Whatever you want to call it, I got it. 

Of course, if you were in this room, you'd be staring at my cock and touching yourself. But you know what would really be getting you taking off your panties and sitting down on the couch across from my desk, spreading your legs and showing me as you stroked your pussy?

My fucking body. 

I'm 25 years old. Blonde haired. Piercingly blue eyed. Washboard fucking 8-pack abs. Perfectly fucking sculpted body. Rugged face. Broad shoulders. I look like a fucking God amongst men.

And, no, I'm not being arrogant. I'm being real. I mean, look around you. I'm Sloane Hardman. CEO of Hard Times, the most efficient and leanest venture capital firm on the East Coast. 

I built this company with my bare fucking hands. Every fiber of my being is infused into the walls of this firm. 

So yeah, I'm definitely proud. Of my accomplishments. My immense wealth. My body. My cock. 

Everything. 

Get you a little wet there, darlin'? 

Because everything that I just described—everything above—I use to give women the greatest pleasure they've ever experienced in their lives. 

One fuck with me, and you don't just give me your fucking number. You ask for my autograph. You end up proposing to me. Because you'll never be treated the way I'll treat you. And not just the sex. Everything. 

There simply won't be anyone else in our universe. It'll be just the two of us. No one else. And every single action will be focused on giving you the most intense pleasure you've ever experienced in your life. 

Every. Single. Time. 

That's how you'll get addicted. You won't be able to stop. You'll forget everything else. If I told you to quit your job, drop out of school, move to another city—you'd do anything just for me. 

I'm fucking serious. 

But when I stop answering your texts, you'll start to call. 

When I stop picking up your calls, you'll visit my work. Camp outside my condo. You'll spend the night in Central Park to catch me as I walk out of One57 in the morning. 

What you won't understand is that I don't do relationships. I won't do just one woman and stay there. 

The funny thing is that I'll have told you this at the beginning. That's right. I'm not a complete fucking douchebag. I'm not going to lie to you—promise you the world or anything like that. 

In fact, I'll be the one to tell you that I don't do relationships. Hell, that I don't even do breakfast the next morning. 

But you'll be so enamored with my fucking body that you won't care initially when I tell you. You'll give up anything and compromise anywhere just to get a chance to run your lips on my fine body. 

It's only afterward that you'll realize that to have me, you never listened in the first place. 

They call me a player for that. They say I'm a playboy. 

Whatever. If that makes them feel better, I really have nothing to say to that. And I'm not going to wrack my brain trying to come up with excuses, darlin'. Mainly because I'm fucking Cindy right now. 

That's right. You almost forgot about her, didn't you? I didn't. Not with my cock going in and out of her pussy as that ass is bent over on my desk. This is the last day of her internship, by the way. They always do this. Always come up to my office. 

"Is there anything else you needed, Mr. Hardman?" they ask me as my eyes travel up and down their tight body. Cindy knew the drill. She knew what my eyes were lusting after her as she came over, and without me having to say a goddamn thing, she began to unbutton her tight silk blouse and get on her knees. I'm serious. I didn't say anything the whole fucking time. She just began to unzip my pants, gab my cock, and put it in her mouth as I leaned back. 

That's seriously all it takes nowadays. 

"Fuck, baby, you're fucki--ungh!" Cindy moans. She doesn't have the tightest pussy, to be absolutely honest. And I like my women a bit curvier. But whatever. Pussy is pussy, right?

I increase my strokes in and out of her. Her pussy is quivering and a string of unintelligible words are coming out of her mouth all of a sudden. 

She's coming. I can feel the walls of her pussy gripping my cock. It's milking me. 

She may not be tight, but she's fucking tight enough. Holy fucking shit. 

I'm about to cum. 

I have enough mental strength to pull out of her and pull my condom off. Cindy is still twitching and spasming from her orgasm, but I turn her over, and begin to rub my cock for the final strokes that'll unleash my fucking deluge. 

That's when the door to my office slams open. 

I look up in shock. Only one person would have the balls to do something like that. 

My assistant, Cheryl Maddox. 

She's looking at me with a disapproving yet resigned smile as I grunt and groan and my vision blacks out momentarily as my cock spasms and my nuts twist and I erupt all over Cindy. 

