One Forbidden Night: The Billionaire's Obsession

Chapter 7: Power Play

Elara

The elevator doors opened on the 42nd floor of Blackwood Tower, and the world shifted.

Glass walls, polished concrete floors, sleek black desks arranged like soldiers at attention. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city-London sprawling beneath a rare clear sky, the Thames glinting like liquid silver. The air smelled of fresh coffee and new leather. Quiet. Controlled. Expensive.

A young woman in a crisp white blouse waited at reception. She smiled-professional, warm, practiced.

"Miss Thompson? Welcome to Blackwood Creative. Mr. Blackwood is expecting you."

My stomach twisted. Mr. Blackwood.

Damian Blackwood.

I followed her down a corridor lined with abstract art that probably cost more than my entire flat. Heads turned as I passed-curious glances, quick nods. I wore the black satin dress he'd left out-no underwear, hem brushing mid-thigh, heels clicking too loudly. Every step reminded me: bare, marked, claimed.

She stopped at frosted double doors. Knocked once. Pushed them open.

"Miss Thompson for you, sir."

"Thank you, Lara. That'll be all."

The doors closed behind me with a soft click.

Damian stood at the far side of the office-massive space, dark wood desk, leather chairs, a wall of screens showing stock tickers and city views. He wore a charcoal three-piece suit, tie perfect, silver hair catching the light. Every inch the billionaire CEO. Every inch the man who'd f****d me raw on his dining table this morning, whispering "mine" as he came inside me.

He didn't look up from the tablet in his hand.

"Close the door."

I did.

"Lock it."

I hesitated. Then turned the lock.

He set the tablet down. Finally met my eyes.

"On time. Good girl."

The praise hit like a spark. I hated how my body responded-n*****s tightening, thighs clenching.

"Sit."

I crossed to the chair opposite his desk. Sat. Legs crossed. Dress riding up just enough to make me hyper-aware of my nakedness beneath.

He leaned back, fingers steepled.

"First day. Rules."

I waited.

"Rule one: You work here. You report directly to me. No one else gives you assignments. No one else reviews your work."

"Rule two: You live in the penthouse. Your flat in Hackney is being packed up as we speak. Your things will be here by tonight."

My breath caught. "You can't just-"

"I can. And I did."

"Rule three: No underwear in the office. Ever. If I want access, I get it. Whenever. Wherever."

Heat flooded my face. "That's-"

"Non-negotiable."

He stood. Walked around the desk. Slow. Deliberate.

Stopped behind my chair. Hands rested on my shoulders-firm, possessive.

"Rule four: When I call you in here, you lock the door. You drop to your knees. You wait."

His fingers slid down-over my collarbone, dipping beneath the neckline of the dress. Cupped my breast. Thumb brushed my n****e.

I gasped.

"You're already hard," he murmured. "Just from my voice."

I bit my lip. Didn't deny it.

He pinched the n****e-sharp enough to make me arch.

"Rule five: You come only when I allow it. No touching yourself without permission. No coming without my name on your lips."

His other hand slid between my thighs. Pushed the dress higher. Fingers found me-slick, swollen, ready.

"Already dripping," he said, almost reverently. "Good girl."

He pushed two fingers inside. Slow. Deep.

I gripped the armrests.

"Look at me."

I turned my head. Met his eyes.

He pumped his fingers-slow, deliberate, curling to hit that spot.

"You're going to come on my fingers," he said quietly. "Right here. In my office. On your first day. And you're going to stay quiet. No one outside this door hears you."

I whimpered.

He added a third finger. Stretched me. Thumb circled my c**t.

"Quiet, sweetheart."

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

He sped up. Relentless.

Pleasure coiled tight-too fast, too intense.

"Come," he ordered.

I shattered-silent, violent-body convulsing around his fingers, release coating his hand. Tears pricked my eyes from the effort of staying quiet.

He didn't pull out. Kept stroking gently through the aftershocks.

When I stopped trembling, he withdrew. Brought his fingers to my lips.

"Clean them."

I opened my mouth. Sucked. Tasted myself on him.

His eyes darkened.

"Good."

He stepped back. Adjusted himself-c**k straining against his trousers.

"Meeting in ten minutes. Conference room 3. You'll present the rebrand concept for the new hotel chain. The files are on your tablet-already set up on your desk outside."

I stared. "I haven't even-"

"You will." He leaned down. Kissed me-hard, claiming. "Impress me. Or I'll f**k you over the conference table in front of the team. Your choice."

He straightened. Walked to the door. Unlocked it.

"Dismissed."

I stood on unsteady legs. Adjusted the dress. Walked out.

My desk waited-sleek glass, new Mac, files open, coffee still hot.

I sat.

Opened the presentation.

My hands shook.

But I started working.

Because I had to.

Because I wanted to.

Because somewhere between the blackmail and the blindfold and the bare, raw s*x-

I'd stopped fighting.

And started craving.

The meeting was in eight minutes.

I was going to impress him.

And when I did...

I knew exactly what would happen after.

He'd reward me.

In his office.

On his desk.

With his c**k.

Deep.

Bare.

Forever.