It’s only been three days since Willow started and I’m already in hell.

I stare at the papers and refuse to look up, but the words are a blur. I can’t sleep because every time I close my eyes, I see her. Usually, she’s undressed. Sometimes, she’s sucking on a lollipop. Other times, it’s my dick in her mouth. I’m often spanking her. Every single time, I wake up with a dick as hard as steel. I’ve spent more time jerking off that my cock is sore as shit, but the stupid fuck still wants more.

This morning I wondered if I should even go into the office, but the thought of not seeing her was worse than walking around with a hard-on.

All my senses are fixed on the gorgeous girl leaning so close to me. Her nipples are hard and poke through her cheap white shirt, which is unbuttoned to display more than a hint of white lace hugging that delicious cleavage.

With every breath I take, I inhale her alluring scent, but it isn’t her perfume that’s making me stiffer than a pole. The musk of her arousal is detectable beneath her light floral perfume. She is fucking turned on all day, every day, and all I can think about is pushing her onto my desk and spreading her thighs wide as I bury my face in her creamy pussy.

Actually, that’s not quite true—I’m equally obsessed with pulling her on my lap and baring her perfect ass to both my eyes and my hand as I give her the hard spanking she so clearly deserves.

I know in my gut both scenarios would end the same way—with her screaming in rapture and me coming hard in her. Too bad both are also completely out of the question.

Fuck fuck fuck FUCK. Willow has had me tied up in knots for years, but there’s no way I can give her what she wants, what’s she been wanting since she was fifteen. I’m her “Uncle C,” for chrissake. She’s the very definition of “forbidden fruit”—I bet her picture is next to it in the dictionary. I’m already damned to hell for lusting after a girl half my age—the fact that my feelings started when she was way too young to know better just makes me hate myself even more.

I still remember the hungry expression on her face as she stared at me that night three years ago at the Yuletide Ball. I felt her gaze like a physical caress then, and my cock twitches insistently at the memory. Before she stumbled into the cloakroom, I’d been fantasizing about her. Even my guilty shame at feeling like a damn perv couldn’t stop me from noticing how her body had matured seemingly overnight, gaining mouthwatering curves in all the right places. I’d always had a soft spot for the sweet little daughter of my financial advisor, but suddenly my spot wasn’t so soft anymore.

Despite my filthy fantasies there was no way I could take what she offered and I hated myself for how I treated her then, but I couldn’t see any other way of forcing her away. What I didn’t realize was, that was just the beginning.

For the last three years I’ve avoided Willow like the plague while Willow has done everything she could to get us together. Finally, it seems like she’s won the battle, the minx, but I’m determined to win the war and resist her even as my cock screams at me to give in.

“Where’s Tim?” I abruptly ask, still not looking up at her. If she comes any closer to me her tit will brush against my cheek. I fight the urge to turn my face and suck that hard, pouting nipple right into my mouth.

“Tim’s taking a phone call,” she murmurs into my ear, her breath ruffling my hair. My fingers tighten on the papers I’m holding until they’re in danger of crumpling.

“Tell him to come here please when he’s off the phone—I need to go over the details of the Devonshire offer with him.”

She pauses for a moment before she whispers, “Yes, sir,” against my ear and my cock throbs hard at a vision of her saying it as I order her to suck my cock. Yes, sir, Uncle C. I’ve been a very bad girl, Uncle C. Please stuff me with your cock, Uncle C…

If that wasn’t bad enough, I imagine her calling me something more profane than Uncle C, screaming it until her voice is gone.

Against my will my eyes follow her as she walks to the door, her pert ass swaying seductively in a tight pencil skirt, her legs looking a mile long in those ridiculously high heels.

I am so fucked.

Tim comes in with a concerned expression on his face. He’s worked for me so long that he knows instantly when I’m in a bad mood.

“Should I cancel your afternoon meetings?” he asks quietly while I rifle through the purchase papers, not registering the text. The image of the tight white skirt and the unbuttoned shirt and the sun-kissed skin is all my brain seems to be able to focus on.

Yes. Cancel all the meetings. Send Willow in here. Go home so you don’t hear her screams while I fuck her until my dick breaks off.