She restrains a smile as Cindy's eyes go wide and I unload rope after rope of gooey, hot, sticky, white cum on her tits and belly. 

She waits patiently even as electric arcs travel through my body and my streams of cum cover Cindy's body. 

I shiver as the last of semen dribbles out onto her. Cindy is looking at me with wide eyes filled with wonder. And lust. 

We could probably go again, but I'm a busy guy. 

Cheryl tosses me a towel and I catch it, beginning to towel myself off. 

"Cindy, darling," Cheryl says and the intern turns around, startled that someone else is in the same room. She was getting fucked so hard she didn't even realize we weren't alone. "It's time you get yourself cleaned up and exit the building, dear," she says to Cindy.

Still in a shock, Cindy nods and begins to get up. 

I hand her my towel and zip up my pants. I don't need cum stains on my desk or floor, you know?

"What's going on, Cheryl?" I ask, sitting down and leaning back in my chair. 

Cheryl watches as Cindy collects her clothes, holds them to her body, and scampers out of my office. 

"Another one, Sloane?" she asks me with raised eyebrows. 

I shrug. "Perks of the job, Cheryl," I tell her, and turn on my computer monitors. "Can't fault me for tasting what's being offered."

There's a deep sigh from Cheryl. "Well, it seems like you're eating too much, Sloane, and the company is suffering," Cheryl says, putting a folder in front of me. "Do you realize that Hard Times has no new products in its investment lineup after our recent investment with Arsen Hawke?"

I freeze. Venture Capital firms need a steady lineup of companies and products to invest in. Without a steady stream of investment, we're just sitting on piles of cash that earn very little interest. And with salaries to pay and overhead, if I don't make money through investments, I'm fucked. 

"What do you mean?" I ask in a panic. "I thought we had two or three products lined up?"

Cheryl shakes her head. "They either pulled out or stopped calling because they thought we lost interest, Sloane," she tells me. "I just discovered this after going through next quarter's projections. You need to find some solid products to park your money in. And you need to find them fast."

Cheryl is standing there, looking at me and shaking her head. She's not judging me, but I know she knows that this is how she's going to get me to do something. Because I fucking hate how she's staring at me. 

"I'll start looking today," I say through clenched teeth.

"Well, you might as well start with family dinner," Cheryl says, and drops another folder onto my desk. I look up at her. She gestures with her eyes and I take the folder and open it. 

"It looks like your stepsister, Natalie, has some major growth happening in her little company, Dirty Lil' Angels," Cheryl tells me. I scan over the info sheet that Cheryl has prepared. 

A line of technologically revolutionizing sex toys. Wireless connections to Kindles. AI to anticipate when exactly to stimulate you, mimicking human partners. 

"She just got a huge order and could soon be the next breakout product, but she's not going anywhere until she gets funded and can grow," Cheryl says out loud, to me. 

I keep reading. This could be my ticket back in. 

Natalie's mother married my stepdad several years ago. The marriage never lasted. This is after that asshole Drake, my stepdad, completely forgot about my own mom after she died. Completely forgot about me too. Ran into the arms of Natalie's mom, Linda. 

I remember the first day I met Natalie and Linda. I was fucking pissed. But that anger turned to lust the moment I saw my stepsister, Natalie. 

I mean, it was the first time I was meeting them and they were already part of our family. Drake never even sat me down and told me what was going on. Just that he had gotten married again. I still remember that day that he told me. I carried that memory of abandonment with me all throughout life. I used it to leave the house when I was 18 years old. To get my own scholarship to Yale. To graduate and find my own financing to start my own company. I never took a single penny from Drake Carlton. I even got rid of the Carlton name and went back to my mother's last name as soon as I could: Hardman. 

So when Linda Vanderhill and Drake Carlton divorced, it wasn't a big shocker. 

But what had saddened me was that it would be harder to see Natalie. 

"Let me know what you decide," Cheryl says, and walks out. 

Yeah, it was hard to see Natalie. 

But with her company, Dirty Lil' Angels, about to break, this might just be my ticket back into her life. As well as the way I save my own company. 

Gotta fucking love fate.