Tamed On His Desk

Episode2

Tamed on His Desk

My legs were still trembling when I left his office.

My lipstick was gone. My panties were ruined. My dignity?

Scattered somewhere between the mahogany desk and the low, growling sound he made when he came inside me.

I didn’t even realize how late it was until I caught my reflection in the chrome elevator doors. My blouse was wrinkled. My hair—once neatly tied in a low twist—now tumbled in messy waves, like I’d been in a windstorm. No. A hurricane.

Nicholas Thorne was a hurricane.

And I let him in.

No, I told myself. You invited him.

The elevator descended in slow, agonizing silence, and the deeper it took me into the building’s pristine lobby, the more shame started to creep up my spine. Not because I had s*x with my boss. I’m not that naive. But because I let him win.

I let him break past the wall I’d spent years building.

And I liked it.

Worse, I wanted more.

I stepped into the empty lobby with my chin high and my heels precise. If the night guard saw the flush in my cheeks or the faint bruises blooming at the curve of my throat, he didn’t say a word.

Good.

Because I had no idea what I’d tell him.

What was I supposed to say?

That the man who signs my paycheck bent me over his desk, murmured threats into my neck, and then kissed me like I was both a prize and a punishment?

I should’ve been scared.

Instead, I was wet just remembering it.

The memory of his voice—low, dominant, merciless—echoed in my mind like a lit match dropped into gasoline.

“You’ll break.”

“I’ll teach you.”

God.

What was wrong with me?

I wasn’t this woman. I didn’t chase danger. I didn’t bend for men like Nicholas Thorne.

And yet…

When I finally stumbled into my apartment and collapsed onto the bed, fully clothed, my skin still ached from his touch. My breath still caught when I thought of how hard he looked at me. Like I was prey.

And part of me—some deep, dark, f****d-up part—liked being hunted.

The next morning, I woke with a headache and bruises on my hips.

I dressed slower than usual.

My fingers hesitated over every button of my blouse, as if the silk remembered how it had been yanked open with one swift tug. I reached for a high-waisted pencil skirt and closed it a little tighter, trying to anchor myself back into reality.

He was just a man.

A man with power, yes. Money. Influence. A smirk that made my thighs clench and a voice that could ruin me with a single syllable.

But still—a man.

And I wouldn’t give him more than that.

Not my control.

Not my mind.

And certainly not my heart.

I arrived at the office ten minutes early.

I wanted to look unaffected. I wanted to prove I could walk into that building without thinking about what happened the night before. But the second I stepped off the elevator and caught sight of his door—

My body betrayed me.

Heat curled low in my stomach.

I tried to ignore it.

I marched straight to my desk, flipped open my laptop, and began going through his calendar like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t touched me in ways no one ever had. Like I didn’t still feel his mouth behind my ear, whispering filthy promises I wasn’t sure he’d even remembered saying.

Ten minutes passed.

Twenty.

And then—

“Ms. Vale.”

His voice. That voice. I looked up and saw him standing at the threshold of his office.

He was flawless.

Charcoal suit. Open collar. Dark stubble.

There wasn’t a single indication on his face that anything had changed. Not a flicker of heat. Not even a knowing smirk. Just cold, calculated command.

He gestured.

“Inside.”

I stood and followed him into the office, trying not to let my pulse give me away.

The moment the door closed behind me, the silence grew thick.

Then—“You left without saying thank you.”

I blinked. “Thank you?”

“For last night.”

My spine stiffened. “I didn’t realize I owed you anything.”

He turned. His eyes dragged over me slowly, like he was stripping away every layer of self-delusion I had left.

“Oh, you don’t,” he said. “But I always enjoy hearing my name from that pretty little mouth.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Is this going to be a thing now? You seduce your assistants, and then what—break them in like pets?”

He stepped closer.

“I don’t seduce,” he said. “I take.”

I felt that.

Low and sharp and deeply, devastatingly true.

“I’m not something to take, Mr. Thorne.”

“You already were.”

My lips parted, but I had no words. Not when he stood there like he already owned me.

And the worst part?

Somehow, he did.

Not legally. Not emotionally. But physically, sensually, destructively—he’d left his mark.

And I hated how much I wanted him to leave more.

“You want rules?” he asked, voice suddenly softer. “Fine.”

I tensed.

“No feelings,” he said. “No expectations. You work for me. You follow instructions. And when I want you—”

He paused, stepping even closer, until his breath kissed the shell of my ear.

“—you bend.”

A tremor racked my body.

He didn’t touch me.

He didn’t have to.

I turned to him, fists clenched, trying to will the heat away. “And if I say no?”

His smile was dangerous.

“Then we play a different kind of game.”

His hand moved to my chin—tilting it up just enough to make me feel the promise behind his next words.

“I don’t want your submission, Ms. Vale. I want your resistance. Your fire. Your fight. Because the moment I break you, I want to know it meant something.”

I swallowed. Hard.

“You’re insane.”

“Possibly.”

He let go and walked to his desk like nothing had happened.

My breath came shallow.

He sat. Clicked his pen. Focused on the screen like I hadn’t just been trembling in front of him.

“You can go now,” he said.

I didn’t move.

Not at first.

Then I turned and walked out, fire licking at every nerve.

The next week passed in a blur of tension and temptation. He didn’t touch me again—but he didn’t have to.

He let his eyes linger when I entered the room. He called me in for meaningless tasks just to watch me squirm. He made me sit across from him during meetings, our knees brushing under the table, his thumb grazing the back of my hand with maddening precision.

And I hated that I wanted more.

I caught myself watching him.

The way he commanded rooms. The way men twice his age lowered their voices when he spoke. The way his suits hugged the hard lines of his body, and how his jaw flexed every time he was about to destroy someone’s ego.

I didn’t just want his body.

I wanted his power.

I wanted to take it. Twist it. Tame it.

Which was ridiculous.

Because Nicholas Thorne wasn’t tameable.

He was built to conquer. And I was quickly becoming his newest territory.

Friday evening.

Another late night.

Another folder “accidentally” left on his desk for me to pick up.

I walked in without knocking.

He stood behind the desk again, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his body framed by the city lights behind him.

He didn’t look up. Just murmured, “Close the door.”

I did.

And then I locked it.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?” he asked, voice all velvet and shadows. “Brave tonight?”

I crossed the room, my heels slow, deliberate.

“You said I’d break,” I whispered.

“I did.”

“I’m still standing.”

He stepped around the desk slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.

“You think that makes you strong?” he murmured.

“No,” I said, stopping inches from him. “It makes me dangerous.”

He stared at me, something feral and wicked blooming in his expression.

Then he reached for me.

But I stopped him.

My hand pressed to his chest.

His breath caught—just for a second.

“I want rules too,” I whispered.

He waited.

“No lies. No mind games. You want me? You earn me.”

His hand caught my wrist.

“And if I refuse?” he asked.

“Then I walk.”

The silence between us was like a wire pulled taut.

And then—

He smiled.

“Good,” he said, darkly amused. “Let’s see how long you last.”

His lips crashed into mine like a storm, and this time—I kissed him back with everything I had.