“No,” I reply. I slap the file shut. “Frank is trying to keep the mineral rights. Make up an offer sheet that sets out that if I’m buying the land, I’m buying all the rights—mineral, water, everything.” I jot a note and hand him the file. “Hold my calls for ”—I flip my wrist around to see the time—“fifteen minutes.” It’s probably only going to take ten.

“Do you have any specific instructions for Ms. Kaplan?”

I close my eyes. Why, yes, Tim, I do. Specifically, I’d like Ms. Kaplan to come into my office, take off her skirt and shirt and sit in one of the white leather chairs in front of my desk. I’d like her insert a butterfly vibrator into her white lace panties and hold on to her orgasm until I tell her to come. And I won’t let her come for at least an hour, which is only a fraction of the punishment the girl deserves for finagling her way into my office and then flaunting her juicy tits in my face.

I wipe a hand across my mouth, surprised that there’s no drool, and meet Tim’s disapproving gaze.

“No. No instructions for Ms. Kaplan,” I manage to croak out. I shouldn’t feel this way about an eighteen-year-old girl. I know this. Everyone knows this. Everyone but Willow.

“Perhaps Ms. Kaplan should be moved over to Kent Kennedy’s office. I know that they could use a few more hands to close the Bancroft merger,” my assistant suggests gently.

Kent Kennedy is ten years younger than me and gets stopped regularly on the street by casting agents. My blood surges violently. I don’t want Willow within ten feet of his office.

“She stays here.”

Tim opens his mouth—maybe to protest, maybe to chastise me, but at my glare, he wisely snaps his chompers together and leaves.

As the door closes behind my assistant, I catch a glimpse of Willow leaning against Tim’s desk and nearly nut in my pants. Damn. I need to take the edge off or I’m not going to be able to function.

I can barely put two coherent words together as it is. I push to my feet and walk stiffly to the connecting private bathroom.

“Alexa, play Bach. Volume 10.”

Toccata in D minor blares out of the speakers. I unzip my trousers, shove down my underwear and jerk my turgid shaft free.

I lean against the door and let myself imagine what it would be like if I said screw principles and decency and took what Willow was so freely offering. Maybe if I was a normal man, one who liked vanilla sex under the covers with the lights off, accepting Willow’s gift would be fine.

But I’m not a normal man. My perversions are filthy and dark. I don’t want Willow merely tied to my chair waiting for me. I want her on her knees. I want her bound, cuffed, gagged. I want to dress her up in tiny white dresses with lace and bows. I want to roll pure white stockings over those long legs. I want her to sit on my lap while I feed her one spoonful at a time. I want to pull her long honey-blonde tresses, expose her delicate neck, and fuck her while she screams, “Daddy, do it harder,” until her voice gives out.

The organ in my palm grows hotter and harder at my licentious thoughts. I’d sit her on the marble counter in this small office bathroom. She’d spread her legs. Her hands would tremble with the need to touch me, but I’d tell her to keep her palms pinned to the stone.

The crotch of her panties would be soaked with her arousal. She’d run her tongue over her lips, imagining my cock in her mouth.

I jerk myself harder, spreading my pre-cum over the shaft, gripping my balls tight against my groin. She should be doing this. She should be on her fucking knees, with her hands tied at the base of her spine, working her wet tongue all over the hard-on she produced. That little girl has no idea what she’s asking for.

It’s not a fuck I want. I can get that anywhere from anyone. It’s her mind and soul that I want to possess. I want to own her. I want her to own me. But it’s all so wrong. So wrong that I come harder than I’ve ever come before, spilling a gallon’s worth of seed into my own damned hand.

I black out for a blissful moment, shuddering with the aftershocks. I finally open my eyes. My hand is covered with come and I imagine Willow licking my palm clean, her pink tongue lapping it up like a kitten and looking up at me with those big green eyes as she says, “Please, Daddy, I want more.”

I curse as my dick twitches. Goddammit, I came so hard I should be good for the next year. But knowing that Willow is in the next room while I jerked off to my filthy fantasies of her just makes me even hungrier for the real thing.