Tamed On His Desk

Episode4

Tamed on His Desk

I could still taste him on my tongue.

I stood in my bathroom with the faucet running, my palms pressed to the porcelain sink, trying to steady the thunderstorm inside me.

What the hell had I done?

His scent clung to my skin like smoke. My thighs ached. My neck was marked. My reflection looked like a woman I didn’t recognize—flushed, bruised, wild-eyed.

I had lost control.

Worse—I had liked it.

I splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would wash away the memory of his mouth, his voice, his hands pinning mine above my head while I shattered beneath him.

But it didn’t.

It only made me ache more.

I told myself it was a mistake. That it couldn’t happen again. That it wasn’t me lying beneath Nicholas Thorne and begging for more.

Except it was.

And now?

I was drowning in him.

I avoided the office for a day.

Called in “sick,” though my body was fine—my pride, shredded.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his smile.

That smug, infuriating, perfectly controlled smile right before he wrecked me.

God, I hated him.

But I hated myself more.

Because I’d let him take everything.

And worst of all?

I wanted him to do it again.

I showed up the next morning dressed for war.

High ponytail. Blood-red lipstick. A black fitted blazer over a silk blouse with buttons I dared him to unfasten.

If I had to be in hell, I’d set the place on fire first.

“Good morning, Miss Vale,” Diane chirped at the reception desk.

“Morning.” I didn’t pause.

By the time I reached my office, my stomach was coiled so tight I thought I’d be sick.

His door was closed.

Good.

It was better this way.

But the moment I sat down, a message popped on my screen.

FROM: Nicholas Thorne

SUBJECT: Now.

No body text. No greeting.

Just that one word.

Commanding. Brutal. Irresistible.

I should have deleted it.

I should’ve thrown my phone into the Hudson and walked into HR and filed an official complaint.

Instead?

I stood.

Walked.

And knocked once before stepping inside.

He was at his desk, sleeves rolled, tie undone, posture relaxed like nothing in the world bothered him.

But his eyes?

They devoured me.

“I said now,” he murmured.

“I was already coming,” I said evenly.

He smiled. “Of course you were.”

Bastard.

I stepped forward. “If this is about what happened—”

“What happened,” he interrupted, “was inevitable.”

“You used me.”

“You let me.”

“I hate you.”

His gaze darkened. “Then why are you still standing in front of me, trembling?”

I opened my mouth to throw something venomous.

But he stood, walked around the desk, and stopped just inches away.

“You hate me?” he said softly.

I nodded.

“Good.”

And then he dropped to his knees.

What?

My breath caught.

“Nicholas—”

He reached for my hips, dragged me forward, and buried his face against me.

I cried out. Loud. Indecent.

He licked me through my panties like a man possessed.

I gripped the desk behind me, trying to breathe, to think, but he was already sliding the fabric aside, already inside me with his tongue, his fingers, his everything.

He was supposed to be the devil on my shoulder—but here he was, worshiping me like a sinner desperate for salvation.

And I let him.

I moaned.

I shook.

I came on his mouth like I needed to be emptied.

When I finally looked down, he was watching me with something dangerous in his eyes.

Not lust.

Obsession.

“You’re mine,” he said, voice gravel.

I slapped him.

The sound cracked through the air, sharp and violent.

He didn’t flinch.

He smiled.

And I realized I’d just crossed a line.

So had he.

And we liked it.

Too much.

We didn’t talk for days.

He didn’t summon me. I didn’t glance at him in meetings.

But the tension thickened. Everything between us now was volcanic—silent pressure building beneath the surface.

One word would destroy it.

One look.

It happened on a Thursday.

End of day.

Office mostly empty.

I was headed to the elevator when I saw him standing by the windows, staring out at the skyline like he owned it.

I should’ve kept walking.

But I stopped.

“Why me?” I asked.

He didn’t turn.

“Because you’re the only one I can’t predict.”

“I’m not your pet.”

“No,” he said finally. “You’re my obsession.”

I swallowed.

“And you’re mine,” I whispered.

He turned then.

And the look on his face?

It was the beginning of something terrifying.

Not just s*x.

Not just power.

But possession.

And I didn’t know if I was going to survive it.

Or if I even wanted to.

Later that night, I dreamed of fire.

Of silk ropes and blood-red sheets.

Of Nicholas above me, telling me I was his even as I screamed no.

I woke up shaking.

Wet.

Alone.

But the worst part?

I didn’t want to escape the dream.

I wanted him back inside it.

Inside me.

I left my apartment at midnight.

I didn’t tell myself where I was going.

I didn’t even bring my bag.

Just keys, coat, and the lie I was still in control.

When I rang the bell, his lights were already on.

He opened the door shirtless.

His eyes said it all.

No words.

Just hunger.

He stepped aside.

I walked in.

And for the first time, I knew something had shifted between us.

This wasn’t just lust anymore.

This was war.

And one of us was going to lose everything.