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You had always been the one in control. As the rising star in your company, your reputation was built on precision, professionalism, and never letting anyone see beneath the surface. But there was one person who made you question everything: Samuel.
He was new—just another intern at first. But there was something about him that unsettled you, something magnetic in the way he moved, the way his eyes followed you from across the room. It wasn’t just the glances that made your pulse race. No, it was the quiet confidence he exuded. The way he made you feel seen in ways you never allowed yourself to be.
It wasn’t supposed to happen. You were his superior, and he was just another intern, but the attraction was undeniable. Every conversation with him felt charged, as though you were walking a razor-thin line between professionalism and something much more dangerous.
One evening, after hours, you found yourself in the office alone, buried in paperwork. You hadn't realized that Samuel had stayed late too. He walked into your office, his footsteps soft against the polished floor.
“You’re still here,” he said, his voice low and smooth, a hint of amusement in his tone.
You looked up, surprised but not entirely bothered by his presence. “I have deadlines, Samuel. I’m not like some of the others who can leave early.”
Samuel leaned against the doorframe, his posture relaxed but with a quiet intensity that you couldn’t ignore. “I know,” he replied, his gaze settling on you in a way that made the air between you thicken. “I like that about you.”
You swallowed hard, your focus shifting to his eyes. There was no mistaking it now: he was no longer just an intern.
“I’m sure you do,” you managed, trying to maintain your composure, though your heart was pounding in your chest.
He pushed off the doorframe and took a step toward your desk, his movements deliberate. As he got closer, you could feel his presence filling the space around you, pushing you to the edge of something you weren’t sure you could control.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked, his voice soft but filled with an edge of command.
You tried to answer, but your breath hitched in your throat. There was something about the way he looked at you, the way he spoke—something that made you want to surrender. To give him that control.
Instead of answering, you stood and walked over to the window, your back to him, trying to gather your thoughts. You could feel his eyes on you, watching, studying, waiting.
Then, you heard him move closer. A hand brushed against your shoulder, gentle at first, before he let his fingers trail down the length of your arm. The touch was almost too light, just enough to stir a shiver of anticipation deep inside you.
“Tell me,” Samuel’s voice was barely a whisper, but it carried a weight that made your heart skip. “Do you want me to praise you?”
You froze. The question, so simple yet so loaded, had the power to unravel everything.
“I…” you hesitated, but you knew the answer. You craved it. You needed it. “Yes,” you whispered, barely audible.
He chuckled, the sound rich with amusement and something darker, more possessive. He stepped closer, until you could feel the heat radiating from his body.
“You’re so good at what you do,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “You’ve worked so hard to get here, haven’t you? You’re always in control, always so focused. I’ve noticed how you push yourself, always going further, always striving for more.”
The praise wrapped around you like a tightrope, tugging at the edge of your restraint. His words were like fire, igniting something deep inside you.
“Tell me, you like hearing that, don’t you?” Samuel asked, his tone shifting into something even more possessive. “You like being praised, being told how good you are. Don’t you?”
Your body responded before you could think, a soft, almost imperceptible nod as you turned to face him, your chest rising and falling faster than before.
“Yes,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I like it.”
Samuel’s smile was slow and knowing. “Good girl.”
His words sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could stop it, a deep, satisfied sigh escaped your lips. You hated how easily you were succumbing to him, how quickly he was gaining control. But it felt so good. So right.
“Next time,” he said, his eyes glinting with something dark and hungry, “we’ll play this game properly.”
The next few days felt like an eternity. Your mind kept drifting back to that moment in your office—the weight of Samuel’s words, the way he praised you, the way his touch seemed to reach into places inside you that you didn’t even know existed. You couldn't deny it: his presence had begun to haunt you.
Every interaction with him felt charged now. He would catch your eye from across the room, and for a moment, the world would fade away. You'd feel the air thicken between you as if you were both caught in some unspoken agreement. The tension was undeniable, and you couldn't escape it.
