I shut off my laptop and lean back in my chair, a predatory grin playing on my lips. There's so much to prepare. So many delicious ways I could break her.
I stand and make my way to my bedroom where I open the cupboard hidden behind a false wall in my walk-in wardrobe and peruse the contents ready for Juno’s arrival. It’s filled with implements designed to inflict exquisite pain and pleasure. My fingers trail over leather whips, metal clamps, silken ropes. Which of these will I use? The possibilities are intoxicating.
As I survey my tools, I feel the familiar stirring of arousal. But I resist the urge to get myself off. No, I'll save that hunger, let it build until my little goddess arrives. Then I'll unleash it all on her willing flesh.
I spend the next few hours rigorously planning every detail of our encounter. By the time night falls, anticipation thrums through my veins like electricity. Sleep eludes me as visions of Juno dance through my mind. I toss and turn, sheets tangling around my legs as I imagine all the delicious ways I'll make her scream.
When dawn breaks, I'm up and moving with renewed purpose. I have the apartment meticulously cleaned, ensuring everything is pristine. Can't have my little maid getting distracted by actual dirt, after all. I have much more interesting things in mind for her.
I select my outfit with care - a tailored charcoal grey suit that exudes power and control. As I adjust my tie in the mirror, I notice the predatory gleam in my own eyes. Good. Let her see the beast that lurks beneath the polished exterior.
The hours crawl by with agonizing slowness and I pace the floor like a caged animal, checking and rechecking my preparations. But it's not until the sun begins to set that my phone chimes with an alert. She's here.
At last.
My pulse races as I find her on the security feed, stepping hesitantly into the private elevator. She's even more breathtaking in motion - all soft curves and nervous energy. I drink in the sight of her, savoring these final moments before she belongs to me. Every part of her.
The elevator dings and I school my features into a mask of cool indifference as the doors slide open. My heartbeat quickens as Juno steps into the penthouse, her eyes widening as she takes in the opulent surroundings.
"Welcome, Juno,” I say smoothly, letting my gaze rake over her figure. Damn, she’s enticing with the slight tremor in her hands betraying her nervousness. I want to throw her down and ravish her right here on the floor.
I could, but I want to allow the anticipation to build some more.
“Hello, Sir," she replies, her voice soft but steady. She hasn’t been given my name. Despite the intimacy we’ll share, we’re kept oblivious of each other’s real identity. Unless either of us chooses to divulge.
I smile, a predator eyeing its prey. "It's a pleasure to meet you." More of a pleasure than she can comprehend, I suspect. This has been a long time coming. "Please, come in."
As she moves further into the room, I circle behind her, drinking in every detail. The way her hair falls in glossy waves down her back. The delicate curve of her neck. The slight hitch in her breath as she tracks my presence. I know I’m unnerving her. It is quite deliberate.
"Would you care for a drink?" I ask, my tone hinting at intimacy.
She hesitates, caught between obedience and trepidation, her pulse fluttering at the base of her pale throat. For the briefest instant, her eyes flick to the door as if she’s calculating how easily she could run, how far she’d get, whether I’d bother chasing her. But after a beat, her chin lifts and she meets my gaze, determined not to flinch.
"Yes, please." Her voice is no more than a whisper, but it’s clear, with an edge of resolve that delights me. The little show of backbone is almost as arousing as the dread.
She stands perfectly still, hands folded at her waist, not daring to move until I turn my back and stride toward the bar. I can feel the tension coiling in her, the awareness of every moment and gesture, and I savor it like a rare vintage. I selecta bottle of red—something expensive and robust, though I’m certain she won’t know the difference.
Pouring us each a glass, I hand one to her, noting how her fingers tremble as she accepts it. How she holds it with both hands, as if it might shatter from the weight of her anxiety.
"Thank you," she murmurs, her voice delightfully hesitant. She doesn't know what to make of this. Of me.
She'll soon find out.
When she takes a careful sip, her lips leave a faint stain on the rim. I fixate on that, the imprint of her mouth, the way the wet sheen dissolves into a smudge as I imagine those lips wrapped around something else. How her sweet pink lipstick will be smudged over her mouth and around the base of my cock instead.
It won’t be long before I make that a reality.
I lean in close, my breath ghosting over her ear. "Drink up," I tell her. "You'll need it."
She takes another sip, larger this time. I can see her throat working as she swallows, and my fingers itch to trace that delicate column, to feel her pulse racing beneath my touch.
"Good girl," I rumble, and she shivers at the praise. "Now, shall we discuss the rules?"
Her eyes flicker slightly, but she nods. "Yes, Sir."
I circle her like a shark scenting blood in the water. "Rule number one: you do exactly as I say, when I say it. No hesitation, no questions. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir," she chokes out.
