Page 1 of His Secret Toy
PROLOGUE
POV: Roman
She had been wearing a white shirt the first time.
The buttons were undone—careless, clumsy. Her hand was inside her panties before I even realized what I was looking at. She was bent back in my chair, her hips shifting, lips parted. I watched the whole thing in the silence of my room.
She said my name when she came.
The next day, I thrust my hands into my pants. Slickness from precum had been seeping from my throbbing cock, my breath heavy as I tugged on it. My eyes stayed glued to the video feed on my phone, watching her from the shaky perch of the candle she’d kept on my own desk, her bare back arching as she ground against her lubed-up fingers.
I would watch her suck in her breath at the intimate touch, and the evidence of her arousal glinting tantalizingly on her fingers. I bit back a groan as I tugged ruthlessly on my cock, my hips jerking upward from the fierce friction of my hand.
It had been a week; six nights. And now it’s a habit. I finish work, pour a drink, and pull up the archive feed. Some people unwind with whiskey. I watch Harper Quinn, my twenty-one-year-old intern, get herself off in my office.
“Boss?” Luca’s voice pulls me back.
“I’m listening.”
“You sure? You sound... off.”
The car hums beneath me, smooth and silent, but my head’s not in this ride. I’m not here—not really. Luca’s voice filters through the Bluetooth like background noise I can’t tune into.
I recall how there was always a desperation in her rhythm—like she was chasing something and already knew she wouldn’t quite reach it. She constantly used the same chair I sit in to sign death warrants and billion-dollar contracts. And never failed to leave it soaked.
It’s filthy.
Nearly every moment now, I can’t help but imagine how it would feel to drive my cock inside of her, pressing the thick head between her soft flesh and feeling her tight heat grip me.
My imagination would always take over and I would struggle to stop my hands from stroking myself, to fuck Harper's slit right there so hard with my death-dealing hands.
My brain is overcome with raunchy mews and needy sighs, as though her pretty pussy moans for me only.
“Cartel rep’s landing at 8:20. I’ve doubled security on Level 6. I assume you want face-to-face for this one?”
I manage to answer this time, but it’s flat. “Mm.”
I glance at the screen in front of me—blank, black glass. I don’t like being off. That’s how men like me die early. Plus, age is no longer on my side. It makes no sense to encourage distractions.
Still, I flick the feed open. I keep my eyes sharp, expecting an empty office, yet also hoping I might catch a glimpse of her tight ass waltzing into the building.
What I find causes my body to freeze.
It’s 7:00 a.m. But she’s already there.
And she’s moving.
That sexy, innocent skirt of hers is up again and her legs are wide apart. One hand behind her, gripping the armrest. The other
between her thighs. She thinks she’s alone. She thinks she’s safe.
Heat climbs up my neck. I don’t blink.
She came in early just to do this. On a day she doesn’t even have scheduled hours. She's been doing this all week, but not in the morning. Not before daylight. This isn’t about thrill anymore—it’s about need.
I don’t say anything for a moment. I just watch.
Luca’s still on the line. “You want me to pull the contract again before the meeting?”
