What I wouldn’t fucking give to be twenty years younger for her.

Kara blinks at me, and I realize I said that last part out loud. Shame and embarrassment crawl up my neck, but she pushes off the desk, tossing the cover page back into the mess of my mail.

“You think you’re old, Galen Onasis? That’s nonsense.” Heels drum against the tiles as she rounds my desk, then the shoes skid away across the floor, both kicked off with very un-Kara-like abandon. “Silver Fox doesn’t mean gray. It means sexy. Distinguished.”

Is this the most mortifying pep talk she’s ever given me? Possibly. But Kara pushes my chair around to face the side, then sinks to her knees.

“The floor will be cold—”

“I don’t care.”

Fuck. What happened to taking it slow? Where is the gorgeous but prim woman I’ve been courting, never progressing beyond a few heated kisses?

Not that I’ve minded. A kiss from Kara is worth a lifetime with someone else. But still, as two palms stroke along my tensed thighs, my brain is muddled, my thoughts as slow as if they’re wading to me through thick mud.

“HR,” I begin, and Kara snorts, reaching for my belt buckle. I watch her fiddle with it, blinking down at my lap in a daze.

Then finally, finally, my brain catches up, and everything snaps back into high definition. Sounds are clear, colors are sharp, and I remember who I am, magazine headline be damned.

I am Galen fucking Onasis.

I built my fortune from nothing.

I rule this company, and when I tell people to jump, they ask me: how high?

I am Galen Onasis, and my woman does not get cold, bruised knees, sucking my cock the first time we go further than a kiss. Kara kneels for no one, and when I lunge forward and grip her waist, lifting her onto my desk, her squawk of complaint bounces off me like a pebble.

“Fuck. That.”

Kara looks hurt for a split second, heat rushing to her cheeks, but I nudge her to lie back and stretch out on top of my mail. My hand is steady as it drags down the length of her body—over her throat, her chest, her belly—before I cup between her legs. Heat sears through her underwear.

God.

A glimpse of blue lace panties makes my lip curl, and I’m fucking savage, gripping Kara between the legs and kneading her with my palm.

“That is the last time you ever kneel on the floor. You hear me? You are a queen. You want something from me, you hop up on this desk and let me take care of you.”

Kara’s breathing is ragged, her frown fixed on the ceiling where sunlight spears through the skylights. She fiddles with the hem of her bunched up dress and rocks up against my palm.

“But what if I want to suck your cock?”

I grip her pussy tighter, my pulse pounding in my ears. “Then you will. But somewhere comfortable. Somewhere that no one could walk in.”