When she sits back on her heels, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb, she looks satisfied in a way that has nothing to do with her own pleasure.
"Down payment delivered," she says, standing and smoothing down her hoodie like she didn't just blow my mind along with my cock. "Twenty-four hours, Corvus. Get it done."
She heads for the door and I catch her hand. "Wait."
"Yes?"
I stand, using my grip to pull her against me, and kiss her. Deep. Tasting myself on her tongue, tasting her satisfaction, tasting the promise of everything she's offering if I can deliver.
"Twenty-four hours," I agree when I finally let her go. "I'll fix it."
"Good." She smiles, dangerous and beautiful. "Because when you do? I'm going to let you fuck me on this desk exactly how you've been imagining. Any way you want. All of me."
She leaves, and I'm standing in my study, pants still open, cock still out, mind already racing through the logistics of what needs to happen.
Twenty-four hours. She gave me twenty-four fucking hours to accomplish what should take weeks.
Administrative records need to be altered. Key decision-makers need to be pressured. Social media narratives need to be seeded and accelerated. It's not impossible—nothing is impossible with the right leverage—but it requires every resource I have, every favor I can call in, and absolutely no sleep.
I tuck myself back into my pants and grab my phone.
Time to make some calls.
Twenty-Threehourslater,Ihaven't slept. Haven't stopped working. My eyes burn, my head pounds, but I'm so close I can taste it.
Robbie's expulsion was reversed six hours ago—administrative error, thoroughly investigated, found to be without merit. Academic standing restored, scholarship renewed, housing assignment reinstated.
But that's not enough. She said readmitted like it never happened, which means social rehabilitation too.
I spent the last four hours seeding anonymous social media posts, hacking forums, arranging for key student leaders to publicly support his return. The narrative has flipped. Robbie isn't a pariah anymore—he's a victim of false accusations who deserves a fresh start.
I have documentation for everything. Every reversed decision. Every changed record. Every social media post. Proof that I've delivered exactly what she demanded in the timeframe she gave me.
Twenty-three hours and forty-two minutes after she left my study, I find her.
She looks up when I enter, and something in her expression tells me she knows why I'm here.
"It's done," I say, holding out my tablet.
She sets down her book and takes the device, scrolling through the evidence. I watch her eyes move across the screen, taking in every detail—Robbie's full reinstatement, the administrative apology, the social media rehabilitation, the documentation proving it's complete.
"This is everything," she says finally, looking up at me. "More than everything. You didn't just get him readmitted. You made it like none of it ever happened."
"You demanded comprehensive restoration." My voice is rough with exhaustion. "I delivered comprehensive restoration."
"In twenty-four hours."
"Twenty-three hours and forty-two minutes. I'm efficient when properly motivated."
Her smile is slow and dangerous and makes my cock throb despite my exhaustion. "You want your payment."
"I fulfilled my end of the negotiation. Yes. I want what you promised."
She stands, setting the tablet aside, and moves toward me with deliberate purpose. "Then you should take it."
I cross the distance between us in three strides, backing her against the bookshelf. My hands bracket her head, caging her in, and she tilts her chin up to meet my eyes with zero submission in her gaze.
"I've been thinking about this for twenty-three hours," I tell her, voice rough. "Every minute I was on the phone, every second I was manipulating records, every moment I was calling in favors. Thinking about having you. Finally getting to touch you without holding back."
