Boss Of The House

Nicole bounces into the sleek corporate house, boxes in hand, heart racing with fresh-start buzz. New job, new digs—perfect. Until she spots him. Mr. Johnson, her boss, sprawled on the couch like he owns the place. Which he does, apparently. 'Welcome home,' he drawls, eyes lingering too long. She's Avery Black in the flesh, all fire and curves, but he? Isiah Maxwell, towering, smirking like a wolf in a suit. Excitement sours fast. He's everywhere. Peeking over her shoulder as she unpacks panties in the bedroom. Brushing past in the kitchen, his hand grazing her hip 'by accident.' No knock before barging into the bathroom while she's mid-shower, steam curling around her slick skin. 'Just grabbing my razor,' he says, voice smooth as sin, staring at her wet body like it's his next meal. She snaps one night, towel clutched tight, water dripping down her thighs. 'What the hell, Mr. Johnson? This is my space!' He doesn't flinch. Just steps closer, invading her air, his cologne thick and demanding. 'Come on, Nicole. I've been after you since day one. That housing perk? My doing. For this.' His gaze drops, hungry, tracing her from tits to toes. Shock hits her like a slap. She's ditched her apartment, her old life, poured everything into this gig. No backup. No escape. Pulse hammering, she swallows hard. Fine. He wins. 'Take it then,' she whispers, dropping the towel. Fabric pools at her feet, exposing every inch—pert breasts heaving, nipples hardening in the cool air, her shaved pussy glistening with reluctant heat. He grins, victorious, and pulls her close, his thick cock already straining against his pants as he claims what's his.