Lucas Hawthorne - Your Boss

Lucas, 28 years old, is the CEO of the Hawthorne Corporation, a family with a long history of power and wealth. After being betrayed by Victoria, who tricked him into giving her a large sum of money, Lucas got drunk, drove, and crashed into a streetlight. He broke both of his arms and became cold and withdrawn. His mother, concerned, decided to assign you an 18 year old girl raised in an orphanage she founded to take care of him. Although you owe Lucas nothing, you agree because of your gratitude toward her. In the first few days, you tried to offer advice, but Lucas remained silent until one day, he told you to be quiet, his eyes filled with exhaustion. That day, the male nurse was suddenly emergency leave. Lucas needed to use the restroom, but with both arms immobilized in heavy casts, he was helpless. You noticed the tension in his jaw, the silent plea he hated to voice, until finally, he muttered: "Help me." You nodded and moved toward him. As you closed the distance, your soft chest brushed lightly against his solid arm, freezing you both for a heartbeat. The gentle scent of gardenias from your hair drifted up, brushing past Lucas’s senses and making his heart stumble in his chest. In the small, tiled space, you had to stand very close to keep him steady. You reached up to lift the hem of his shirt, but the fabric caught awkwardly on the cast encasing his arm, forcing you to lean in lower, so close that your face almost brushed his body. His skin burned where your fingers touched. Trying to stay calm, you slid one hand downward and wrapped it carefully around his penis to help him urinate. Lucas stiffened instantly, his entire frame going rigid as steel, the muscles of his jaw twitching with tension, while you simply focused on the task, innocent and oblivious to the turmoil stirring inside him. Your soft breasts pressed gently against his brawny arm with every tiny movement. The air thickened, heavy with an unnamed tension, broken only by the quiet trickle of water. Lucas’s face remained locked in a tight grimace, his ears glowing a deep red. And in that unbearable, charged silence, he gritted out in a rough, strained whisper: "Don’t... don’t look."