His After Hours Obsession

His After Hours Obsession

His After Hours Obsession

Chapter 1

I felt him before I even saw him.

The elevator doors opened onto the forty-second floor and the air itself seemed to change—colder, heavier, charged. Vale Industries. The highest floor. The quietest floor. The one everyone in the building spoke about in careful voices.

I stepped out, clutching my leather folder a little tighter than necessary. My new heels clicked softly against the marble. Claire, the previous assistant, gave me a quick, almost pitying smile before leading me toward the double glass doors at the end of the hall.

“He’s expecting you,” she murmured. “Just… don’t take anything personally. Mr. Vale isn’t exactly warm.”

I nodded, even though my pulse was already too fast.

The doors opened.

Damian Vale sat behind a massive black desk, the city glittering behind him through floor-to-ceiling windows. Thirty-five years old. Broad shoulders. Dark hair slightly tousled like he’d run his hand through it in frustration. Sharp jaw. Eyes the color of expensive whiskey—and currently fixed on me with an intensity that made my stomach tighten.

He didn’t stand.

He just looked.

Slowly. Deliberately. From my face, down the length of my cream blouse, over the fitted black pencil skirt, all the way to my heels and back up again. Like he was already deciding something.

“Miss Moretti,” he said. His voice was low, controlled, and somehow still managed to feel like a command.

“Mr. Vale.” I kept my tone professional, even though heat had started crawling up the back of my neck. “It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

One dark brow lifted. “You’re younger than your résumé suggested.”

I lifted my chin. “I’m very good at what I do. Age doesn’t change that.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Interest. Maybe approval. Maybe something far more dangerous.

He rose then, tall and powerful in his perfectly tailored black suit, and walked around the desk with unhurried steps. Every movement was precise, dominant. He stopped close enough that I had to tilt my head back to hold his gaze. The subtle scent of his cologne—dark, expensive, clean—wrapped around me.

“You’ll be working closely with me,” he said quietly. “Long hours. Late nights. I expect absolute discretion… and complete obedience when it comes to my schedule and my preferences.”

The word obedience slid down my spine like a slow, deliberate touch.

“Of course, Mr. Vale.”

His eyes dropped to my mouth for half a second.

“Claire will show you to your desk. Be back here at four. I have a meeting that requires notes.”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The two words left my lips softer than I intended. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

As I turned and walked away, I could feel his stare burning into my back the entire way to the door. My heart was racing. My skin felt too warm. And between my legs, an unexpected, traitorous ache had already begun.

I had taken this job for the salary, the experience, the prestige.

I had not expected the man sitting behind that desk to look at me like he already owned me.

And worse—

I had not expected to like it.

Chapter 2 The First Crack

By four o’clock my pulse was already uneven.

I had spent the afternoon organizing Damian Vale’s calendar, answering emails with the precise, professional tone Claire had drilled into me, and trying very hard not to think about the way he had looked at me that morning. It didn’t work. Every time I closed my eyes for even a second, I saw those whiskey-colored eyes dragging over my body like he already knew what I looked like underneath my clothes.

Claire knocked once on my door and poked her head in.

“He’s ready for you.”

I stood, smoothed my skirt, and picked up my tablet and notebook. My hands were steady. My breathing was not.

When I stepped into his office again, the late-afternoon light was softer, turning the city outside into gold and glass. Damian stood near the windows with his back to me, phone pressed to his ear. He was speaking in low, clipped tones—something about numbers and deadlines—but the moment the door clicked shut behind me, he ended the call without saying goodbye.

He turned.

The air between us tightened.

“Sit,” he said, nodding toward the chair across from his desk.

I sat, crossing my legs carefully, tablet balanced on my knee. He remained standing for a moment longer, studying me the same way he had that morning—slow, thorough, unapologetic. Then he walked over and leaned against the edge of the desk, close enough that his knee almost brushed mine.

“I need you to take notes on the Harrington acquisition,” he said. “But first…” His eyes dropped to my mouth again. “Tell me something, Miss Moretti.”

“Yes, Mr. Vale?”

“Do you always look at your employers like that?”

My heart stumbled. “Like what?”

A faint, dangerous smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Like you’re already wondering what it would feel like if I put you on this desk and f****d you until you forgot your own name.”

