The champagne flute is cold in my hand. My knuckles are white. The office Christmas party is a sea of forced smiles and expensive fabric, but all I see is him.
Mr. Blackwood.
My CEO. My nightmare. My obsession.
He stands near the fireplace, a dark island in the room. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in a suit that costs more than my student loans. His hair is raven black, sharp at the sides. Silver threads catch the light at his temples. A sign of his power. A sign of his age.
He is old enough to be my father.
God, that thought sends a jolt of electricity straight to my core. I'm just an intern. I bring him coffee. I fix his typos. I watch him from the shadows of the conference room, hoping he won't notice the way my nipples harden when he barks orders.
He notices everything.
His eyes snap to me.
Ice blue. Cold. Piercing.
The air leaves my lungs. My stomach drops. I want to run. I want to crawl into his lap and beg for attention. Both urges fight for dominance, and lust wins, messy and shameful.
He takes a step forward. The crowd parts like the Red Sea. No one dares speak to him. No one dares breathe near him.
He's terrifying.
He's the most beautiful man I've ever seen.
"Miss," he murmurs as he reaches me. His voice is a low rumble that vibrates in my chest. "You look nervous."
I swallow. My throat is dry. "Mr. Blackwood. I was just…"
Words fail. I reach out to steady myself against the table. My elbow juts out. The champagne flute tips.
Time slows.
Gold liquid floods the pristine white of his trousers. It stains the expensive fabric, dark and spreading. A puddle forms at his polished oxfords.
The room goes silent. The band stops playing. Everyone stares.
I'm going to be fired. I'm going to be ruined. Tears prick my eyes.
Before I can stammer an apology, a hand clamps around my wrist.
His grip is iron. Unyielding. Possessive.
"Come," he commands.
He doesn't yell. He doesn't scold. He just pulls.
He drags me away from the staring eyes, through the heavy double doors of his office. The door slams shut behind us, locking with a click that sounds like a verdict.
The room is vast. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city lights. A massive mahogany desk dominates the space. He shoves me inside, not hard, but with enough force to make me stumble.
He turns. His face is a mask of fury. Jaw tight. Eyes blazing.
"You clumsy thing," he growls.
"I'm sorry, sir. I'll pay for the cleaning. I didn't mean—"
He crosses the room in two strides. He looms over me. I have to crane my neck to look up at him. The scent of him hits me. Cedar. Expensive whiskey. And something darker. Masculine. Dominant.
He grabs my chin. His thumb presses against my lip. He's checking for tears. Or tasting me.
"You made a mess," he says. His voice drops an octave. It turns thick. Rough. "You need to clean it up."
My breath hitches. My knees go weak.
This isn't what I expected.
I look at the stain. Then I look at his crotch. The champagne soaked through the wool. The outline of his cock is visible. Thick. Heavy. Hard.
He's already hard.
A flush of heat floods my body. My pussy clenches, wet and aching.
"Down," he orders.
He sits on the edge of his desk, spreading his legs. He gestures to his lap. To the stain. To the bulge straining against his trousers.
"On your knees."
Instalove crashes over me like a wave. There's no room for hesitation. No room for fear. He is my Daddy. My Alpha. My God.
I sink to the carpet. The silk of my skirt pools around me. I crawl forward. The position is degrading. Perfect.
"Good girl," he purrs. His hand slides into my hair. He grips the roots, tilting my head back.
I look at him. Really look at him. His eyes are molten blue now. The ice is gone. Only hunger remains.
"You've been watching me, kitten," he says. It's not a question. "Every day. I felt your eyes on me."
"Yes," I whisper. The truth spills out. "I wanted you. I wanted your cock. I wanted to be yours."
A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest. He loves it. He craves the worship.
He unbuckles his belt. The sound echoes in the quiet room. He unbuttons his trousers with sharp, efficient tugs. He pushes the fabric and his underwear down just enough.
His cock bounces free.
My mouth waters. It's huge. Veiny. The tip is weeping pre-cum. It throbs with need. It's perfect.
He grabs my hand. He wraps my fingers around the shaft. I gasp. The heat radiates off him. It's thick and hard as stone.
"Fuck," he groans. His hips buck forward. "You have a talented hand."
"I want to taste you, Daddy," I beg.
The word slips out. I don't mean to. It just happens. He is Daddy. He owns me.
His grip on my hair tightens. "Say that again."
"You're my Daddy."
He pulls my head forward. He guides my mouth to the tip. The taste is salty. Musky. Divine.
I open my mouth and take him in.
He groans, his fingers tangling in my hair. He's hard. So hard. He pushes past my lips, stretching my mouth. I gag slightly but swallow. I take him deep. My tongue swirls around the head. I suck.
He thrusts his hips. Slow at first. Then harder. He's using my mouth. He's fucking my face with the same dominance he uses to run this company.
