I’d waited as long as I could, for hours as Damien laid claim to the executive conference room. I knew that he was going to take his time, and when he was done, Mia would see and feel what I see in her. But he’s an artist, and artists are . . . inefficient in their genius. So I tried to be patient, imagining what they were doing in there.

But I’m still shocked at the vision before me as she stands in her heels, her body wrapped in golden silk that makes her glow in the midday sunlight coming through the windows.

“Thomas?” she asks, but my animalistic instincts have kicked in, and I’m barely able to keep myself together long enough to lock the door before I’m on her, pulling her to me and claiming her as mine.

My hands tug at the gown, lifting the hem as I push her against the table, her lips and tongue finding mine. I move down her jaw and neck, my mouth fastening on her skin again, inhaling and tasting her unique scent.

She’s not wearing perfume. It’s just her natural essence driving me wild and making my cock harden instantly inside my pants.

I’ve never done this, not here, not like this. But in this moment, I don’t care about appropriateness and rules. I want her and I’m going to have her.

This isn’t like me. Though most would say I’m a risk-taker, every gamble I make is after solid research and thoughtful consideration, and only then do I throw everything in the kitty. But with Mia, I’m going about it differently, no brakes, no brains, no bluff. Just all in from the get-go, mentally obsessed and physically addicted from just one taste.

I didn’t even want to let her leave on Saturday afternoon, and just texting back and forth last night was murder on my patience, something I’m definitely not known for. I had to resist the urge to jump in my car and drive to her place to take from her what I needed. The only thing that held me back was fear that in doing so, I might scare her with my possessive need to be with her, around her, inside her.

Now having her like this, her silky thighs pressed against me as I slip my hand under her dress to grab a handful of her taut bubble ass, is more than my senses can take. I grip the firm flesh, almost pinching as if to make sure she’s real and not some figment of my imagination. She responds by pressing her tits against my chest with a throaty moan I can feel as I trace the pulse in her neck with my lips.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” I growl, reaching for my belt and undoing it, freeing my cock from the painful restraints of my slacks and underwear. Mia’s eyes drop down, her jaw dropping open hungrily when she sees my thick hardness. I stroke myself with a tight fist, teasing us both, and she whimpers in need. “I want to see you, all dressed up like a fucking queen, sexy and sullied with my cum. Get on your knees.”

I shove her down, but she hurries to obey, swallowing my cock even as I thread my fingers through her hair and thrust forward. Her mouth is amazing, and my cock lights up with pleasure as I pump in and out quickly, groaning with pleasure.

“Look up at me,” I rasp as my hips pump all of my thick inches in and out of her eager lips. “That’s it . . . you want my cock, don’t you?”

“Mmpfh!”

The vibrations of her reply make my knees quake, but I can tell she’s agreeing with me. “You’re mine, Mia. I’m going to fuck you, take you, and never let anyone touch you. You’re totally mine.”

I know I’m promising things too quickly, but I can’t help it. The words pour out unfiltered and dangerously full of truth. And though she doesn’t say anything back, her mouth too full of cock to speak, I can see the hope shining in her eyes as she looks up at me.

Suddenly on the edge, I pull my cock out and jerk her to her feet before turning her around and pushing her chest-first into the table.

‘I’m going to claim every inch of her, but right now, with the promises hanging around us like fog, I need to be balls-deep inside her to come the way I want.

Lifting her skirt is like revealing the world’s sexiest Christmas gift. She’s spread her legs automatically, giving me access to the beautiful, perfect half-globes of her pale ass, just barely parted by her thong. She’s writhing, grinding in search of relief, and I steady her with a hand on her cheek, then trace down her leg to the stockings she’s wearing.

I can smell her arousal. Whether it’s from me or from her finally recognizing just how sexy she is, I don’t know and don’t care.

Instead, I smack her right ass cheek, planting a bright red handprint on it and making her yelp.

“Ah!”

“You’re wearing foundation over my mark. I left it on your neck intentionally,” I murmur ominously into her ear as I lay over her, pinning her to the table with my weight, but the with the threat, I tug her thong to the side and rub the head of my cock over her pussy lips, coating it with her honey. “You’re not allowed to,” I decree, as if my word is law. But for her, for Roseboro, it is.

“But people will see.”

“Let them,” I roar, slamming my cock balls-deep inside her. She’s so hot and tight, and both of us cry out as I ram home inside her perfect body. The heels she’s wearing have brought her pussy and ass up to just the right height. I don’t have to adjust at all as I pull back and thrust again, grinding deep inside her. “Show them all that you’re mine.”

I grab her hair, lifting her tits up off the table as my hips thrust hard and deep inside her. I pull the dress’s bodice down, cupping her left breast and tugging on her nipple.

In response, a fresh gush of Mia’s wetness coats my cock, so I repeat the motion, twisting the nub until she squeals in equal parts pain and pleasure. I watch in Damien’s mirrors, overwhelmed as the view of her from every angle amplifies the sweet agony of her velvet walls gripping me.

My cock hammers in and out of her, my mind washed with wave upon wave of intense pleasure. I know this is dangerous, but in this moment, I am more animal than man, more primal than civilized, and I rut into her like a savage. Miraculously, she meets me stroke for stroke, not shying away from my roughness, and in her ability to handle me, small cracks shatter in my façade.

