Morning After
1473 Words
Elena woke up to the sound of her phone buzzing angrily on the nightstand.
She groaned, burying her face deeper into the pillow. Her body felt… used in the best possible way. There were faint marks on her hips where strong fingers had gripped her, and a pleasant soreness between her thighs that made last night come rushing back in vivid, filthy detail.
Damian Sterling.
She sat up so fast the room spun.
“s**t,” she whispered, rubbing her eyes.
The clock read 7:12 a.m. She had exactly forty-three minutes to shower, dress like a professional, and somehow pretend she hadn’t been bent over the conference table by the CEO last night.
Her phone buzzed again—unknown number.
She answered cautiously. “Hello?”
A deep, far-too-smooth voice filled her ear. “Good morning, Miss Voss.”
Elena’s stomach flipped. “Mr. Sterling?”
“You sound surprised. Did you think I’d disappear after I had you screaming my name?”
Heat flooded her face. “I— That’s not—”
“Relax,” he cut her off, sounding annoyingly amused. “My driver is downstairs in ten minutes. Black Mercedes. Don’t keep him waiting.”
“I can take the subway like a normal person,” she snapped, already climbing out of bed.
“You could. But you won’t. Because I said so.”
The line went dead.
Elena stared at her phone, equal parts furious and turned on. Arrogant bastard.
She showered quickly, choosing a fitted navy pencil skirt and a silky cream blouse that buttoned high enough to hide the faint hickey near her collarbone. Professional. Respectable. Nothing like the woman who had moaned like a w***e on the 47th floor last night.
The driver was polite and silent the entire ride. When she stepped out in front of Sterling Tower, she felt eyes on her. Or maybe she was just paranoid.
The morning passed in a blur of meetings and spreadsheets. Elena kept her head down, typing furiously, trying not to replay every second of last night. It was working.
Until 11:47 a.m.
Her email pinged.
From: Damian Sterling
Subject: My Office. Now.
No greeting. No please. Just a command.
Elena’s jaw tightened. She waited exactly seven minutes before heading to the executive floor. Let him wait.
His assistant, a severe woman in her fifties named Margaret, barely glanced up. “Go straight in. He’s expecting you.”
Elena pushed open the heavy glass door.
Damian’s office was massive — all dark wood, leather, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. He sat behind his desk like a king on his throne, sleeves rolled up again, focused on his monitor. He didn’t look up when she entered.
“Close the door,” he said flatly.
She did. Then stood there, arms crossed.
He finally leaned back, eyes dragging over her body slowly. Possessively. “You’re late.”
“I had actual work to do.”
A slow, rude smirk tugged at his lips. “Cute. Sit.”
“I’d rather stand.”
Damian’s eyes darkened. He stood up, tall and imposing, and rounded the desk. In two strides he was in front of her, crowding her space.
“You’ll sit when I tell you to sit, Elena.” His voice was low, almost a growl. “And you’ll do a lot more than that.”
Her breath hitched. Damn him.
He reached out and slowly traced one finger along her jaw. “Did you think about me this morning when you were getting dressed? Did you feel how sore you still are and remember exactly how I made you that way?”
“Stop,” she whispered, but there was no heat in it.
“No.” He leaned in closer, lips brushing her ear. “I’ve been hard since I woke up thinking about how tight you were. How wet. How perfectly you took me.”
Elena’s knees nearly buckled.
He pulled back just enough to look at her flushed face, clearly enjoying her struggle. “Lock the door.”
She hesitated.
“Now, Elena. Or I’ll bend you over this desk with the door wide open.”
Her hands shook as she turned the lock. The soft click sounded deafening.
“Good girl.”
He didn’t wait. In one smooth motion, he spun her around, pressing her front against the cool glass of the window. The city sprawled beneath them. Anyone with binoculars could see. The thought made her dizzy with fear and arousal.
“Mr. Sterling—”
“Damian,” he corrected, yanking her skirt up roughly. His hand slid between her thighs, finding her already soaked. He laughed darkly. “So f*****g eager for me. Even when you’re pretending to hate me.”
“I do hate you,” she gasped as two thick fingers pushed inside her without warning.
“Liar.” He pumped them slowly, deliberately, curling them just right. “Your body doesn’t lie. It’s dripping for me.”
Elena bit her lip hard to keep from moaning too loudly. His free hand came around to cover her mouth.
“Quiet,” he ordered against her ear. “Unless you want Margaret to hear what a needy little slut you are for your boss.”
The rude words should have pissed her off. Instead, they made her clench around his fingers.
He worked her mercilessly — slow, deep strokes that built her higher and higher without letting her tip over. Every time she got close, he slowed down or pulled back, chuckling at her frustrated whimpers.
“Please,” she finally begged, voice muffled against his palm.
“Please what?”
“Damian…”
He spun her around again, lifted her onto the edge of his desk, and dropped to his knees. Before she could process it, his mouth was on her — hot, demanding, relentless.
Elena’s head fell back. One hand flew to his hair, gripping tight as his tongue did wicked things. He was rude even here — sucking hard, nipping, growling filthy praise between licks.
“You taste like sin,” he muttered, sliding two fingers back inside her while his tongue focused on her most sensitive spot. “Come for me. Right now.”
She shuddered hard, biting her own wrist to stay quiet as waves of pleasure crashed through her.
Damian didn’t stop until she was trembling and oversensitive. Only then did he stand up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking far too satisfied.
He kissed her deeply, letting her taste herself on his tongue.
When he pulled back, his eyes were still dark with need. “On your knees.”
Elena slid down before she could think better of it. Her fingers worked his belt open, freeing him. He was thick, hard, and already leaking. She looked up at him through her lashes.
Damian’s hand fisted in her hair. “Good. Now show me how sorry you are for being late.”
She took him into her mouth slowly, teasing at first. He groaned, hips twitching.
“Deeper,” he ordered, pushing gently. “That’s it. f**k— just like that.”
He was rude the entire time — telling her exactly how he liked it, praising her, and insulting her in the same breath. “Look at you, on your knees for the man who signs your checks. Such a perfect little secret whore.”
Elena should have been offended.
Instead, she moaned around him.
He came with a low curse, holding her in place as she swallowed every drop. Afterward, he pulled her up gently, almost tenderly, and kissed her forehead.
For a moment, the rude, annoying mask slipped. He looked almost… human.
Then it was back.
“Fix your makeup,” he said, already tucking himself away and buttoning his shirt. “You have a meeting in fifteen minutes. And Elena?”
She looked at him, still dazed.
“This is how it’s going to be. I’ll take you whenever I want. Wherever I want. You’ll complain. You’ll fight me. And you’ll love every second of it.”
He smirked. “Now get out of my office before I decide to bend you over the desk again.”
Elena straightened her clothes with shaky hands. At the door, she paused.
“You’re an arrogant asshole, you know that?”
Damian sat back down behind his desk, looking every inch the untouchable CEO again.
“Yes. And you’re going to be addicted to this arrogant asshole by the end of the week.”
She slammed the door a little harder than necessary.
But as she walked down the hall on unsteady legs, cheeks flushed and body still humming, she couldn’t deny the truth.
She was already in trouble.
And the worst part?
She couldn’t wait for more.
- Writer
