The glass door of Ryan’s corner office slid shut with a soft hiss, sealing Lily inside with the man who owned her. Not her contract—though he owned that too—but her. Every trembling breath, every fluttering heartbeat, every inch of skin beneath her modest blouse belonged to him now. She knew it. He knew it. And the photographs tucked inside his desk drawer ensured she would never forget it. “Come here, Lily.” His voice was velvet over steel, all the more terrifying for its calm. Her heels clicked against the marble floor, each step carrying her closer to the predator who sat behind his mahogany desk like a king on a throne. Early thirties, sharp jaw, sharper eyes—Ryan looked every bit the ruthless CEO whose company she now interned at. But she knew the truth. He hadn’t hired her for her credentials. He’d hired her to own her. “Closer,” he commanded. Lily stopped at the edge of his desk, her fingers gripping the leather-bound notebook she clutched like a shield. Her sister Rose was at home in their penthouse right now, probably sipping champagne and admiring her diamonds, blissfully unaware that her husband was about to devour her little sister whole. Ryan rose from his chair, tall and imposing, his tailored charcoal suit hugging broad shoulders. He circled the desk slowly, predatory, and then he was behind her, his presence a heat at her back. “You’ve been a good girl this week,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “Following every order. Coming when I called.” His hands landed on her hips, and Lily flinched—but didn’t pull away. She couldn’t pull away. Not with those photographs. Not with the video. Not with the threat of her sister’s world crumbling and her own reputation destroyed. “That’s it,” he praised, his fingers tightening on the fabric of her pencil skirt. “You’re learning.” His hands slid upward, over her waist, over her ribs, until his palms grazed the underside of her breasts. Lily’s breath hitched, a traitorous warmth blooming between her thighs even as shame burned her cheeks. He squeezed, hard enough to hurt, his thumbs pressing against her nipples through the thin silk of her bra. “You hate this, don’t you?” he asked, but there was amusement in his voice. He knew better. Lily’s eyes squeezed shut. “Please…” she whispered. “Please what? Please stop?” He spun her around, pressing her back against the desk, his body pinning her in place. His hands found her breasts again, kneading them roughly, rolling her stiff nipples between his fingers until a whimper escaped her lips. “Or please more?” She bit her lip, refusing to answer, but her body betrayed her. Her nipples were hard and aching. Her knees felt weak. And when his hand slid up her thigh, beneath her skirt, she found she couldn’t remember how to say no. “I saw you watching me last week,” he said, his fingers inching higher, brushing against the damp cotton of her panties. “When I was on that conference call. You thought I didn’t notice the way your thighs pressed together.” “I didn’t—“ “Don’t lie to me, Lily.” His fingers hooked the edge of her panties, pulling them aside. A gasp tore from her throat as his fingertip slid through her slick folds, exploring her wetness with a smug chuckle. “God, you’re soaked. And all it took was me touching you.” Lily’s head fell back, her body arching into his touch against her will. She hated herself for how good it felt. Hated the way her hips rolled forward, seeking more of his fingers. But her body had learned to obey him, even when her mind screamed otherwise. He pressed two fingers inside her, and she cried out, biting her own hand to muffle the sound. His thumb circled her clit with practiced precision, pushing her higher, faster, until her walls clenched around his fingers and she came with a strangled sob. “Good girl,” Ryan whispered, withdrawing his slick fingers and bringing them to her lips. “Taste yourself.” Her eyes watered, but she parted her lips, letting him push his fingers into her mouth. She tasted salt and arousal, and something darker—surrender. That night, he took her to his private apartment—the one Rose had never seen. He pushed her onto his bed, stripped her bare, and claimed her with a brutal, possessive hunger that left her breathless. He fucked her from behind, his hand tangled in her hair, his cock driving into her again and again until she was screaming his name. “You’re mine,” he growled against her ear, his hips slapping against her ass. “Say it.” “I’m yours,” she gasped. When he finally spilled inside her, collapsing against her back, Lily lay trembling beneath him. He rolled off, pulling her against his chest, stroking her hair with surprising gentleness. “You want those designer dresses? That little studio you’ve been eyeing? Your own car?” He kissed her temple. “I can give you everything, Lily. Anything your heart desires.” He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “But you can never leave me. Not ever. Do you understand?” Lily stared at him, trapped between fear and a terrible, addictive desire she couldn’t name. “Yes,” she whispered. And Ryan smiled.
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