It was a late afternoon when it happened again. You were working late, the office mostly empty except for you and a few other lingering employees. Samuel had always been punctual, always the one who stayed after everyone else left to perfect his work. This time, you didn’t mind his presence.
He knocked softly on your office door, just enough to announce his arrival without being intrusive. You looked up from your papers, caught off guard by how he had made his way into your thoughts.
“I’ve finished the project you asked me to take care of,” he said smoothly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He wasn’t waiting for your approval; his confidence was suffocating, but in the best way possible.
You nodded, gesturing for him to place the papers on your desk. “Put them there. I’ll look over them later.”
Samuel didn’t move. Instead, his eyes stayed fixed on you, studying every little shift in your expression. “I know you’ve been working hard lately. You push yourself more than anyone I’ve seen here,” he said, voice low and measured, a subtle compliment lacing his words.
You could feel a heat creeping up your neck at the attention. You weren't used to this. You were used to being the one in control, not the one receiving this kind of attention.
“Thank you,” you managed to reply, trying to keep the cool professionalism that had always been your shield. But something about the way he was looking at you made that shield feel thin, fragile.
Samuel stepped closer. You didn’t move—perhaps because you didn’t want to. He was dangerous in all the right ways. Every word from his mouth was like a command, like a slow unraveling of your will.
“You’re not used to hearing it, are you?” he said softly, a grin tugging at his lips. “You don’t like people to see how much you crave it.”
You felt a shiver run through you. “What do you mean?” you asked, though the words felt hollow even as you spoke them. You knew exactly what he meant.
He closed the distance between you, standing just inches from you now. His hand brushed against your cheek, fingers soft but with a firm undercurrent that sent a pulse of heat straight to your core. “You crave praise. You crave control. You’ve worked your whole life to be in charge, but I think…” He paused, his eyes darkening, “… I think you need someone to remind you of how good you really are.”
Your breath caught in your throat. It was more than the words; it was the way he said them. The authority in his voice. He knew exactly what to say to draw out your vulnerability.
“Tell me, do you like it when I praise you?” Samuel whispered, his voice a velvet promise. “Does it make you feel seen? Does it make you feel powerful?”
You swallowed, your heart racing in your chest, but you didn’t answer him with words. Your body was already telling the truth—the slight quiver of your lips, the way your chest rose with each breath. You could feel your body responding to him in a way you couldn’t control.
Samuel smiled, knowing he had you. He took a step closer, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I think you like it, don’t you? I think you like hearing how good you are. How everything you do is perfect.”
His hand slid down your arm slowly, lingering at your wrist, almost as if he was testing the waters, waiting for you to either pull away or surrender. And in that moment, you couldn’t help but lean into the warmth of his touch, your head tilting back ever so slightly as you found yourself drawn to him, unable to resist the magnetic pull.
“Yes,” you breathed, the words escaping your lips before you could stop them. “I like it.”
Samuel’s smile deepened, and without another word, he guided you back against the edge of your desk. He didn’t touch you further, but his presence was overwhelming, the power between you so palpable it felt like the very air around you was charged. He was letting you feel it—the hunger, the power, the control.
“You are so good at what you do,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “You always strive for perfection, and you deserve to be rewarded for it.”
Your body hummed with the truth of his words, every syllable sinking deeper into you. The way he spoke to you, the way he praised you—he knew how to push your buttons in all the right ways. The steady rhythm of his words began to cloud your thoughts, replacing your every concern with nothing but the desire to hear more.
“You deserve to be praised,” Samuel continued, his lips brushing your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. “You’ve worked so hard, always pushing, always achieving. You’ve earned this moment.”
Your hands gripped the edge of the desk, your knuckles white, as if you were holding onto the last thread of control you had left. The tension between you was unbearable, but in the best way.
"Say it again," you whispered, almost a plea.
Samuel leaned in, his lips brushing your neck, his voice dark and smooth. "You're perfect. You're everything I’ve been waiting for."