The Walk
The revolving doors exhaled a cold draft as they stepped into morning. Lena's stride was sharp, heels clipping marble in perfect rhythm, her poise immaculate. But beneath the polish, her body betrayed her: thighs tender with every step, lips swollen and tingling, wrists still seared faint red from silk.
Julian moved beside her with the inevitability of gravity. His coat swung loose over a frame cut from discipline; broad shoulders tapering lean, dark hair precise, jaw shadowed. His presence bent space around him, impossible not to feel.
Her bag buzzed. The sound knifed through her chest. Ethan.
She prayed Julian hadn't noticed. He had.
"Give it."
The command was quiet, measured, not mistakable for choice. His hand extended, palm open. Executives rushed past, blind to the exchange, but Lena's world narrowed to his fingers waiting.
She hesitated only a breath before placing the phone in his palm.
Julian glanced at the screen. Dinner tonight? Need to talk. His jaw ticked once. Then he slid the phone into his pocket like it had never belonged to her.
"You don't answer him unless I say so."
Her chest constricted. "Yes, Sir."
His mouth curved faintly, predatory. "Good girl."
The words cut clean, severing guilt and binding her back to him in the same breath. To every outside eye she was immaculate. Inside, she throbbed with his marks, claimed, waiting.
The Lounge
The executive lounge gleamed with polished wood and muted light, the hum of wealth softened into private corners. He led her to one in the back, where his view commanded the room. Even seated, power radiated from him; jacket set aside, posture loose but precise, eyes cutting across her and claiming stillness.
She followed, sliding into the opposite chair. Onyx hair brushed her collar, green eyes restless despite their brightness, lips still tender from his use.
Julian ordered without looking at her: whiskey for himself, wine for her. When the drinks arrived, he set a small black vibrator on the table, casual as a pen.
"Now."
Her pulse skipped. Her hand obeyed. She slipped it beneath her skirt, cool against her skin before it warmed into place.
The first pulse struck before her glass reached her lips. Sharp. Relentless. She gripped the stem tighter, her composure a mask stretched thin.
Julian turned the remote idly between his fingers, gaze steady. He didn't need to look. He read her in every shift: lashes fluttering, throat tightening with each swallow, the tremor in her grip.
"Don't spill," he murmured, low enough only she heard.
She didn't. She drank, throat working as the vibration deepened. To anyone else, he was making small talk about contracts. To her, each syllable bound her tighter.
By the time he pocketed the remote, her chest was heaving under silk. To the lounge, she was poise. To him, she was trembling ruin.
The Service Corridor
He rose without speaking. She followed. The polished hush of the lounge gave way to the service passage: white-painted brick, the hum of vents, a sterile hum that made his presence loom sharper.
"Hands flat."
She braced against the wall, palms splayed. Her skirt rode high, stockings taut, blouse clinging to her chest's uneven rise. The toy rested inside her, dormant, cruel.
"Color?"
Her voice wavered. "Green."
The remote clicked. The vibration roared to life; hard, merciless. Her gasp broke raw, body jolting against the wall. She bit her lip to silence herself, but her hips betrayed her, tilting back, seeking.
"Quiet."
His hand closed on her jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes. Gray. Unforgiving. He caught every tremor.
The toy pulsed her up and dragged her down, again and again. She shook, thighs slicking her stockings, pleas catching in her throat until desperation burned past pride.
"Please, Sir. Please..I need to…"
His mouth brushed her ear. "Now."
Her orgasm ripped through her violent and raw, body bowing off the wall as her cry fractured into her sleeve. His grip at her throat kept her upright, forcing her to endure every convulsion until she sagged against him.
When he withdrew the toy, he tucked it into his pocket like evidence. He smoothed her blouse, reset her hair, until she looked untouched. Then his mouth caught her collarbone, teeth sinking hard enough to brand. She gasped, sharp and helpless, as heat bloomed under the bite.
He held until she trembled. When he released, his voice was low, final.
"This is leverage. Every time you obey me, you step farther from him. Don't forget."
Her pulse thundered beneath the mark. She already knew.