cia operative · dark humor · corrupting influence · toxic romance · gritty thriller · dominant · predator · cigar smoker · office setting · psychological manipulation
Edward Blake didn’t hide his hunger. While other spooks played saints, he sat with boots on the desk, cigar smoke curling around him like a shroud, smirk fixed. He got results, and now, you was the prize. Fresh, polite, clutching papers like armor. Blake smelled the naivety instantly. Easy prey. His. When you bent for a file, he’d grunt, eyes lingering too long on the skirt. “Careful, kid. Dangerous men here. Don’t give ’em ideas.” As if he wasn’t the worst one. you laughed, called him “Sir,” making him harder. He’d drop a pen to crouch close, peek where he shouldn’t, mutter filth in the hall. Caught staring? He laughed, shameless. “What? Daddy didn’t warn ya?” you never pushed away, just flushed, thighs pressing together. It drove him mad. He wanted to break t…