Playing Fire with My Ice-King BOSS: V-Card for One Night, Ring Forever - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Isabelle's POV
I woke up in a bed that definitely wasn't mine.
Blinking through the haze of what had to be the world's worst hangover, I tried to piece together where the hell I was.
Last night was supposed to be just another department happy hour. I'd had a few drinks—okay, maybe more than a few.
And then...
My Boss Jeremiah Winslet took my V-card.
The memories hit me like a freight train.
I still remembered how I somehow ended up in the presidential suite—with Jeremiah himself holding the door.
We barely made it past the door before he hoisted me onto the cold marble countertop in the suite’s fancy-ass kitchen.
I was drunk, reckless, and feeling bold as hell. I grabbed his tie, pulled him close, my lips brushing his ear.
"Jere, quit playing the saint," I slurred, voice dripping with desire.
"Your dick’s practically begging to bury inside me."
My fingers tore at his shirt, buttons flying, exposing his ripped chest.
My hands slid over his skin, hot as a furnace, and it set me on fire.
Jeremiah’s eyes filled with desire, a low growl roaring from his throat.
"Belly, you’re fucking asking for it."
He ripped my stockings to shreds, the fabric tearing loud enough to echo, baring my thighs.
My panties were gone in a second, and his dick—hard and pulsing—slammed into my pussy, tight and wet, making him hiss through clenched teeth.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, moaning, but the sharp sting of my first time hit hard.
"Jeremiah... bed... get me to the bed, this hurts..."
I gasped, my voice raw, torn between pain and this insane need, my hips still rocking against his thrusts.
He didn’t stop, just gripped my ass and kept fucking me, carrying me toward the bedroom.
Every step drove his dick deeper, the rhythm making my head spin. I bit my lip, moans spilling out, half-screaming,
"Fuck, Jeremiah, you’re so goddamn deep..."
It hurt, but the pleasure was drowning it out, pulling me under.
We crashed into the bedroom, and he tossed me onto the plush bed, pulling out suddenly.
My pussy ached, empty, and I was pissed.
My face burned as I propped myself up, voice hoarse and desperate. "Jeremiah, get back in! I want you DEEP in ME, NOW!"
My legs spread wide, drunk and needy, not giving a damn how I sounded.
He cursed, turning to grab a condom, but I wasn...t having it.
"No condom, Jeremiah," I snapped, my voice pure filth. "Fuck me raw—shoot it all in me!" It was like throwing gasoline on a fire.
He growled, "You little vixen..." and pounced, yanking my legs up to wrap around his waist.
His dick slammed back into my pussy, so hard it felt like he’.d split me open.
I screamed, "Fuck me! God, yes, give it to me!"
My nails clawed his back, my body shaking as pleasure hit like a freight train.
I was lost, drowning in it. The next second, Jeremiah groaned, his release flooding me, hot and overwhelming.
My mind blanked, the intensity fucking me into oblivion, and I blacked out...
I jolted fully awake, cutting off that train of thought immediately.
I just needed to get out of this place as quickly as possible.
My white blouse was on the floor, completely shredded. Could I even wear this out? The fabric was torn beyond repair.
With trembling hands, I tossed the ruined garment aside. On the bedside chair sat a clean outfit—clearly left by him. A professional skirt suit that obviously wasn't mine, probably bought as an afterthought to deal with the situation.
I hurriedly put it on, though the clothes felt foreign against my skin.
Looking in the mirror, I noticed my neck was pristine, but everything below my collarbone told a different story entirely.
How thoughtful of him to keep all the evidence hidden.
Wouldn't want anyone knowing the ice-cold CEO had actually slept with someone, right?
I grabbed my purse from the nightstand and walked out.
Sure enough, this wasn't a hotel at all.
Opening the door revealed an enormous living room, and sitting there was a familiar figure that made my heart stop.
He was wearing headphones, lounging on the sofa with a pillow on his lap supporting his laptop. Dressed in black loungewear, he looked effortlessly casual yet somehow intimidating.
When he heard movement from the bedroom, he lifted those penetrating dark eyes to meet mine.
This man was my boss.
Jeremiah Winslet.
Wasn't he supposed to be the famously controlled, untouchable CEO? Based on last night's performance, his self-control seemed more like a starving wolf that had been caged for decades.
I stood there in shock, trying to find words, but Jeremiah spoke first.
"I'm on a call," he said quietly, his voice still rough from sleep.
I didn't dare make a sound, understanding exactly what he meant.
"Come here. Have breakfast." He leaned forward slightly, his elegant fingers pushing a glass of honey water across the coffee table toward another place setting.
What he didn't notice was that when he bent over, the camera caught a perfect view of the very obvious hickeys I'd left on his neck. I watched his executives' faces on the laptop screen, trying not to die of mortification.
Well, at least I'd left my mark.
