***---Harper---***
By Saturday night, I was officially wrecked.
Not in the fun way I'd been Friday night. My body still carried the feel of him. My ass stung every time I flopped down. I couldn't walk straight without the muscles in my pelvis protesting.
But I was still wrecked, in that I'm-not-ready-to-face-reality-yet way.
Mom had been relentless all day. Two calls, three texts, and one voicemail dripping with a mother just knows when something is going on. I didn't need a translation to know her mind was set on grandbabies. I ignored her calls and didn't bother with the voicemail. I hit delete before I could absorb the guilt trip.
Chloe and Nadia were worse.
I'd called them around lunchtime, soaking in the tub, hoping for a bit of moral support. Instead, I got interrogated like I was on trial for Crimes Against Modesty.
"He ripped your lace?" Chloe shrieked so loudly I almost dropped the phone into the bathwater. "That's not sex, Harper, that's a religious experience."
"You let him spank you?" Nadia remarked dryly. "On a first night. Bold choice. Respect."
"And he shoved his fingers in your mouth after?" Chloe broke into wild laughter. "Harper fucking Lane, you kinky little minx. You've been sitting on this side of yourself all along?"
"It wasn't me!" I'd hissed, sinking lower in the bubbles. "He just…took over. And I…God, I can't explain it."
They laughed. They teased. They congratulated me like I'd finally crossed some finish line they'd been waiting at with champagne for years. By the time I hung up, my skin was flushed all over again, my body aching in ways the water couldn't wash off.
Hours later, I lay in bed, lights off, body clean but still restless. Every replay of last night looped behind my eyelids. The sound of lace ripping. His voice when he told me to stay still. The weight of his hand on my throat, steady and claiming. The way he'd held me down and fucked me like he was starving.
I pressed my face into the pillow, groaning. I was never going to recover from this.
Then my phone buzzed.
My heart lurched. I fumbled for it on the nightstand, screen lighting up with a Velour notification.
New Appointment: Wednesday. Room Seven. Confirm?
I sat up straight, pulse hammering. Wednesday? Velour wasn't a mid-week thing. Chloe had told me weekends only. That was the rule.
I tapped the notification with shaking hands.
Crownless: Wednesday?
The reply came so fast it startled me.
Axiom: Couldn't wait a full week without having you on my cock.
Heat tore through me. My thighs clenched. I licked my lips, trying to form a reply.
Before I could type, another notification slid across the screen:
Voice Service Activated. Incoming Call from Axiom.
I froze.
Velour's premium service. Chloe told me about it. Calls routed through the app, phone numbers scrambled just enough to keep it safe. But I hadn't expected him to use it.
The phone buzzed insistently in my palm. My thumb moved before my brain caught up.
I answered.
"Crownless." His voice filled my ear, low, rich, and sinful. It wrapped around me like velvet. "Say hello."
My throat went dry. "Hello."
"Good girl." His chuckle rumbled across the line, and I swore it vibrated straight down to my toes. "Now tell me, are you touching yourself yet?"
My thighs pressed tighter. "No."
"Then fix it."
I gasped. "What? Right now?"
"Yes. Now." His voice sharpened. "Two fingers. Under the covers. Don't make me repeat myself."
My hand slid down like it belonged to someone else. Panties already damp, clinging. I bit my lip, easing my fingers under the fabric, dipping into slick heat.
"That's it." He murmured, satisfaction dripping through every word. "Rub slow. Circle your clit the way I licked it last night. Pretend it's my tongue. Pretend I'm the one stretched between your thighs."
A moan slipped out before I could stop it.
"Jesus." He groaned, the sound heavy and raw. "That little whimper. I need more. Louder."
My hips rolled into my own hand. The sound rose out of me, needy and broken.
"That's better…" He rasped. "Fuck, I can hear how wet you are. You're dripping, aren't you? Making a mess of your sheets while you pretend you're in control."
"God…" I gasped, breath catching.
"Faster." He ordered. "Pretend it's me pinning your wrists. Pretend it's my cock driving into you until you're screaming."
I cried out, thighs shaking, fingers slick. My body climbed fast, every nerve buzzing.
"You're in bed." He continued, voice lower now, intimate. "Lights off. Hair in that messy bun you wear when you're pretending to work. Probably chewed another pen to death today, didn't you? The way you always do when you're stuck."
My body froze. My fingers stalled.
Those weren't random guesses.
That was me at work. Me at my desk. Things I did when I thought no one noticed.
"Don't stop!" He snapped, unaware of the panic fluttering under my ribs. "You're close, aren't you?"
"Yes!" I sobbed, torn between fear and the heat tearing me apart.
"Then fucking come. Right now. Let go for me."
The orgasm hit me like a detonation, ripping through me. My back arched, my cry muffled into the pillow. My body convulsed, slick coating my fingers, trembling until I collapsed flat on the bed.
I panted into the dark, body still twitching, the phone hot against my ear.
"Good girl." He growled. "I bet you're wrecked. Wish I could see your face right now. Wish I could see those pretty eyes roll back while you come apart for me."
I squeezed my eyes shut, my chest heaving.
Messy bun. Pens. Desks.
That wasn't random. Not generic. It was too specific to what I did at work.
The line clicked dead, leaving silence and my own ragged breathing.
I lay there staring at the ceiling, my heart racing, body still humming with aftershocks. But underneath the heat, unease licked down my spine.
Whoever Axiom was, he wasn't just a faceless stranger behind a mask.
He knew things.
Things about me.
And that terrified me almost as much as it turned me on.