Tyrone stood at the top of his empire—6’2″ of pure dominance wrapped in a tailored charcoal suit. Sharp eyes, smooth voice, and a commanding presence that made boardrooms go silent. His company, King Enterprises, ruled the skyline downtown, but what the press didn’t know was that behind the sleek glass walls of the 32nd floor, power wasn’t just exercised in the boardroom.

There were women in his office—smart, capable, ambitious. But some of them couldn’t ignore the way he watched them. His gaze wasn’t lecherous; it was assessing. Calculated. Like he knew every weakness they tried to hide… and how to tease it to the surface.

His newest executive assistant, Jasmin, was no exception. Sharp-tongued and even sharper dressed, she swore she wouldn’t fall into the same traps the others had. But when Tyrone called her into his office late one night, the city lights casting shadows on his strong jawline, she felt her resolve crack.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes dark and slow-trailing over her figure.
“You’ve been performing well, Jasmin…” His voice was velvet over steel.
“But I need to see how well you handle pressure. Up close.”

Her breath hitched. The tension between them had been building for weeks. Glances. Smirks. Close whispers that lingered a little too long.
“Sir…” she started, her voice soft, cautious.
He stood. Closed the space between them in two slow steps.
“Drop the ‘sir,’ Jasmin,” he murmured, his hand trailing lightly along her waist. “If you want to work this close to me… I expect full obedience.”

Jasmin’s chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. She wasn’t used to being at anyone’s mercy—she ran meetings, closed deals, and put men twice her age in their place. But Tyrone? He didn’t ask for power. He took it.

His fingertips brushed her hip, firm but not hurried. “You’ve been testing me, Jasmin. The heels. The attitude. The late-night glances.”

“I wasn’t—”

His hand slid to her lower back, pulling her gently but firmly against his chest. “Don’t lie to me. You wanted this. From the moment you walked into my office in that tight little pencil skirt.”

Jasmin didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Her body betrayed her—pressing into him, lips parting just enough to tempt.

Then his mouth was on hers. Rough. Claiming. One hand gripping her waist, the other in her hair, pulling her head back just enough to make her gasp.

He whispered against her throat, “Close the door, Jasmin. Lock it. Then get on your knees.”

Tyrone’s game wasn’t limited to assistants. He had his eye on Ava, the company’s gorgeous new marketing director. Tall, curvy, with caramel skin and a brilliant mind, Ava didn’t fall for flattery—but she had a weakness for power.

At the last company retreat, she caught him watching her across the pool deck. Dark sunglasses couldn’t hide the heat in his stare.

Later that night, she found herself alone in the elevator with him, the tension thick.

“I hear your department hit its targets early,” Tyrone said smoothly.

“We exceeded them.” Ava folded her arms, defiant.

“I like a woman who knows her worth,” he said, stepping closer, his voice low. “But I wonder if you know how valuable you are to me.”

Their bodies were inches apart. His fingers brushed the hem of her dress—barely there, like a promise.

“You should stop,” she warned.

“I don’t stop unless someone tells me firmly.”
He leaned in. “And I don’t think you’re ready to tell me no.”

The third was a wild card. Maya, a twenty-one-year-old intern with big eyes and an innocent smile. She was off-limits. HR made that clear. But when she bent over in the break room, accidentally flashing just a hint of lace—Tyrone knew she was playing a dangerous game.

He never touched her. Not yet.

But he looked. And she noticed.

Maya began staying later. Leaving coffee on his desk. Asking for “extra guidance.”

One day, he cornered her by the copier. Alone. His voice barely above a whisper.

“You keep tempting me, Maya.”

“I just want to learn,” she said, eyes wide.

He smirked. “Then let’s start your private lessons. After hours.”



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