My mind goes blank. There's only him. Only the wet slide of his cock against my tongue. Only the way he fills my senses.
I'm his. I'm his. I'm his.
He pulls out with a wet pop. I whine. I need more.
He lifts me up. My feet hit the floor, but he has my waist in his hands. He spins me around. His chest presses against my back. His cock drags up my thigh.
"Desk," he commands. "Get on the desk."
I scramble up. The mahogany is smooth and cold. I lie on my stomach, burying my face in his armchair. I arch my back. I present myself.
He kicks off his shoes. He steps between my legs.
"Skirt up," he says.
I hike the fabric to my waist. I pull my panties to the side. My pussy is exposed. It's dripping. My juices soak his trousers where he stands.
He spreads my legs wider. His hands roam my hips. He presses his cock against my entrance. The head rubs over my clit. I whimper.
"I'm going to breed you," he says. His voice is raw. Possessive. "I'm going to fill you with my cum. You're going to carry my baby."
"Please," I sob. "Use me. Make me yours."
He thrusts.
He splits me open.
I cry out. He's so big. He stretches me to the limit. He hits my cervix. The pain is sharp, then instantly transforms into blinding pleasure. He's perfect. He fits. He was made for my pussy.
He pulls back and slams home.
Deep.
He fucking deep-fucks me.
The desk groans under our weight. I grip the leather chair. My knuckles turn white. Every thrust sends waves of ecstasy through my body. He's relentless.
"Mine," he growls. He bites the back of my neck. Hard. A mark. A claim. "You belong to me now. No more intern. You're my woman. My breeding sow."
"Yes, Daddy!" I scream. "I'm yours! Only yours!"
He grabs my hips. His fingers dig into my soft flesh. He pulls me back onto his cock. He's pounding me. Fast. Hard. Deep.
My pussy clamps down around him. My walls squeeze his shaft. I'm so wet I'm slicking his cock with my juices. Every thrust makes a sloppy sound. Wet. Filthy.
He's breeding me. I can feel it. His seed is hot. Heavy. He wants to fill my womb. He wants to plant his seed deep inside me.
"I'm close," he warns. His voice strains. "You're going to cum with me, kitten. You're going to shake."
I nod. I can't speak. The pleasure is too intense. He's hitting my sweet spot over and over. My orgasm builds like a tide.
He thrusts harder. Faster. He's a machine. A beast.
"Say you're pregnant!" he demands.
"Yes!" I scream. "I'm pregnant! I feel it! I'm filled with your cum!"
"Good girl!"
He slams home and holds himself there. He grinds his hips. I feel his cock pulse. I feel the hot jets of his cum pumping into me.
He's filling me.
Deep in my belly. My womb. My ovaries.
His cum is thick. Copious. It floods my pussy. It spills out around his cock. I can feel it warming me. Claiming me.
A flutter. A spark. Right where our bodies join.
Pregnant.
Instantly.
His sperm is potent. Magical. It's taking root. I know it. He knows it.
He groans. A long, ragged sound. He empties himself completely inside me. He pumps wave after wave of seed. He's marking me. He's branding me with his baby.
I shake with my own orgasm. My pussy spasms around his cock. My juices mix with his cum. We're a mess. A perfect, breeding mess.
He stays buried. His chest heaves against my back. His arms wrap around me. He holds me tight.
We stay like that for a long time. Joined. Connected. Breathless.
Slowly, he pulls out. A mix of our fluids leaks from my stretched pussy. He watches it with satisfaction.
He turns me over. He lifts me onto his lap. I straddle him. My ass rests on his thighs. He cups my face.
His eyes are soft now. The fury is gone. Only devotion remains.
He kisses me. Hard. Deep. His tongue claims my mouth. He tastes himself on my lips. He loves it.
"Mia," he whispers. "My Mia."
He knows my name. He always knew my name.
He pulls back. His thumb strokes my cheek. "You're pregnant."
I touch my stomach. It feels warm. Already full. Already alive. "Yes, Daddy. I'm carrying your baby."
A smile breaks across his face. Rare. Beautiful. Dangerous.
"Good," he says. "That's exactly what I wanted. You'll stay in my office. You'll wear my ring. You'll be my wife. My queen."
He stands. He lifts me with him. He carries me to the massive leather sofa by the fire. He sits and pulls me onto his lap again. He holds me like I'm the most precious thing in the world.
Christmas is over.
But our life is just beginning.
He kisses my forehead. He kisses my belly.
"Welcome home, baby," he murmurs. "We have a lot of growing to do."
I rest my head on his chest. I listen to his heartbeat. It's steady. Strong.
I'm safe. I'm claimed. I'm pregnant.
And I'm never letting go.
"Daddy," I whisper.
He holds me tighter. "Always, my love. Always."