The CEO's Dirty Secret

"Deeper, Ethan!" Freya's voice sounded frustrated. Both her hands gripped the edge of the mahogany desk until her knuckles turned white. Ethan obeyed Freya's wish. He thrust his hips forward with one rough stroke that completely stole Freya's breath. Freya's pencil skirt was still bunched around her waist, but it was no longer neat. The buttons were open, the zipper undone since the first minute Ethan had spun her around. Ethan's shirt? Still on. But unbuttoned. The dark blue silk tie hung loosely around his neck, swaying with every movement Ethan made. Through the reflection in the large window behind the desk, Ethan's body looked incredibly sexy—broad shoulders, a wide chest with a fine line of hair tapering down his stomach, muscular arms that were now gripping Freya's hips tightly. And Freya in front of him, bent over, her light brown curly hair falling over her face, her red lips biting the back of her own hand to stifle the sounds. "Don't hold back," Ethan commanded. "You... ahhh, you're the one who told me to be quiet." "Now you don't need to be quiet. Let me hear your moans." Ethan pulled out almost completely. Freya nearly voiced a protest, but before the sound could escape, Ethan thrust again. Harder. Faster. Freya's ass slapped against Ethan's hips with a shameful, wet sound in that silent room. The mahogany desk creaked softly. The folders containing the Q3 financial reports shifted a few centimeters with every thrust. One of Ethan's hands grabbed Freya's hair, pulling it back with enough force to arch her back beautifully. "The mirror," Ethan whispered in her ear. "Look." Freya opened her eyes. In the room's mirror across the way, she saw her own reflection—neck stretched upward, her breasts spilling out of the black lace bra that was barely hanging on one side, her n*****s hard from the air conditioning. And behind her, Ethan with his jaw clenched, dark eyes focused on where their bodies joined. "You look beautiful like this," Ethan said. "Wrecked. Like a b***h. Truly sexy. You're mine, Frey." Mine? That word. One word that shouldn't exist in their agreement. But Freya had no room in her head to analyze right now. Because Ethan sped up his rhythm and the only thing Freya could do was cry out softly toward the ceiling. She was close. So close. "Ethan... I'm—" "Wait!" "I can't—" "Wait." Ethan slowed his movements into long, gentle strokes, making each thrust feel deliberate. Freya moaned in frustration. Her head fell onto the desk. "You're cruel," she mumbled. "You love it." And then .... Freya's blood ran cold. Ethan stopped completely. His body went rigid behind Freya. He even held his breath. The sound of knocking at the door had paused their heated union in that room. "Mr. Crawford?" Freya recognized that voice. Claire. The new intern. A young woman with big ambitions and overly long work hours. "Sir, I have the contract revisions from the legal department. They said it needs to be signed tonight. Urgent." Ethan didn't move. Freya could feel his heartbeat against her back, pounding hard, but his voice came out perfectly flat when he answered. "Leave it on the reception desk." "But sir, they—" "Claire." One word. Done. Then silence, only the sound of footsteps walking away from the room. Ethan let out a long breath. His forehead pressed against the back of Freya's head. "Close," he whispered. "You weren't panicked at all?" "My heart is beating like it's about to explode." Freya laughed softly—a mix of nervousness, relief, and still intoxicated by the unsated desire. "We have to stop. Tonight." "We're almost finished." "Ethan—" "Finish first. Then we talk." Ethan moved his hips again. Slowly. Freya moaned again, this time not holding back. Her core was still too sensitive to stop, and she didn't give a damn if anyone heard her damned sounds. But this time, Ethan didn't tell her to be quiet and wait. "Come," he whispered. "Now." Freya fell. The edge of the desk hit her stomach, but she didn't feel any pain. Only the wave from within that paralyzed her for a moment. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Just tremors throughout her body. Ethan followed two seconds later. With one long exhale and a low, restrained groan in his throat—the sexiest sound Freya loved most from that tall, muscularly built man. They stood still in the room that suddenly felt too quiet. Freya fixed her bra with trembling fingers. Pulled her skirt back down. Roughly combed her hair. From the window's reflection, she saw Ethan buttoning his shirt. Becoming the CEO again, not the man who had been taking her just a moment ago. "Go home," Ethan said. Not an offer. A gentle command to end things without further small talk. "Tomorrow?" "Tomorrow we talk." "Talk about what?" Ethan turned. His eyes were dark. Not dark with lust anymore. But dark with something far more dangerous. "About this. About us. About why I can't let you go home to your boyfriend after this." Freya was silent. The office door opened. Cold air from outside rushed in. Freya walked out without saying a word. But inside her head, one sentence repeated over and over: He didn't say 'stop.' He said 'talk.'