The Fire Exit
Victor’s text hit Elara’s phone at 9:47 PM.
*Final notice. 48 hours or we seize the house.*
She read it three times in the bathroom stall of the Thorne Dynamics ballroom, her hands shaking hard enough to nearly drop the phone into the toilet. Outside, two hundred of New York’s elite celebrated another record quarter. Inside this stall, Elara’s life was collapsing.
Seven figures. That’s what the debt had become over ten years. Medical bills from Leo’s leukemia. Her mother’s cancer treatment. Her father’s gambling addiction. Numbers that had stopped feeling real and started feeling like a life sentence.
The fire stairwell was empty. She kicked off her heels, and sat on the concrete steps. Sipping the remaining champagne, it was the 5th glass she’s had, pulling her knees to her chest, her expensive navy dress bunching around her thighs.
Professional. Composed. That’s what she’d been for three years as Marcus Thorne’s executive assistant, you have to be, if you work for Marcus you’ll know he’s the Devil in Dior.
The stairwell door opened.
Marcus descended slowly, his jacket unbuttoned, his tie loosened. The dim light caught the sharp angles of his face, carved jaw, dark eyes that missed nothing. He stopped two steps above her. He’s the type of man that turns heads when he enters a place, handsome? Yes, sexy? Yes, when it comes to work? a nightmare in black suits
“You left the gala,” he said.
“I needed air.”
“You’ve been gone for eleven minutes.” He moved closer. “I don’t employ people who disappear.”
She looked away. “I’m sorry it was a family emergency, there’s nothing you can fix.”
“Try me.”
Three years working under him, he literally gets off making her life miserable. Unreal goals, Inhuman workload, impossible deadlines, yet she always delivered and made sure she’d maintained perfect distance. Hated his guts, he was always set out to make her work difficult.
Now, drunk on champagne and desperation, she felt it crumble. “My brother. Financial trouble. A debt collector. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars by tomorrow.”
He pulled out his phone immediately.
“No.” She grabbed his wrist. “You can’t just….”
“You work for me. Your problems are containable.” His eyes locked on hers. “We’re going to contain this.”
Something broke open inside her. For the first time in three years, she wasn’t alone with it.
He reached out, and for a terrifying second, she thought he would touch her face. Instead, his fingers brushed the collar of her dress, adjusting the thin strap where it had slipped on her shoulder.
“Let go of control, just for a moment,” he said, his thumb resting where her neck met her shoulder, the heat searing her skin.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“Yes, you can.”
He closed the final inch, ran his hands through her short dress, Elara felt electric waves through her.
His mouth descended, not with the arrogance of a boss, it was gentle but with the demanding hunger of a man who had not been with anyone for too long.
She kissed him back.
It wasn’t tender. It was desperate, her mouth against his, tasting cologne and expensive scotch. She expected him to pull away. Marcus Thorne didn’t blur professional lines. Marcus didn’t blur anything.
Instead, he kissed her again.
His hand gripped the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair, destroying the careful pins. The other hand pulled her close until there was no space between them. He tasted like control and power, and she wanted to drown in it.
He spun her around and pressed her back against the brick wall. His mouth moved to her neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks she’d have to hide tomorrow.
“Tell me to stop,” he said against her skin.
She didn’t.
She pulled his shirt up instead, needing to feel him. His chest was solid muscle, warm skin stretched over ribs she could feel under her palms. He made a sound, almost a growl and then his hands were everywhere.
Her dress was hiked up around her waist. His fingers found the edge of her underwear and tore them away completely, the fabric ripping in his grip.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re soaked.”
He didn’t waste time. His hand pressed between her thighs, fingers sliding inside her, and she gasped into his neck. His thumb found her clit and worked it in rough circles while his fingers pumped deeper, fingering her so hard. She could feel her own wetness coating his hand, dripping down her inner thighs.
He moved the other free hand pressing her boobs and sucking on it passionately, tongue curling around the nipple and biting softly yet hardly.
Her hips rocked against his hand desperately. This was insane. This was career suicide. This was….Damn she hates her boss, how’s this possible, she tried to stop but she couldn’t, the champagne was hitting harder now.
He stopped and stepped back just far enough to unbuckle his belt. His pants dropped. Already hard and thick, stroking it once before reaching for his wallet.
“Don’t you fucking move,” he said.
He tore open a condom with his teeth and rolled it on with one hand while the other gripped her hip, keeping her pinned against the wall. Then he positioned himself and pushed inside her in one hard stroke.
Elara’s cry echoed off the concrete walls.
He was big, bigger than she’d expected, filling her completely, stretching her almost to the point of pain. He didn’t give her time to adjust. He pulled out and thrust back in, establishing a brutal rhythm that knocked her back against the brick with each movement.
“Is this what you wanted?” he demanded, his voice rough. “Is this why you kissed me?”
She couldn’t answer. Could barely breathe. He was hitting something deep inside her that made her vision blur.
His hand moved from her hip to grip her thigh, pulling her leg up and around his waist, changing the angle, going even deeper.
The cold wall at her back. His heat pressing against her front. The sound of their bodies colliding in the empty stairwell, wet and urgent and absolutely forbidden.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned. “So fucking tight.”
He was hitting so fast and rough and didn’t notice the condom had broken. The pleasure was insane.
Her orgasm built fast, a pressure that started at her core and radiated outward. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, tasting blood from biting her own lip.
“Come,” he commanded.
She did. Hard and sudden, her muscles clenching around him as pleasure ripped through her body. She bit down on his neck to keep from screaming.
He followed seconds later, his hips jerking erratically as he finished inside her, his breath harsh against her ear. For a moment, they stayed pressed together, both breathing hard, still connected.
Then he pulled away.
His expression was already closing off, back to the nonchalant ceo. He fixed his pants with mechanical precision while she slid down the wall, her legs shaking so badly she could barely stand.
“That didn’t happen,” he said quietly.
Her heart dropped in her stomach. “Marcus”
“Go home. It’s Christmas holiday, see you at work next week, make sure you’re early.” He didn’t look at her. “This won’t happen again.”
He left before she could respond, his footsteps disappearing up the stairs.
Elara sat alone on the concrete, her dress torn, his marks on her skin, and realized she’d just made the worst decision of her life.
It was 1 week later when she bought the first pregnancy test.
Then four more after that just to be sure.
Shit!!! what the fuck have i done.
