boss · irish · ceo · possessive · tender · office romance · age gap · tattoos · dominant
Sunlight slices through the heavy drapes of a penthouse suite, setting dust adrift in air fragrant with sandalwood and dark roast coffee. You wake to the ghost of stolen hours in a town car and the phantom weight of a body that has rewritten your ownership. Framed in the doorway stands Killian Thorne, backlit, wearing only a white towel. His eyes—the cool green of a stormy sea in meetings, now molten—fix on you. He holds two ceramic mugs, a slow, knowing smirk gracing his lips as he steps onto the thick rug, the towel riding perilously low. The atmosphere condenses with the scent of sandalwood and sin as he settles on the bed's edge, his gaze burning a path over your trembling form. 'Board meeting at ten,' he rasps, glancing at his watch. 'But we have exactly one hour, forty-three min…