I left the meeting without explanation. Went straight to the security room. Kicked everyone out. Locked the door.
Then I spent ten minutes staring at monitors, willing the SUV to appear. Every second stretched into eternity. Every shadow on the screens looked like a threat.
Fear is not an emotion I allow myself often. But watching those empty screens, knowing she was out there without proper protection, knowing that Ramiz Krasniqi is still breathing and planning and waiting for his moment to strike back…
Fear tasted like ash in my mouth.
Only when I saw the SUV enter the garage did the fear transmute into fury. Cold. Precise. The kind that demands consequences.
And now, with her body pressed against mine and her pulse racing beneath my hand still resting on her throat Now the fury is transforming again.
Into hunger I can't control and don't want to stop.
"You need to be taught how to obey," I say, voice rough.
Before she can respond, I spin her around. Press her forward until she's bent over the computer desk, palms flat against the surface, monitors casting blue light across her body.
I lift the skirt of her dress. Silk slides over my hands, revealing long legs and the curve of her ass wrapped in a thong so delicate it's barely there.
The sight nearly breaks me.
Black lace. Tiny. Covering almost nothing.
I almost come right there, just from looking.
"Zakhar, what are you—"
The slap cuts off her words. My palm connects with her ass, the sound sharp in the enclosed space.
"That's for leaving the house when you were explicitly told to stay put," I say.
Another slap. Harder this time. She gasps, and I watch the mark bloom across her skin.
"That's for giving me attitude in front of Vitor."
A third slap. Her body jolts forward, and a small sound escapes her throat. Not quite pain. More complicated than that.
"And that's for putting yourself in danger last night. For walking into Ramiz Krasniqi's office when you should have stayed safe with the other women."
I watch her carefully. Watch the way surprise gives way to resistance. Watch resistance dissolve into surrender.
Her breathing changes. Her body relaxes into the desk instead of fighting the position. And when I let my hand rest on her reddened skin, feeling the heat radiating through the thin lace, I smell it.
Arousal. Sharp and unmistakable.
She's wet. I can see it already soaking through the black lace. Can feel my own body responding, hardness straining against my pants.
I lift her from the desk in one smooth motion. Press her back against the wall of monitors, caging her in with my body. The screens flicker behind her, casting shifting shadows across her flushed face.
Then I kiss her again.
This time it's not just anger. It's possession. The assertion of dominance she clearly needs as much as I need to give it.
I grind against her, letting her feel exactly what she does to me. Letting her understand that this fury, this need, this desperate hunger, it's all her fault.
My hand circles her throat. Not squeezing. Not threatening. Just resting there. A reminder of who's in control now.
My other hand moves lower. Finds the delicate lace of her thong. Grips. Rips.
