Page 6 of Claimed By the Ruthless King

Very over exaggerated, but what says goes when it comes to this man.

I note the wet paper towels in my hand, knowing I need to get started, but one glance at his crotch tells me to abort this completely. If gossip spreads, this could be taken very far out of context.

“All due respect, sir, the coffee spilled in your lap.”

“Indeed.

“I think it would be inappropriate to clean you in this instance.”

“What is inappropriate about it?” Mr. Moretti tilts his head to the side, watching me carefully. “Cleaning the mess you made is necessary, Miss Bennett, not inappropriate in the slightest.”

“Would it still be necessary if, say, Robert spilled the coffee?” I bite my lip, playing a fucking dangerous game here by questioning Mr. Moretti. Never question the hand that feeds you.

“Robert is a lot more careful than you are,” says Mr. Moretti, his piercing eyes setting me on fire.

Wetness drips down my pussy as I glance at his crotch, my body wanting nothing more than to be penetrated, to be used, taken control of.

“Forget about everyone else for a moment, Miss Bennet,” he begins. “Noise impacts our ability to make rational decisions a lot of the time. If I listened to the noise, taking other peoples’ opinions on board, disregarding my own, I would’ve walked down a very different path. And you know where that path would have led me, Miss Bennett?” He pauses, allowing me time to answer.

I shrug. “I’m not sure, sir. Where?”

“Into a contract working for someone else.”

I stare into his eyes, forgetting about desire for a moment. “What exactly are you saying, sir?”

“You listen to everyone else, you end up like everyone else,” says Mr. Moretti, studying me hard. “I hired you for a reason, Miss Bennett, because you stood out of the crowd. Your ability to make decisions away from everyone else, challenging opinions, showing strong leadership skills, impressed me right from day one. But now you stand here dripping water onto the floor, hesitating as you allow the opinions of others to control your life.” He continues, his gaze boring into mine. “Take a look around you, Miss Bennett. Do you see any people watching?”

I grind my jaw, my heart beating out of my chest. This is the first time he’s ever alluded to the idea of us breaking physical boundaries.

“The workplace is an entirely different world for a woman.”

Mr. Moretti bows his head modestly, understanding. “Perhaps, but once again, Miss Bennett, you’re allowing yourself to be controlled by opinions, by external force, when everything you could ever possibly need is right here.” He taps his heart, narrowing his eyes down on me. “For the last time, please wipe this coffee from my pants. If you would prefer, I can fetch someone else, perhaps Sandra from HR?”

The son-of-a-bitch.

I scoff, shaking my head. This man is fucking impossible. But he’s also right. We’re alone up here, isolated away from the rest of the building. A key card is needed in order to access this top floor, which very few people possess. I’m one of the lucky few who has access.

Mr. Moretti won’t tell a soul, since he clearly values the work I do for him.

And besides, I still intend to hand in my resignation once we leave here. Even if gossip spreads, it’ll be too late. I’ll have another job, another boss.

I let the adrenaline take over, biting my lip as I go in with the paper towels.

Mr. Moretti sits behind his desk, legs spread out long beneath him. The bulge in his pants is obvious. My breath catches as I estimate his size, if he could even fit inside me, and how that might make me feel.

Sex is something I engage in casually to fill the time. Sapphire and I go out on the weekends and hook up with guys, filling each other in the next morning. The debrief is always more exciting than the sex as we laugh together, explaining in detail how our nights went. The men we choose to date always overcompensate on the tongue, undercompensating on foreplay. While I enjoy feeling chosen for the night, going back with a guy and sometimes getting an orgasm out of it, sex has never massively filled my cup.

Perhaps that’s because there’s never any lead up to it.

Adrenaline thumps through my body as I place my hands on Mr. Moretti’s thighs, crossing a line I’ve always known was there.

But I also have always wanted Mr. Moretti.

This was never about the fucking paper towels. Looking into Mr. Moretti’s eyes, reading his face, I allow my hands to drift, edging closer to the bulge.

My breath catches, my hands pausing at the tops of his thighs.

I pin him another look, his eyes shining the most radiant shade of green, giving me that fucking light to continue, to potentially fuck up my career.