Isabella Swan, my secretary and personal assistant, worked with me on the forty third floor of my father's multi-billion dollar company. We hardly communicated unless I was giving her instructions on what was to be done, and she always did what she was told.

Always.

The girl was an angel sent straight from heaven to torture me. She was small and fragile, and sweet and soft spoken. She had a beauty that couldn't be compared to anything else in this world. It was the kind of beauty that came from a light inside of her that sparked everything else into magnificence.

How much I wanted her wasn't even something that could be fully described. She was the air that I breathed and every thought in my head, and she consumed my very being, day and night.

Yes, she was an angel, and that must have made me the devil. It would be dishonest to say that conclusion didn't fit, and if I didn't have anything else in the world, I prided myself on my honesty. I was the kind of person who was better off alone. I was harsh and blunt, and I felt nothing. I ran my workplace with an iron fist and spent my lonely nights in a cold, empty apartment on the Near North Side of Chicago. It fit my personality to a tee. I was bitter and alone at the age of twenty nine, yet the monster inside of me craved this delicate creature with a wanton abandon.

I had never had much luck when I came to women. I was always too unfeeling, to indifferent, not empathetic enough, never thoughtful enough, and in the words of many women who saw fit to end our encounters, "not human" enough. I didn't remember anniversaries. I didn't remember birthdays. I didn't remember their favorite color or the name of their favorite perfume. I didn't even remember the names of half of the women that had paraded through my life. That's not to say that I couldn't, but when relationships like the ones I had been involved in began as a less than half hearted effort anyway, why would I waste my energy? Why should I have pretended to care when I just plain didn't?

But as I watched the girl that waited on me hand and foot, every day, typing away at her desk with her bottom lip between her teeth and her brow furrowed in concentration, I knew that even if it was unhealthy beyond reason, she made me feel something.

We were the last ones left on our floor and it was well after office hours, but here she was, working away.

"Isabella, may I see you for a moment?"

I was always formal. It was a habit. She looked up, stunned, as her cheeks colored red. She squeaked out a hurried "mhm" and nodded her head slightly, looking childlike despite her twenty five years of age.

"Come into my office." I instructed. She saved a file and shut her computer down before following me back to my desk.

"I need you to proof this quickly before I send it out." I handed her the memo that was to be sent to my father as the weekly report, knowing full well it was flawless. Still, it gave me the chance to be close to her as I read over her shoulder, inhaling her scent and feeding off her presence. Every Friday this happened. We would be here alone, I would ask to see her, she would proof my weekly report, and we would both go home. This week I could tell something was different. Something inside was yelling at me to get away from her before I did something to hurt us both. She was too close, and I was having too many problems with my self control.

And then the most beautiful girl in her button down and tiny waisted pencil skirt, bent over my desk and reached for the memo, her shirt riding down, and her skirt riding up, and her scent wafting its way through the air, right into my senses.

In a half of an instant I felt myself snap. Before I could stop myself, I ripped the report out of her hands and trapped them beneath mine in one quick motion. She gasped and began to speak, but I cut her off. Before this happened I needed to set some ground rules. I knew I couldn't handle seeing or hearing her inevitable pain or horrification at my attack or trying to fight back, so I took advantage of her timidness and launched into my demands.

"You will not speak. You will keep your mouth shut. You will not look at me. Your eyes will remain down and you hands will stay where I put them. You will not move no matter what happens. When you leave this room you will tell no one of what has happened here. If you do, I promise you there will be severe consequences. Do you understand me?"

Her body remained stiff and she didn't respond. I could feel the smallness of her hands underneath mine, flat on the mahogany desk that matched her hair, as I stood with my back pressed against her. She was so close, and she smelled fucking delicious. Her breathing was irregular and I could tell she was frightened.

"I said Do. You. Understand Me." I ground out viciously through clenched teeth, waiting for her response. She nodded. It was a small gesture, one I wouldn't have noticed had I not been paying close attention. It was enough.

"Good. Turn around, eyes down." I commanded, and she turned slowly after I released her hands. I then placed them on her shoulders and reminded her not to move them. With that, I made my way hastily down her body, flicking buttons open as I went. The contrast of her ivory cream skin against the navy lace bra had me painfully hard in an instant. It was enough to make me forget about what a monster I was for the moment.

"Fucking beautiful," I couldn't help but mutter. She was trembling and her breath hadn't evened. She was so scared, my tiny little angel. She whimpered slightly. I ripped the pencil skirt down aggressively along with the matching lace panties that completed the set, and lifted her milky legs to step out of them. I kept the black pumps on.

Fuck. Me. She was bare. I took a moment to inhale her scent before worked my way back up her body, liking and biting the perfect skin. She didn't move, just like I had instructed her. I growled in frustration as the material of her bra interrupted my assault of her body. Impatiently, I took her hands off her shoulders long enough to remove the offensive material and placed them back where they were before. Her eyes were closed and her jaw was clenched. Taking her by the waist, I lifted her onto the desk and spread her legs. Again, fucking beautiful.

Making quick work of my black belt and dress pants, they dropped to the floor and my hands found the small of her back. I pulled her as close to me as I could get as I entered her swiftly. Fuck, she was so tight and so wet and so fucking warm. She was shaking more violently now and she squeaked with the intrusion. I firmly crushed my mouth to hers and my tongue forced its way through her lips. She tasted like heaven. I thrust forcefully into her again and ripped my mouth from hers. Burying my face in her neck, I found a rhythm and continued to take her over and over again. As she unwillingly came, I chanced a look at her face. Her eyes were closed tightly, and leaking out of them were two shimmering, crystalline streams of tears.

I paid no attention to the excruciatingly painful stab those tears left in my heart and came inside of her, wanting my moment of complete horrendousness to be over with so that I could go home and detest myself in private.

Because I couldn't ignore the tears, I brushed them away with my thumbs before I stepped away and pulled my pants up. She got dressed without a word, sticking to the rules I gave her, and left.

If she didn't hate me or fear me, and if she wasn't disgusted by me before, I was fairly certain that had all changed.