The CEO's Forbidden Fling - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

That evening, I waited in the plush hotel suite for my married lover, the air thick with anticipation.
The silk robe slipped from my shoulders as I checked my reflection for the tenth time—adjusting a curl, biting my lips to redden them.
Then the door crashed open.
A stranger strode in—tall, broad-shouldered, with a predator’s gaze that scorched over my barely covered body.
"You're not Vincent," I gasped, clutching the robe closed.
His laugh was dark as he kicked the door shut. "No, sweetheart. Tonight, I'm whoever you want me to be."
Wrong room. Wrong man.
And suddenly, my sugar daddy’s infidelity was the least of my problems.
My name is Vanessa Roland, the most forgettable clerk at a multinational corporation—and the secret plaything of my thirty-year-old boss.
I wasn’t hired for my brains or my résumé. I kept this job because of what I could do on my knees.
I developed early.
While other girls were still in training bras, I needed full support just to keep from knocking myself out during gym class.
Early curves came with their own problems. Men stared. Women whispered.
I joined this company to land a sugar daddy. Unfortunately, my boss didn’t do commitment—just transactions. Money for youth, power for pleasure.
I was fine with that.
Six months in, I’d gained plenty.
Our rendezvous always happened in five-star suites. He spoiled me with monthly payments and random jewelry—his way of keeping me on a leash.
His only rule? No other men.
I agreed easily. The only downside? His calls were rare, leaving me restless. But the perks? Impeccable.
Tonight, as instructed, I left work early and swiped my keycard at the suite.
The round bed was strewn with rose petals.
I showered fast, slipping into the lingerie I’d packed—black lace clinging to my porcelain skin, the neckline plunging dangerously. One wrong move and everything would spill out.
The stockings stopped just below my hips, framing long legs and a backside that begged to be touched.
I twisted before the mirror, admiring the way the fabric hugged every sinful curve.
Then it hit me—my boss only summoned me once a month.
What a damn waste.
With a sigh, I sank onto the bed to wait.
Ten minutes later, the doorbell rang.
I sprang up, flinging the door open and leaping into his arms, legs locking around his waist.
I shut my eyes, bracing for his usual stern expression.
But the hands that caught me were rough—calloused palms scraping my thighs.
Wait—
My boss had soft, manicured hands. These weren’t his.
My eyes flew open.
The man holding me was in his early twenties—all corded muscle and tanned skin. The raw scent of sweat and pure testosterone hit me like a drug.
I froze.
His grip tightened, fingers digging into my backside. A bolt of electricity shot straight through me.
My mouth went dry. Heat pooled between my thighs, soaking the flimsy thong.
I shoved him away, scrambling down. My heart hammered in my throat.
Before I could speak, he kicked the door shut behind him.
"Damn, you’re a vision," he growled. "But I like mine with claws."
He hauled me over his shoulder, heading straight for the bed.
"Put me down! Who the hell are you?"
I pounded his back, torn between panic and something far more dangerous—wanting him to keep going.
The thought of his hard body pinning me down sent a flush over my skin. But if my boss walked in now—
Catching me with another man? He’d destroy me.
With his money, my life would be over.
Before I could react, he yanked the thong down. A slick strand clung to my ankle.
"Already this wet?" He smirked. "Perfect."
A sharp smack landed on my ass. Pain and pleasure crackled through me.
"Who the hell are you?" I demanded, breathless.