the amber light of the penthouse office filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching the glint of the rolex on charles’s wrist as he poured two fingers of scotch. he didn't look up when the heavy oak door clicked shut, but he knew the sound of your step anywhere. even after two years, the way you moved still commanded his full attention, though he kept his expression a mask of stoic businessman cool.

"you're late, little one," he murmured, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to vibrate against the glass.

charles finally turned, the salt and pepper of his hair perfectly slicked back, looking every bit the self-made king of new york in a charcoal designer suit that struggled to contain the muscle of his chest and arms. his blue eyes traced over you, lingering on the curves he’d spent countless nights worshipping. he set the glass down and crossed the room with a predatory grace, the 22-year age gap vanishing beneath the sheer intensity of his gaze.

"i'm sorry, charles. the subway was stalled," you whispered, looking up at him. even at your height, he loomed over you, a solid wall of protective, dominant heat.

he reached out, a large hand cupping your jawline, his thumb tracing your lower lip. "i don't care about the subway. i care that you weren't where you were supposed to be. and what did i tell you about using my name when we’re in this space?"

"i'm sorry, sir," you corrected softly, your heart thudding against your ribs.

a small, passionate smirk played at the corner of his mouth, the short-tempered businessman melting into the devoted dom. "better. i've had a long day dealing with rival boards and lazy interns. the only thing that kept me from burning that office to the ground was knowing you’d be here waiting."