The fluorescent lights buzzed like angry hornets overhead, casting long shadows across the empty bullpen. It was Alex Reed's first day as an intern at Voss Enterprises, and already he was pulling overtime. Not that he minded—much. Landing a spot under Damian Voss himself was the kind of break that made his college loans feel almost worth it. The man was a legend: thirty-five, built like a Greek statue in Armani, with a reputation for turning startups into empires overnight. And straight as a board, if the tabloids were to be believed. Engaged to Victoria Lang, the supermodel heiress. Alex had seen the photos—her draped over his arm at galas, him flashing that rare, predatory smile that made investors wet their pants.
Alex adjusted his glasses, wiping sweat from his brow as he wrestled with the ancient printer in the copy room. "Come on, you relic," he muttered, yanking at the jammed paper tray. The machine groaned in protest, spitting out half a sheet of the quarterly report he'd been tasked with duplicating. It was past nine, the office a ghost town except for the faint hum of the AC and the occasional click of heels from the executive floor above. Damian had barked the order at five: "Get these collated by morning, Reed. No excuses." His voice had been like gravel over ice—cold, unyielding. Alex's stomach had flipped, but he chalked it up to nerves. First-day jitters.
He knelt down, peering into the guts of the printer, his tie dangling loose. That's when the door swung open behind him. Alex froze, heart slamming against his ribs. Footsteps—measured, authoritative—approached. A shadow fell over him, blocking the light.
"Problems, intern?"
Damian's voice. Alex scrambled to his feet, nearly toppling the machine. "Mr Voss! I—uh, it's just jammed. I'll have it fixed in a sec."
Damian loomed there, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing corded forearms that spoke of hours in a private gym. His arctic-blue eyes flicked from Alex to the printer, then back. No fiancée in sight tonight. "At this rate, you'll be here till dawn. Move."
Alex stepped aside, cheeks burning. Damian crouched with surprising grace for a man his size—six-four, easy—and reached into the tray. His fingers worked deftly, pulling out crumpled sheets. But as he did, his shoulder brushed Alex's thigh. Accidental? Alex's breath hitched. The air in the cramped room thickened, charged with something he couldn't name.
"There," Damian said, straightening. He held out the freed paper, but his gaze lingered on Alex's flushed face. "You're new. Reed, right? Eager to impress?"
"Yes, sir." Alex took the sheet, their fingers grazing. A spark jumped—static from the carpet, maybe. Or not. Damian didn't pull away. Instead, he stepped closer, crowding Alex against the machine. The heat from his body was palpable, like standing too near a furnace.
"You smell like coffee and desperation," Damian murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "It's... intriguing."
Alex's mind blanked. Was this a joke? Hazing the newbie? But Damian's eyes darkened, pupils blowing wide. Before Alex could process, Damian's hand shot out, gripping his tie and yanking him forward. Their chests collided. "Sir—"
"Quiet." Damian's other hand clamped over Alex's mouth, muffling the protest. His palm was rough, callused in ways that screamed control. Alex's glasses fogged from the hot breath trapped against them. Panic warred with a twisted thrill in his gut. This couldn't be happening. Damian Voss was straight. Engaged. Untouchable.
But the evidence pressing against Alex's hip said otherwise—hard, insistent, and very much not straight.
Damian's lips curled into a smirk that sent shivers racing down Alex's spine. "You've been watching me all day, Reed. Don't deny it." He leaned in, breath ghosting Alex's ear. "Think I didn't notice?"
Alex shook his head frantically, but his body betrayed him, his hips twitching forward involuntarily. Damian chuckled, low and dangerous. "Good boy. Now, turn around."
What? Alex's brain short-circuited. But Damian's grip on his tie tightened, spinning him like a puppet. Alex's palms slapped against the printer's warm surface, as presented like an offering. His slacks tented embarrassingly—why was this turning him on? He'd never... not with a guy. Not with anyone, really. Virgin territory, and his boss was about to claim it.
---[EXPLICIT]---
Damian's free hand snaked around, popping Alex's belt buckle with practised ease. "Stay quiet," he growled, "or the whole floor hears you come." The zipper rasped down, cool air hitting Alex's skin as his pants pooled at his ankles. Damian's fingers dipped into his boxers, wrapping around Alex's aching length. A stroke—firm, unyielding—and Alex bit his lip to stifle a moan.
"Fuck, you're responsive," Damian muttered, almost to himself. His own erection ground against Alex's ass through layers of fabric, a promise of more. He pumped Alex slowly at first, building rhythm, thumb circling the tip to smear pre-cum. Alex's knees buckled, but Damian's arm banded around his waist, holding him up. "That's it. Take what I give you."
The copy room spun. Alex's glasses slipped down his nose, but he didn't dare adjust them. Damian's breath was ragged now, control fraying. He shoved Alex's boxers lower, exposing him fully. Then, with a rustle, Damian freed himself—Alex caught a glimpse in the reflective glass door: thick, veined, every inch the rumour mill promised. Nine inches of boardroom closer, indeed.
Damian spat into his palm, slicking himself before pressing the head against Alex's entrance. "Breathe," he commanded, and pushed in—slow, inexorable. Pain bloomed, sharp and burning, but mingled with a fullness that made Alex's toes curl. He whimpered, the sound muffled by Damian's hand.
"Shh, intern. You're mine now." Damian bottomed out, hips flush against Alex's peach-soft ass. He paused, letting Alex adjust, then started thrusting—deep, measured strokes that hit spots Alex didn't know existed. The printer rattled with each impact, papers scattering like confetti.
Alex's world narrowed to the stretch, the slide, the filthy wet sounds echoing in the room. Damian's tie loosened further, and in a flash, he wrapped it around Alex's wrists, binding them behind his back. "No touching yourself. You come from this alone."
The command tipped Alex over. His orgasm crashed through him, vision whiting out as he spilt onto the floor, body clenching around Damian. That set the CEO off—Damian groaned, low and guttural, burying himself deep as he came, filling Alex with heat.
They sagged against the machine, panting. Damian pulled out gently, tucking himself away before untying Alex. "Clean up," he said, voice back to its icy clip. "And Reed? This stays between us."
Alex nodded numbly, pulling up his pants. As Damian strode out, a strange ping echoed in Alex's mind—like a notification alert.
**[Straight-Façade System Activated. User: Alex Reed. Target: Damian Voss. Level 1 Unlocked: Overtime Access. Submission Points: +10. Perk: Silent Orgasm Skill. Warning: Façade Integrity 95% – Maintain Secrecy or Risk Exposure.]**
What the hell? Alex blinked at the floating text, visible only to him. A tiny mascot appeared—a floating necktie with cartoon eyes, winking. "Congrats on your first merger, rookie! Call me Tie. Let's climb that corporate ladder—one thrust at a time."
Alex's phone buzzed: a text from Damian. *My office. Now. Bring the reports... and knee pads.*
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Alex alone with the mess—and a hunger he couldn't ignore. Tomorrow's overtime just got a lot more interesting. But what if someone found out?
**[Overtime Alert: 9 AM Board Meeting. Location: Executive Elevator. Penalty for Tardiness: Blue Balls Meter +50%.]**
The system pinged again, freezing his arousal at a teasing 99%. Alex groaned. This was just the beginning.