Ruin me Straight Boss

(DANIEL) “b***h, I still got files open,” I clutch the table edge, gritting my teeth against the obscene sounds seeping from Arden’s office. “Shut the f**k up!” The same cycle every time: Partners pitch interest to us, they send their representative, and Arden scribbles his c**k on their p*****s. Pants up, handshake, more money. Our current catch is Samantha Hartwell, heiress of Pentox Oil and Gas Ltd. Stupid corporate w***e. Shifting my chair backward, I contemplate knocking out the b***h’s teeth, or maybe strangling her with my tie while Arden watches. My c**k leaps at the thought. I adjust my slacks, trudge to the door, peering through the peephole. What the hell?! Samantha is bent over the desk, my desk, Arden’s c**k pumping her ass with brutal force. Ass?! Hello? Do straight men f**k ass?! My hand hovers over the knob. Saliva pools in my mouth, and sweat clings to my brows. My pulse thuds in my ears. Oh, God. Through the door, Samantha’s cries pitch higher, but it’s Arden’s grunts that set my body on fire—feral, coarse, almost pained. The same bastard who spilled coffee on my shirt this morning. The same thief who stole my birthright. I’m sick in the head. Pathetic, Daniel, as Papa would say. I hate that sound. Hate what it does to me. My c**k hardens against my zipper. I inch closer to the door, rasping. f**k, I shouldn’t be this hard. Not for that motherfucker. That straight, cold, homophobe who treats me like his personal b***h. But straight men don’t shag ass, or do they? The thought sends precum leaking through my c**k head. My hips rock forward, once. f**k, twice, grinding against the door before I catch myself. No, no, no. Not again. I try to stop, but I can’t. My body has a mind of its own, seeking friction, my tight little hole clenching around nothing, aching to be filled. I thrust against the door again, biting my lip to quiet my moan. Fuck being caught. I’m too far gone to think straight. No—I want a straight d**k. I want Arden to damage my throat, split me in half, and f**k my brains out. I can hate him later, but right now I need him like air. Shit. I’m his secretary. His goddamn secretary in my own father’s company. The men call me b***h. The ladies call me babe. All because I’m gay. BANG!!! The door slams open. I crash into something hard. My jaw explodes with heat where it connects with solid muscle. Sandalwood floods my senses, brooding, masculine, his. Something thick swings between my legs, but it’s not me. His c**k, still half-hard, brushes against my thigh through his slacks. His heart thunders against my cheek, pounding like a war drum. Fast and hard. He cages me as I try to pull away, one hand fisting my hair, the other slamming against the doorframe beside my head. I lock eyes with sharp steel ones. Despite my 6’4 my head barely grazes his chin. We are worlds apart: Hairy, thick beard, corded muscles, with the so-called ‘Alpha stereotype.’ Papa says. While I’m less hairy, curly-haired, slim, with the ‘Twink’ physique. “What the hell were you looking at?” He growls. “You know I hate third wheels when I’m pounding my bitches? So why the f**k were you peeping like a creep?” A creep? Which straight macho never sucks n*****s or licks cunt, but eats holes like a 9-to-5’er devouring McDonald's? I glance over his shoulder. Samantha can barely stand: Legs wobbly, face scrunching with a wince. Nigga, who’s the creepy one here? He seizes my jaw, forcing my face up. My heart stops. I gulp, thankful to the big man in the sky that I’m not hard… yet. Arden’s pupils are blown wide, his breathing ragged. His belt hangs open. He smells of s*x and expensive cologne and danger. And for one terrifying, thrilling second, I wonder if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Of course, I’m always so obvious around him. A f*****g mirror. His thumb drags across my bottom lip. “I ask you a question.” Wrenching his hand away, I pull back. “With all due respect… boss. I’m not a creep, nor was I peeping. Matter-of-fact, I’d rather swallow a live Cobra than meddle in your promiscuity. I was only—” “Shhh.” Arden’s finger on my lips makes my stomach revolt both in disgust and something too shameful to name. Must he always be touchy? The fucker knows I’m gay and he’s doing it still. “You b***h a lot, Mate.” It’s a miracle that my ears aren’t smoking. “Who the—” “Answer the bloody question, Daniel.” Jesus. I always had a thing for Aussies, but his Australian accent. The way my name wraps around his lips. It’s a f*****g high. I’d choose him over Chris Hemsworth any day. That’s how magnetic this bastard is. “I know I’m cute,” Arden’s voice breaks my trance. “Stop f*****g staring.” My jaw sets. I deserve an Oscar for self-control. Because it takes every fibre of my being to keep my fist clenched. If he calls me a b***h again, I’ll rip off his face. “The Marcellos sent an email.” I supply. “Sir.” Arden’s face remains impassive as usual. “You’re so dumb and stupid, Daniel.” “What?” “Of course, I expected less from a dussy.” “Arden!” Deja Vu slices into me. Papa always calls me that. ‘A p***y with a p***s,’ he’d say. But Arden’s not my Papa and has no f*****g right to call me that. Arden’s voice drops to a sinister snarl. “It’s boss.” I grit my teeth. One day. One f*****g day, he’ll feel what it’s like to be me. “Boss.” “And?” “They want to expand,” I keep my firm, trying not to notice how close he’s standing. “Yorkshire, London, and Scotland. They need partners and investors worldwide. Our ad team pulls twenty thousand views daily—” “They want a face,” Arden’s eyes rake over me. “What’s our cut?” “Ten percent shares.” Arden shuts the door to prevent Samantha from hearing. “Shares?” One of my boss’s traits is pure, unbridled greed. He went from barely making $ 100,000 a year to a multi-billionaire in three years. Papa said it’s hard work. I say Arden is a shark. That's one of the reasons I want my birthright back, because a ne’er-do-well like Arden has no place in the elite. He belongs in the grave where I plan to f*****g put him. Arden’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not enough, Baby.” I ignore the flutter in my tummy. “It’s a new firm. They barely make sales.” Arden’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I want thirty percent equity in their firm. A fifty-fifty split of our advertising revenue, and their best representative directly working with us.” I freeze, searching Arden’s gaze for any signs of a joke. His nostrils flare. The hell this bastard is serious? “Any objection, Daniel?” Arden ogles the badge strapped to my chest. The constant reminder I’m nothing but his secretary. Brew coffee, pass him documents, and obey. “I'd love to hear them.” I shake my head. “No, sir.” “Good boy,” he produces something from his palm. A wet silicon strip, dripping with—Oh God, is that what I think it is? “Find a safe place to dispose it. I hate my seeds spilling in the trash.” A safe place to discard a used condom?! Black erodes my vision. I bellow, nails digging into my palms. Arden’s lips purse. Waiting for me to say something, anything. Snatching the strip, I spin and run. One day, Arden. One day. You’ll pay for everything. For taking what’s mine. But you won’t live to suffer it. I swear.