Forbidden Office Hours: Intern's Silver Boss

I remember the first time Marcus Hale looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole. It was my third week as an intern at Hale Capital, and I was twenty-two, fresh out of my junior year, wearing a charcoal pencil skirt that hugged my ass a little too tightly for office standards. He was forty-eight, silver-haired, broad-shouldered, with the kind of deep, commanding voice that made my thighs clench every time he spoke my name. Sophie.

The office emptied out by seven most nights, but Marcus worked late, and so did I. I told myself it was dedication. Really, it was the way his eyes followed me when I bent over the filing cabinet or crossed my legs at my desk just outside his glass-walled office. The tension had been building for weeks—charged glances, his hand brushing the small of my back when he leaned over my screen to point something out, the way his cologne lingered on my skin long after he walked away. I was soaked by the time I got home every night, fucking myself with my fingers while imagining his thick cock stretching me open.

That night, the rest of the floor had gone dark. I was organizing quarterly reports at my desk when his voice cut through the silence.

“Sophie. My office. Now.”

My pulse spiked. I smoothed my skirt, checked the top button of my cream silk blouse, and walked in on shaky legs. Marcus sat behind his massive oak desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled up to reveal powerful forearms dusted with silver hair. The city lights glittered behind him like a crown.

“Close the door,” he said.

I did. The click sounded final.

He didn’t speak right away. Those piercing gray eyes dragged over me—lingering on the swell of my breasts, the curve of my hips, the way the pencil skirt clung to my thighs. My nipples tightened against my bra.