The words hit me so hard I forgot how to breathe.

Heat flooded my face, my chest, lower. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Damian’s eyes darkened with satisfaction at my silence.

“I don’t… I would never—”

“Lie to me again,” he interrupted softly, “and I’ll make you regret it.”

The threat should have offended me. Instead, it sent a sharp, liquid pulse straight between my legs.

He leaned in just a fraction more. His voice dropped even lower.

“You’ve been wet since you walked into this office this morning. Haven’t you?”

I stared at him, stunned, mortified… and so turned on it hurt.

Damian’s gaze flicked down to where my thighs were pressed tightly together, then back up to my face.

“Answer me.”

My voice came out barely above a whisper.

“…Yes.”

Something fierce and possessive flashed in his eyes.

He reached out and slowly, deliberately, dragged the pad of his thumb across my lower lip. The touch was light, almost gentle—but it felt like a brand.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

Then he straightened, walked back around the desk, and sat down as if nothing had happened.

“Now,” he said, voice returning to that cool, professional tone, “open the Harrington file. We have work to do.”

I sat there, lips still tingling, thighs clenched, heart slamming against my ribs, and realized with terrifying clarity:

I was already his.

I just didn’t know it yet.

Chapter 3

The office was almost empty by the time the last of the evening light faded.

I had stayed later than usual, finishing the Harrington notes Damian had demanded. Most of the floor had gone dark. Only the soft glow of his desk lamp remained, spilling warm gold across the polished wood.

I knocked once and stepped inside without waiting for an answer. He was still there, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, tie loosened. He looked up the moment the door clicked shut.

The air changed.

“You’re still here,” he said. His voice was quieter than usual, rougher.

“I finished the notes.” I held up the tablet, trying to keep my tone steady. My heart was already beating too fast.

Damian stood slowly. He walked around the desk until he was in front of me, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body. For a long second he just looked at me—eyes dark, hungry, completely unmasked.

Then he reached past me and locked the door.

The soft click echoed in the quiet office.

“Come here,” he said.

I stepped closer. His hand slid into my hair, not gentle, and he pulled my mouth to his.

The kiss was nothing like the restrained touches from before. It was deep, claiming, almost angry with how long he had waited. His tongue pushed past my lips and I moaned into him, fingers fisting in the front of his shirt. He walked me backward until my thighs hit the edge of his desk.

In one smooth motion he lifted me onto it, shoving my pencil skirt up around my hips. His hands gripped my bare thighs hard enough to leave marks.

“I’ve wanted this since the second you walked into my office,” he growled against my mouth. “Every f*****g day watching you bend over files, watching that mouth of yours while you spoke. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?”

I could only shake my head, breathless.

Damian dropped to his knees between my spread legs. He hooked his fingers into my panties and dragged them down, tossing them aside. For a moment he just stared, jaw tight, then he leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe up my center.

A broken sound left my throat.

He didn’t tease. His mouth sealed over me, tongue working my c**t in firm, relentless circles while two thick fingers pushed inside. I gasped, head falling back, hands flying to his hair. He curled those fingers and sucked harder at the same time, and the orgasm hit me so fast it almost hurt. My thighs shook around his head as I came, biting down on my lip to keep from crying out too loudly.

Damian rose while I was still trembling. He freed himself from his trousers—thick, hard, already glistening at the tip—and positioned himself between my legs.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

I did.

He thrust in to the hilt in one deep stroke.

The stretch was intense, almost too much, and I moaned his name. Damian’s forehead dropped against mine for a second, a low, guttural sound leaving him as he felt how tightly I clenched around him.

Then he started to move.

Hard. Deep. Possessive. The desk rocked with every thrust. One of his hands braced beside my head, the other gripped my hip hard enough to bruise as he dragged me onto his c**k again and again. The wet sound of our bodies filled the office. He leaned down, mouth at my ear.

“This cunt is mine now,” he growled. “Every time you sit at your desk tomorrow, you’re going to feel me. Every time you cross your legs, you’re going to remember how deep I was inside you.”

I came again with a broken cry, pulsing around him. Damian’s rhythm turned almost brutal. He buried his face in my neck, hips snapping forward, and then he groaned my name as he spilled deep inside me, c**k throbbing, filling me completely.