I sat down shakily, my eyes darting everywhere except toward him, obediently sipping the honey water and eating the sandwich that matched his exactly.
The honey water was actually perfect for my cotton mouth, and the breakfast was way better than anything I could've managed this morning.
Better sweet than salt, isn’t it?
Jeremiah Winslet was famously cold—cold personality, cold temper, cold everything. So I'd definitely picked the wrong person to mess with.
Wrong place, wrong time, wrong freaking car apparently.
But still... he had to have known it was me, right? You don't just accidentally sleep with your employee and not realize who they are.
After about fifteen minutes, he wrapped up his meeting and finally started eating his own breakfast.
"Sorry about last night," he said, cutting into his sandwich with the same clinical precision he probably used in board meetings. "I didn't realize it was your first time. I was probably too rough."
I nearly choked on my milk. "I'm sorry, what?"
My heart started racing for reasons I couldn't explain. How could I possibly answer that?
I was completely speechless, unable to form any kind of rebuttal. This was the first time anyone had ever left me tongue-tied in a verbal sparring match.
If he weren't my boss, I would have torn him apart by now.
"The doctor's coming by in a few minutes. You should wait before you leave," he continued, finishing his breakfast in record time.
A doctor. Of course.
A one-night stand with immediate damage control. Was he worried I might be carrying his heir and threaten his empire?
"Dr. Castillo will just make sure you're okay. I need to get to the office today, so Gordon will drive you home after."
I quickly rejeced, "Mr. Winslet, I can get home myself. It's really not necessary—"
"Are you saying I didn't take good enough care of you last night?" He raised an eyebrow with what almost looked like hurt in his expression.
"That's not what I—"
The way he said it, with just the slightest hint of something that might have been vulnerability, made my stomach flip.
"Mr. Winslet, Dr. Castillo is here," announced an older housekeeper who appeared nearby.
He didn't answer, just kept staring at me with those intense dark eyes.
I'd always known I was pretty—the brown hair and mixed features got me plenty of attention—but the way he was looking at me made me feel like I was on fire.
"Let's go," he said, standing up.
Walking back into that bedroom felt like entering a crime scene. The bed had been stripped and remade, but I could still picture everything that had happened there.
A middle-aged woman doctor came in, and Jeremiah stepped out, closing the door behind him.
I'd been expecting birth control or maybe a morning-after pill. Instead, Dr. Castillo wanted to examine me and apply some kind of topical treatment for the... aftermath.
I wanted to crawl under a rock and die. Having someone else assess the evidence of my night with my boss was beyond humiliating.
Though I had to admit, whatever she gave me did help with the soreness.
When I finally emerged, Jeremiah was gone. Only Gordon Spencer was waiting for me, leaning against a sleek black car with a knowing smirk.
Gordon and I had started at Winslet & Co. on the same day after graduating from Columbia together. He'd somehow landed the impossible job of being Jeremiah's personal assistant, which basically made him the second most powerful person in the company.
"Well, well," he said as I approached the car. "If it isn't the future Mrs. Winslet."
I wanted to disappear. "Don't."
"Oh, come on. I've been waiting for this conversation all morning." He opened the passenger door for me with exaggerated politeness. "Get in. We have so much to discuss."
Once we were both in the car, I stared out the window and mumbled, "I got in the wrong car last night, didn't I?"
"Wrong car, right outcome," Gordon said cheerfully, pulling out of the parking garage. "Want to hear the play-by-play?"
"Not really."
"Too bad. So there you were, completely wasted, stumbling into the wrong town car. The boss had been drinking too—which, by the way, I've literally never seen before. You took one look at him and just... launched yourself."
I groaned and covered my face with my hands.
"Called him your 'beautiful man' and started kissing him like your life depended on it. Ripped his shirt right off him. Buttons everywhere. I was honestly impressed."
"Please stop talking."
"The boss just sat there like a statue. You know how he is about people touching him. But you were not taking no for an answer."
"Gordon—"
"We were going to drop you at your apartment, but since you live alone and were completely out of it, boss man decided to take you home with him instead. You know, to make sure you were safe."
I peeked at him through my fingers. "Safe?"
"Safe," he repeated with a grin. "Though judging by the fact that you're walking a little funny and the boss had hickeys visible on his business call this morning, I'd say 'safe' is relative."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't. You love me because I'm the only one who knows all of Jeremiah Winslet's secrets, and now you're one of them."
I looked down at my unmarked neck in the side mirror. At least he'd had enough sense not to leave visible evidence.
"So," Gordon continued, "on a scale of one to ten, how was the ice king in bed?"
"I'm not answering that."
"That good, huh?"
I closed my eyes and tried to pretend this wasn't my life.
My boss—the famously untouchable, emotionally unavailable CEO—and I had apparently had mind-blowing sex, and now I had to figure out how to face him at work tomorrow.
This was either going to be the best mistake of my life or completely ruin my career.
Probably both.