I am not Thomas Goldstone, billionaire entrepreneur. My most important title is . . . hers.

And she is not Mia Karakova. She is simply . . . mine.

My chest heaves, my heart pounds, and with each slap of my hips against Mia’s upturned ass, I feel myself bound tighter to her.

I want to etch myself on her skin. I want to claim her as mine forever, my captive to keep and do as I wish. I want her to be my angel, my fucktoy, my . . . my everything.

It’s insane, but right now as my cock throbs deep inside her and I hear the symphony of her gasps of pleasure, I’m allowed insane thoughts.

Letting go of her nipple, I grab her around the waist, spreading my legs a little for strength before I start hammering her as hard as I can. I look down, my mouth watering as I watch the obscenely sexy vision of my thick, glistening cock blurring in and out of her tight pussy, her lips clinging to me even as I go harder and faster, thrusting with everything I have.

“Oh, fuck . . . Tommy . . . Tommy . . .”

“Say it again!” I roar, not caring if anyone hears me. Or her.

“Tommy!” she cries out as she comes, her pussy clamping around me, and I roar in triumph as I feel my balls contract, my seed spilling and marking her inside and out as I cry out senselessly. I give myself over to the breakdown of everything as our shared climaxes wash over me and I surround myself in her warmth, her comfort, her beauty.

We stay there, connected as one until our hearts slow, and I pull out by inches, regretfully rearranging my clothes and pulling my underwear and slacks back up. A Neanderthal impulse inside me revels that I’m coated in her cum, and with a glance at her abused pussy, a cocky smirk takes my face that she is just as messy with mine. Mia rearranges her thong, attempting to put herself back together, but she’s still so weak from what just happened that I have to reach out and help her with the dress.

“So . . .” she says after a moment, her upper body still heaving as she catches her breath, “I guess that means you like the dress?”

“I fucking love it,” I reply, adjusting my tie. “Though we might need to have it dry-cleaned before Friday’s fundraiser.”

She smiles at the lewd joke, brushing her hands across the skirt and smoothing out the wrinkles where I’d bunched it in my hands.

Mia looks up, her eyes flashing with happiness and questions behind her frames. “I can’t tell if you’re bullshitting me or not.”

I know she’s not just talking about whether I like the dress but if this is something more. She’d let me walk away, I know she would.

She’d write off the possessive things I said while we fucked as dirty talk, and we could go back to some semblance of professional stasis. It’s too fucking bad that that’s not at all what I want. I meant every word, both the ones I said and the ones I thought but bit back.

“I never bullshit,” I say evenly. “I might skirt the truth from time to time in business . . . but I never bullshit.”

The tension builds between us, and though we don’t say it aloud, we both know something powerful is changing between us in this very moment. An acknowledgement from us both, an acquiescence on her part, an acquisition on my part.

Finally, she turns away, going behind what looks like a changing screen, and I hear her unzipping her dress and then shuffling as she changes.

“I’m not ashamed of what we just did,” Mia says, coming out from behind the partition still wearing the high heels she had on but dressed more like she normally does for work. She looks just as stunning, but I can see that she’s armored herself against me with the T-shirt and slacks she must’ve worn this morning. “I mean, we probably took the corporate conduct rulebook and lit it on fire . . . but I’m not ashamed.”

“That’s good, because—”

“Wait,” she says, holding up one finger to make me pause. “I’m not ashamed, Thomas, but I have to say one thing. I’m not going to be your ‘office girl’. This isn’t Mad Men, and I’m not going to trade on whatever attraction you have for me. God made me smart, and apparently, Russia made me beautiful . . . or at least that’s what Papa tells me. But I make my own future, with my brain and no other body parts.”

I nod, relieved that this is her only concern. For a moment, I’d been able to see the weight on her shoulders and had thought she was going to write me off.

Like you deserve. Waste of oxygen, thinking you’re worthy of a goddess like her. She’ll realize soon enough.

“You’re much more than an office girl, Mia. I think we can both feel that.” I pull her to me, kissing her softly and swallowing the soft sigh that passes through her lips as I pray that she doesn’t find me lacking and leave me so soon.

Keeping my arms wrapped around her, I tap her temple. “Actually, Miss Smarty Pants, you were right, and I don’t say that often or lightly. I looked over your computer when you mic dropped out, and the file you showed me and the report that hit my desk were two different things. I need to look into what happened in between to update the numbers and see if it’ll change our direction, but in the meantime, I’m not going to go easy on you just because of this.”

Mia smiles but then snarls comically as she adopts a thick accent. “Good. Because in Mother Russia, hardworking analysts fuck you.”

I growl, dropping a hand to squeeze her ass and grind against her a bit. “Yes, you did.” Her laughter is infectious, making me smile broadly. “Hey, what’s with the heels?”

“Damien says I need practice,” she says simply, looking down. “Although I’m really going to have to figure out how to coordinate these with my normal wardrobe. Maybe my friend Izzy will have something I can borrow. She’s sort of a discount fashion queen.”

From outside the door, the bustle of the office working away gets louder and reality starts to creep back in.

“I should probably get to work. My boss is a real asshole if I slack off.” She winks as she teases me. “Anyway . . . see you later?”

“You definitely will,” I reply. She opens the door, and I call out, “And Mia?”

She turns, her smile warm but melting into a more professional version. “Yes, Mr. Goldstone?”

“I expect great things from you.”