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Chapter 174
Madison
The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped onto the executive floor. The office was quieter than usual, probably because I’d arrived earlier than normal. After yesterday’s chaos, I wanted to get a head start on the day.
I set my purse down at my desk and glanced toward Alexander’s office. I could see him already at his desk, focused on his computer screen. Of course, he’d beaten me here. The man probably never slept.
I smoothed down my pencil skirt, took a deep breath, and walked to his door, knocking lightly before
entering.
“Good morning, Mr. Knight,” I said, trying to sound professional despite the memories of our kiss in his car last night.
Alexander looked up, his eyes immediately traveling from my face down to my heels and back up again in a quick assessment that somehow made me feel both appreciated and undressed at the same
time.
“Madison,” he replied, his voice low and rich. “Sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you.” I walked further into his office. “How long have you been here?”
“A few minutes.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head.
The movement pulled his shirt tight across his chest, and I tried not to stare. I really did. But Alexander Knight’s stretching was like watching art in motion–impossible to ignore.
“You’re looking well this morning,” he said, his eyes doing another sweep of my outfit. “There’s something different about you. You’re practically glowing.”
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. “Good sleep, maybe? Amazing what eight hours can do after running on fumes.”
“Hmm. I suspect it might be more than just sleep. Perhaps good company last night?”
I rolled my eyes, trying to appear unaffected. “Yes, my pillow was excellent company. It was very supportive,”
He laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Careful with that sass, Miss Harper. You know what happens when you get too cheeky.”
“I’m trembling with fear, Mr. Knight,” I replied, but my voice betrayed me, coming out breathier
than intended.
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Alexander’s eyes darkened slightly. He stood up from his desk and walked around to lean against the front, arms crossed over his chest.
“We’re going shopping today,” he announced.
I blinked. “Shopping? Now? Why?”
“As the new project manager for the Manhattan property, you need a wardrobe upgrade. Something that commands respect the moment you walk into a room.”
“I have plenty of clothes,” I protested. “And you’ve already bought me enough to fill another closet.”
“Those were outfits,” he corrected. “This is about creating a professional image. You’ll have your own cabin in two days, and I need you looking the part.”
“My own cabin?” I repeated, surprised.
“Did you think you’d be managing a multi–million dollar project from your desk? You need space. Privacy.” His eyes gleamed. “Soundproofing.”
I ignored the implication. “But I don’t need more clothes. The ones I have are perfectly professional.”
“Professional for an assistant, yes. But you’re stepping into a management role now. The team needs to see you differently.”
“Can’t I just wear a sign that says ‘Respect Me, I’m the Boss Now‘?”
His lips twitched. “Tempting, but no. You’re getting new outfits, and it’s final.‘
11
I sighed, recognizing the tone. When Alexander Knight said something was “final,” arguing was like trying to move a mountain with a teaspoon. Pointless and exhausting.
“Alright, Mr. Knight. Whatever you say.” I crossed my arms, trying to look annoyed rather than flustered.
His eyes gleamed with victory. Without breaking eye contact, he reached for a small remote on his desk and pressed a button. The office blinds whirred closed behind me.
“Why are you closing the blinds now?” I asked, my heart rate picking up.
“Privacy,” he said simply, pushing away from his desk. “Can’t have the entire office watching what I’m about to do to you.”
My mouth went dry. “And what exactly are you planning to do?”
Instead of answering, he closed the distance between us in two long strides. His hands found my waist, and before I could process what was happening, he spun me around and pushed me against
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the wall beside his bookcase.
“Mr. Knight-“I started, but the rest of my protest died in my throat as his lips crashed down on
mine.
The kiss was hungry, demanding, his tongue immediately seeking entrance. I opened for him without hesitation, my body responding to his touch like it had been programmed to do so.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard.
“You look so fucking sexy in this outfit,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire.
“It’s just a normal outfit. One you bought for me, if I recall correctly.”
“I remember.” His hands slid down to cup my ass, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp. remember exactly how your ass looked in the dressing room mirror when you tried it on.
“I
Heat flooded my body at his words. His hands were firm and possessive, pulling me against him so I could feel his growing hardness through his pants.
“Weren’t we supposed to be going shopping?” I managed to say, my voice embarrassingly breathy.
“We will. After I get a little taste… and my morning coffee.”
Before I could respond, his mouth was on mine again, hungrier this time. His hands gripped my ass harder, lifting me up against the wall. I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist, my pencil skirt riding up to my thighs.
His hands slid under my skirt, fingers digging into the bare skin above my thigh–high stockings. When he discovered the thin lace of my panties, he made a sound of approval deep in his throat.
“Such a good girl, wearing exactly what I like,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the edge of my panties. “Were you thinking about me when you put these on this morning?”
“No,” I lied, gasping when he pinched my ass in response.
“Liar.” His voice was playful but commanding. “Your pussy gets wet just thinking about me, it?”
I bit my lip, refusing to answer.
doesn’t
“Say it,” he demanded, one finger sliding beneath my panties to trace my entrance. “Tell me how wet you get thinking about my cock.”
“Yes,” I admitted, my hips moving against his hand involuntarily. “I get wet thinking about you.”
“About my cock specifically,” he corrected, pushing one finger inside me so suddenly I cried out.
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Jesus, you’re soaked already.”
“We’re in your office,” I protested weakly, even as I rocked against his hand.
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“Acting like this is the first time I’ve fucked you here? We’ve lost count of how many times I’ve bent you over that desk, princess. And you’ve enjoyed every single one.”
My breath hitched as his finger curled inside me, hitting that perfect spot. “Yes,” I gasped, unable to deny it.
“Yes what?” He added a second finger, stretching me deliciously while his thumb found my clit.
“Yes, I’ve enjoyed it. Every time.”
“That’s more like it. Your pussy’s practically dripping for me already.”
Lucia Morh is a passionate storyteller who brings emotions to life through her words. When she’s not writing, she finds peace nurturing her garden.
