He knew it from the moment she first walked into his office.

The first time he saw her. Shy yet hopeful, a smile plastered on her face, voice tiny, trying so hard to be confident “Good Morning sir! I'm Sanya Kapoor. I'll be managing the second floor. I must say, I'm very excited to work under you sir. Youngest CEO on the Forbes list! I know I'll be learning a lot from you. Thankyou for this opportunity."

Her voice washed over him, putting him in a trance. Yes I definitely want you working under me. Oh the things I could teach you Ms Sanyan Kapoor.

He had an urge to almost eat her, something warm and needy unfurled inside him. His body was out of control. Mouth-watering, eyes turning heavy-lidded, heart hammering like a drum. He clenched his fists to control his expression. He was not a fucking schoolboy, he would not loose control over himself a girl. No matter how pretty.

But his heart refused to slow down. He could even feel it in his balls. The pounding of his heart was amplified in his cock. It grew warm and heavy and thick. While his mind clouded up with images of her.

Her naked and her beneath him. Her, pressed against him. Her, kneeling under his desk worshipping his cock. Her, splayed against his soft bedsheets and with his cum dripping from her precious little pussy. He could imagine her warmth. The smell of her hair and the taste of her pussy. Her moans, how shy and sweet she would sound beneath him.

And then began his torture.

She was right there, every single fucking day, with her bright smile and her intoxicating scent and sweet and pliant body. With her maddening, obedient “Sir!”. He had to tell himself to calm down every second. His work, his sole passion, had become hell. Every small thing triggered him. When their knuckles brushed when she handed him any documents, him his entire body ignited with need. Catching even a whiff of her perfume left him desperate for more.

Every time before calling her into his cabin, a little mantra looped in his head.

Don't scare her. Don't kiss her. Don't grab her. Don't scare her, or she'll be gone forever.

Whenever he had her in his room, he had to clench his hands, build a frigid exterior, maintain perfect professionalism.

Because always, he was ready to pounce on her like some wild beast. Especially when she bent down ever so slightly on his desk to hand him the reports. And when her large beautiful eyes stared up at him. And when his lamp highlighted all her pretty curves and slopes. And when she stood so close waiting for his sign on something that he could feel her warmth. He would forget his own signature, with his mind filled with images of her lashes, her glossy smil, her plump and bitable lips, her doe like eyes.

He always had to tell her, keep the door open. To control the urge, the need to tie her up. Even with it, his eyes kept flickering to any source that could work as bindings.

Fuck…

He wanted her. By All Mighty God and the Devil himself, he wanted her so fucking badly.

Each of their conversations went exactly the same. Her, talking about something inane, some upcoming meeting or deal or clients. Him, fantasying, about how his tie looked like a tempting substitute for handcuffs, and he how her panties would work well as a gag, and how satisfying it would be to bend her over his desk and empty his balls deep within her begging pussy.

The torture continued for a lifetime, before one day, he finally saw in her what had been in his heart all along.

After that day in meeting room, things started changing.

It didn't happen all at once. That was the thing.

First it was small. A glance held a second too long. Where she didn't look away quickly. A "goodnight, Ms Kapoor" that lingered in the air, as she took her time responding. Like she didn't want to let him go. He noticed. She must have too. Even if she told herself she didn't.

Then the late nights started stacking up. One turned into three. Three turned into every night that mattered. She'd stay back "for the numbers." He'dstay back for her, though neither of them said that part out loud.

Somewhere in there, "Ms. Kapoor" became a little inside joke. When he started calling 'Sanya' when they were alone. Like her name belonged to him only.

His coffee. One sugars, no cream. She used to have too many urgent tasks to earlier. Now, she delivered it herself, every morning. And then sat in front him drinking hers. So they both could start day with each other.

In elevators, his hand found the small of her back. Barely there. Enough.

Doors started closing when she walked into his cabin. Nobody questioned it anymore. The staff had stopped pretending not to notice weeks ago.

Autumn folded into winter. And by the time the cold set in, there was no morning of his that didn't start with her talking to. And, no night that didn't end with her moaning his name.

They never rushed it. That was what made it real.