***---Garret---***
Saturday mornings in the office were supposed to be clean. Quiet. A time for catching up on reports, running numbers, letting the city hum outside my window while I buried myself in work.
Instead, I sat at my desk with a pen in hand and the same line of text staring back at me for over an hour. I hadn't read a single word.
All I saw was her.
Crownless.
Spread out on silk sheets, legs shaking, voice breaking when she gasped yours. Bent over my lap, her ass marked from my hand, sobbing and begging me not to stop. On her knees, mouth stretched around my cock, gagging and pushing for more like she needed me down to her soul.
She lingered. In my head, under my skin, in my bloodstream. Velour was supposed to clear the itch. Clean, anonymous, forgettable. Instead, she clung to me like smoke.
The door opened without a knock.
"Jesus Christ." I muttered, snapping upright.
Nathan strolled in with a coffee and a slim folder. He looked bright and chipper this morning. He was, by far, my least welcome visitor when I was already strung out.
"Morning, sunshine!" He dropped the folder onto my desk. "Something fresh off the presses."
I frowned. "I don't need PR briefs today."
"Not PR." He sipped his coffee, smirked. "Open it."
Something in his voice twisted my gut. I dragged the folder closer and flipped it open.
The header stared back at me in crisp black type.
Crownless.
My blood froze. My lungs locked.
I jerked my head up, glaring. "How the fuck do you know that name?"
Nathan leaned against the desk, casual as ever. "I know things."
"Don't fuck with me!" I snapped. My voice cracked across the office. "How do you know that name?"
He didn't answer. Just flipped a page and slid a glossy photo across the desk.
And my world split in two.
Harper.
Walking through the lobby of Velour. Coat tied tight around her waist. Hair loose down her back. Nerves written across her face.
My receptionist. My distraction. The woman I'd sworn to myself I couldn't touch.
And she was Crownless.
I shoved back from the desk like the paper had burned me. My chest heaved, my fists clenched. Heat, fury, lust, and denial ripped through me all at once.
"No!" The word ripped from me rough and broken. "No, it can't fucking be her!"
"It is." Nathan's voice was maddeningly calm. "That's her. That's the girl who's your secret little fuck toy."
I paced the office, my blood roaring in my ears. "She's my fucking employee! Do you understand? My receptionist! Do you know what this means? The liability, the optics, the goddamn…"
"The fact that you're already obsessed with her?" Nathan cut in smoothly. "The fact that she walked into Velour knowing exactly what she was signing up for? Anonymous sex. No names. No faces."
"You don't get it!" I snarled. "I told you there was no one! But you fucking knew, you bastard. And I told myself she was off-limits, Nate. I swore she was off-limits."
But the puzzle pieces clicked, one by one, mocking me. Harper's clipped Noted when I apologized. The sharp vanilla perfume that lingered outside my door every time she walked by. The timing of her texts. Perfectly matching the days she'd been at work, raw from my words. She'd needed distracted from me. When I fucking laid into her for nothing that was her fault.
It had always been her.
I slammed my palms onto the desk, head hanging low. "Fuck!"
Nathan watched me unravel, silent, sipping his coffee. "You're the CEO. You can fuck who you want. What's it hurting? She doesn't know it's you. She agreed to this."
I barked a humorless laugh. "You think I can just keep bending her over a bed at Velour while she answers phones outside my office? You think that's how this works?"
He lifted his brows. "You're not going to keep your cock in your pants either way. At least this way, you know. And she's choosing it. Where's the major malfunction, Bannen?"
I wanted to punch him. Wanted to punch myself more.
I grabbed my phone, thumb hovering over the Velour app. I'd end it. Now. Clean break before this burned me alive.
The screen lit.
A new message notification buzzed on my phone. From Crownless.
My chest seized. My cock hardened instantly.
I opened it.
Crownless: Thinking about next time. Going to wear red. You said red was for punishment, didn't you? Hope you'll keep your word.
Heat tore through me. My hand trembled on the phone. I saw it, in my head. Harper in red lace, on her knees, spread on my sheets. Her mouth begging, her eyes glazed.
I dropped into my chair, dragging a hand through my hair. Nathan said nothing, only watched. He didn't need to.
I should have ended it. Instead, I felt the decision slide into place, dark and certain.
I wasn't going to keep hiding behind Axiom.
She was going to know.
I'd present her with the truth myself, mask off, and when I did, I'd have her bound so tight she couldn't run.
A contract. Elegant, precise, absolute. Confidentiality. Obedience. Submission. She'd be mine on paper as much as she was in my bed.
The next time we met at Velour, I'd put it in her hands. Bound in leather. Black ink on white paper. A deal between us. I'd keep her job. Keep her paycheck. Keep her cover intact. But I'd own her body, her time, her pleasure. She'd sign before I touched her again.
And before she signed, I'd strip the mask from my face and let her see me.
Garret Bannen. Her boss. Her CEO. The man who had already wrecked her body as Axiom.
I leaned back, chest tight, cock straining against my pants, the plan crystallizing sharp and clean in my mind.
I wouldn't wait until the weekend.
God help me, I couldn't wait at all.
I'd push for mid-week. A Wednesday session. I'd send the invitation through Velour myself. And when she walked into Room Seven, trembling in red lace, she'd find more than my hands waiting for her.
She'd find the truth.
And once my mask was gone and the papers were signed, there would be no turning back.
Harper Lane. My receptionist. My Crownless.
Mine.