The office was nearly silent, the hum of the city beyond the glass walls a distant, muted thrum. Only the faint glow of the desk lamp and the soft, amber light of the cityscape cut through the darkness. You stepped in cautiously, heels clicking softly against the polished floor, your grey skirt brushing just above your mid-thigh, your yellow cotton shirt hugging your form in ways that made you acutely aware of every curve, every subtle detail.

Dev was there, leaning against the edge of his massive desk, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal a glimpse of forearm that somehow felt like a warning. His eyes, dark and unreadable, lifted to you, taking in every inch of you with a slow, deliberate intensity that made your pulse skip. The kind of look that made it clear he was always measuring, always calculating — but not just your work.

You cleared your throat, steadying yourself. “I… I wanted to discuss my raise,” you said, voice careful but firm. One line, and already your stomach was twisting in anticipation of what was coming.

He tilts his head, slow, deliberate, like he’s weighing not just your words, but your confidence, your posture, even the subtle sway of your skirt as you shift. “Yes… about that,” he murmurs, voice low, deliberate. “I’ve been thinking… and I want to be clear about something.”

Your stomach tightens. You nod cautiously.

“Raises,” he begins, steepling his fingers, “aren’t just about hours worked, reports submitted, or results achieved.” He steps closer, leaning just enough that you feel the heat from him, his presence pressing into your space. “Sometimes… they come with… conditions.”

His smirk curls just a little, and the calm authority in his tone makes your chest tighten. “Yes,” he says, voice dropping lower. “I expect… favors. Sexual favors.”

The words land like a hammer. Your pulse spikes, your breath catches. He doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t falter. He just watches you, dark, predatory, completely in control.

“I see the way you work. The dedication. The focus. I respect it… immensely,” he continues, voice smooth, measured. “But if you want that raise, if you want to continue thriving under me… I want… you. Here. Now. Later. Your choice—within reason—but make no mistake: this is the cost of being indispensable.”

You swallow hard. The room feels smaller, hotter. Every inch of him radiates dominance, authority, hunger. You realize this isn’t a suggestion. It’s a demand.

His eyes hold yours, sharp, unapologetic, intense. “I don’t do subtle. I don’t do half-measures. If you’re ready to earn your place… to prove your value… then this is what I want. I expect compliance, and I expect it eagerly.”

The words hang in the air like electric sparks. You feel the pull—the power, the danger, the thrill. Every fiber of your body is aware of him, of the stakes, of the tension.

And deep down… you know you’re already thinking about saying yes.