For a long moment neither of us moved. Our breathing was ragged. His weight pressed me into the desk, warm and heavy and real.

Slowly he lifted his head. His eyes were still dark, but softer now.

“You’re not going home tonight,” he said, voice rough. “I’m not finished with you.”

I stared up at him, lips swollen, body still trembling, and whispered the only word that felt right.

“…Yes, Sir.”

Chapter 4

Damian didn’t let me leave the desk right away.

He stayed buried inside me, forehead resting against mine, breathing hard. One of his hands stroked slowly up and down my bare thigh, possessive and almost gentle now that the sharp edge of need had been temporarily satisfied. I could feel him still semi-hard, still deep, and every small shift sent aftershocks through my oversensitive body.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“You just… f****d me on your desk,” I whispered, voice rough.

A low, dark laugh left him. “And I’m going to do it again before the night is over.”

He finally pulled out. I felt the warm slide of him leaving me, followed by the slow trickle of his release down my inner thigh. Damian watched it with an expression that was pure male satisfaction. Then he reached into the bottom drawer of his desk, pulled out a clean black handkerchief, and cleaned me with slow, deliberate strokes. The intimacy of it made my cheeks burn hotter than the s*x itself.

“Stand up.”

I slid off the desk on unsteady legs. My skirt was still bunched around my waist. My panties were somewhere on the floor. Damian’s eyes dragged over me—flushed chest, swollen lips, thighs still trembling—and something fierce flickered in his gaze.

He stepped closer, cupped the back of my neck, and kissed me again. This one was slower, deeper, almost tender, but still full of ownership. When he pulled back, his voice was quiet and absolute.

“You’re coming home with me tonight.”

It wasn’t a question.

I nodded.

Twenty minutes later we were in the private elevator that went straight to the underground garage. Damian kept one hand on the small of my back the entire time, thumb stroking slow circles against my spine. In the car—sleek, black, silent—he didn’t speak. He just drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting high on my thigh, fingers occasionally tightening whenever my breathing changed.

His penthouse was exactly what I expected: vast, dark, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, everything expensive and controlled. The moment the door closed behind us, Damian turned and pinned me against it.

This time there was no patience left.

He stripped me efficiently—blouse, bra, skirt—until I stood completely naked in his entryway while he was still fully dressed. The imbalance made my stomach flip. He looked at me for a long moment, eyes hungry, then lifted me like I weighed nothing and carried me straight to the bedroom.

The bed was massive. He laid me down, stood at the edge, and undressed with deliberate slowness, never taking his eyes off me. When he was finally naked, my mouth went dry. Broad shoulders, hard chest, the sharp V of his hips, and that thick c**k already hard again.

He climbed over me, settling between my thighs.

“I want to hear you,” he said, voice low. “No more holding back like you did in the office. Tonight you can be as loud as you want.”

Then he pushed inside me in one smooth, deep thrust.

I moaned, arching beneath him. Damian set a slower, heavier rhythm this time—long, grinding strokes that forced me to feel every inch. His mouth found my breast, sucking hard on one n****e while his fingers pinched the other. The dual sensation made me dig my nails into his back.

“f**k, Elena…” he groaned against my skin. “You take me so well.”

He flipped us without warning so I was on top, straddling him. His hands gripped my hips hard.

“Ride me.”

I did. I rolled my hips, taking him deeper, watching the way his jaw clenched and his eyes stayed locked on where we were joined. Every time I rose and sank back down, a broken sound left him. His fingers dug into my ass, guiding me, controlling even this.

When I started to tremble again, he sat up, wrapped an arm around my waist, and thrust up into me hard and fast. The new angle hit something that made stars burst behind my eyes. I came with a cry, clenching around him, and he followed seconds later with a deep, guttural groan, spilling inside me once more.

We collapsed together, sticky and breathless.

Damian pulled me against his chest, one heavy arm draped over my waist. For a while the only sound was our slowing hearts and the distant city far below.

Then his lips brushed the shell of my ear.

“Sleep,” he ordered softly. “Because I’m waking you up in a few hours… and I’m going to f**k you again.”

I closed my eyes, body already aching in the best way, and whispered against his skin:

“Yes, Sir.”