My Boss My Babydaddy

"Cheers to you finally getting a job," said Sophie, my bestie, raising her glass like we just won the damn lottery.

I laughed, clinking my drink against hers. "I know, right? It's been a long time coming. I was starting to think the universe blacklisted me."

"Girl, you manifested that shit. New job, new money, and maybe, a new man?" She wiggled her brows suggestively.

I rolled my eyes, taking a sip of my drink. "Let's just start with the job. One miracle at a time."

We were at Club Vibe, the kind of place where the lights are low, the music's high, and the drinks come in colors that shouldn't exist. I was just supposed to have one cocktail to celebrate my new job at Steele Empire. One became three, and by the fourth, I was no longer just tipsy, I was full-on sexy-confident.

"Come on! Let's dance," Sophie shouted over the music, already pulling me toward the dance floor.

And that's when I let loose. No, scratch that, I unleashed. Short black dress. High heels. Curves for days.

I didn't know it then, but the way I moved had already caught his attention. The man who later gave me the best night I could ever ask for.

I didn't know that when I danced that night, when I rolled my hips and flipped my hair, I was dancing for my boss. I didn't know he was in that club, watching me from the VIP section like a predator eyeing his prey.

I just knew I felt good. Alive. Powerful. Sexy.

When our eyes met across the room, I felt it, a sharp, magnetic pull. He didn't smile. He didn't nod. He just stared, drinking me in like I was his last shot of whiskey.

And I danced harder.

I don't remember who made the first move, only that one second I was dancing and the next, a strong hand wrapped around my waist. It was Mr. Hot Stuff from across the room.

"You move like you know the world's watching," he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.

I turned to face him, breath catching. Up close, he was even more gorgeous. Dark hair that begged to be pulled. Eyes like wet obsidian. A jaw so sharp it could cut glass.

"Maybe I like being watched," I said, letting my fingertips trail over his chest.

His smirk was slow and deadly. "Come with me."

And I did. No questions. Just heat.

We left the club like strangers chasing a fantasy. No names. No questions. Just that look, the kind of look that says we both know what this is.

His hand was on the small of my back as we stepped into the elevator of the high-rise. I could still feel the bass of the club thumping in my bones, but his presence? That drowned out everything else.

By the time the elevator doors slid shut, I was already on edge. His scent, dark cologne, and heat wrapped around me like a drug. He didn't touch me, not yet, but the tension was a scream in my veins.

Then the door opened, and we stepped into his penthouse. Sleek, dim, expensive.

The second it clicked shut behind us, chaos broke out.

My back slammed into the wall, a picture frame rattled nearby, but I didn't care. His hands were ruthless. They gripped my waist, then slid down, fingers curling under the hem of my dress to squeeze my ass. He growled low when he realized I wasn't wearing panties.

He rasped, pressing his forehead to mine for a second. "You planned this?"

"Not even a little," I breathed. "But I'm so glad it's happening."

He lifted me like I weighed nothing, one strong arm under my thighs, the other supporting my back. My heels fell off somewhere in the living room. His lips dragged across my throat, open-mouthed kisses mixed with teeth.

He carried me into the bedroom, dropped me on the bed, and looked down at me like he was about to ruin me. When his pants came off, I nearly forgot how to breathe.

My jaw went slack. "How many inches is this guy?" I thought, eyes wide. He was thick, long, scary big, the kind of size that made your thighs clench, and your brain short-circuit.

But then he was crawling over me, and thought became nothing but heat. His mouth traveled down my neck, then lower.

"God, you're perfect," he whispered, kissing down my stomach.

Then he went lower.

His hands pushed my thighs open like he had every right to. And when his tongue touched me.

Fire. Pure fire.

I cried out, hips lifting, but he pinned me with his strong hands. Tongue flicking, sucking, circling, he worked me like a man possessed. Like eating me was the only thing he'd ever want to do for the rest of his life.

My legs shook. My nails dug into the sheets. I tried to hold back, but he didn't let me.

"Come for me," he murmured against my dripping center. "I want to feel you fall apart on my tongue."

And I did, loud, messy, body writhing under him as I came hard, trembling.

He didn't stop until I was gasping, until I physically pushed his head back, eyes wild.

Then he rose, mouth glistening, eyes dark.

"You ready?" he asked, voice thick with lust.

I nodded, chest still heaving. "I don't think I've ever been this ready."

He lined himself up, just barely pushing in. The stretch made me whimper.

"You're tight," he said, pushing in slowly, inch after maddening inch. "So damn Tight."

He bottomed out with a groan, buried to the hilt inside me, and I couldn't even think.

Then he pulled back and slammed into me, hard.

I screamed. "Great, Daddy!"

The words tore out of me before I could stop them.

His head dropped to my shoulder, and he growled, "Yeah? That's what you want to call me, baby?"

"Harder, Daddy," I begged, digging my nails into his back.

He did. He pounded into me, strong, brutal strokes that made the bed creak, the headboard slam against the wall, my legs shake with every thrust.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, tighter. I wanted him everywhere, his breath on my skin, him deep inside me, his body owning mine.

"Scream my name," he grunted, fucking me mercilessly. "Say it."

"I," I gasped, clawing at his shoulders. "I don't even know it!"

He pulled back just enough to smirk down at me, sweat beading on his forehead. "You will."

He flipped me onto my stomach in one swift motion, pulled my hips up, and slammed back in. I choked on a cry, eyes rolling back. His pace never faltered. Skin on skin, his name on my lips, heat building again. I could feel it, tightening, spiraling, coiling with every stroke.

"I'm gonna," I sobbed.

"Do it. Let go."

When I came, I shattered. My body convulsed around him, pulsing, crying, gasping as he chased his own release. He held my hips in a bruising grip, groaning low as he spilled deep inside me.

After, he collapsed beside me, chest rising and falling fast. The room was spinning. My body still trembled.

Silence settled, heavy and electric.

I turned my head to him, breathless. "So... now do I get your number or just your name?"

He leaned in, brushing a kiss against my jaw. "No, baby. That I'm not done with you yet."

After I lay there in a daze, tangled in his sheets, his scent all over me, he brushed a curl from my face and said, "Sleep, gorgeous. We've got all night."

And we did.

Only, Monday came quicker than expected.

"Emily Hart?" a voice called as I entered the pristine lobby of Steele Empire.

I turned, smile polite, outfit was crisp. "Yes. That's me."

"Great. You'll be reporting directly to Mr. Steele. His office is on the top floor."

I went ahead to the elevator feeling nervous and excited at the time. Until the worst thing that could happen to anybody happened.

My heart dropped. A chill danced down my spine.

No. No. No. It can't be.

But it was.

When the elevator doors opened, there he stood. Same deadly eyes. Same man who had me screaming just last night.

He didn't flinch. Just leaned against his desk and said: "Miss Hart. Welcome to Steele Empire."

I wanted the floor to swallow me.

But worse? I wanted him again.

And that... was the real problem.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​