“Mine,” she gasped. “Mine, mine, mine.”
“Yours,” I grunted, and it was true. I’d never belonged to anyone, but I belonged to her.
She came first, a hot flood that almost drowned me. I kept going, kept pounding her into the desk, until I felt my own body start to go, the world narrowing to just her and me, the taste of blood and bourbon in my mouth.
I let the wolf out, just a little, and then she pulled away, her eyes not wild, but something far stranger. “I want to see it happen,” she said.
She sat in her father's leather desk chair and pressed her hands to the sides of her tits, pushing them together. I straddled the chair, still standing, and shoved my wet cock between her tits, the head poking her chin. I placed my hands on her shoulders and slid my cock between her breasts as bikers and firemen yelled outside the building. For several minutes, I kept a steady rhythm, the two of us watching my cock slide up and down, her nipples gorging. I pinched the dark buds, and she moaned when a clear wetness appeared.
“Do it,” she said. “I wanna see it, Shivs.”
She spat on my cock several times, the lubrication sending me over a dark edge.
“Oh fuck,” she said when the base of my cock grew.
I shoved upward again and again, the ache numbing my body. Still watching me swell, she opened her mouth, and I came in multiple fast spurts. When I finished, I stepped back, Carrie licking her lips, her eyes watching my cock until the swelling dissipated.
“What the fuck just happened?” she asked.
“It’s only the beginning, babe,” I said. “The next time will be nothing like what we’ve done, Carrie.” He kissed me and stepped back. “Will you be prepared?”
Carrie
The morning after the fire, I wore black for the thousand barrels of Stillwater that died screaming in the flames, the wasted years and secrets turned to char. It suited me. The skirt suit was tailored, expensive, but I’d picked it for the way it made people underestimate what was underneath. I wore my father’s watch, two minutes slow. My neck throbbed where the mate-mark sat, dull and persistent as a migraine aura.
The boardroom was already full when I arrived, the hush inside so heavy I could’ve dipped a finger in it. Even the wildcats carved into the table looked uneasy, their snarling faces half-swallowed by smoke stains from last night’s fire alarms. I clocked every face, every tell. Bennet Shore was there, arms folded, jaw flexed, hair still wet at the temples where he’d tried and failed to comb it down. Next to him, Celia Monroe wore her best blue blazer and a look like she was about to comfort a dying friend. Lila Vargas was all sharp lines and even sharper legal briefs, her laptop open and already recording. Evelyn Harthad her gloves off, hands folded, face inscrutable as a porcelain mask. I didn’t see Marcus, but I smelled his aftershave.
I set the folder on the table. The sound broke the silence like a gunshot.
“Thank you all for coming in early,” I said, not even glancing at the head of the table where Marcus would inevitably position himself. “I hope you’ve all had time to review the preliminary forensic reports on last night’s attack.”
Celia nodded, her eyes shiny. “I’m so sorry, Carrie. This is—unforgivable.”
“We’ll save the apologies for when we’re sure who to blame,” I said, and it came out colder than I intended. I didn’t correct it. I pulled the files from the folder, flipping through the evidence one page at a time. Each document was marked, tagged, and color-coded. I’d spent the hours between dawn and boardroom slicing the data myself, prepping it the way my father had taught me—never hand them the whole story. Bleed it out in small wounds. Make them feel every cut.
I held up the first sheet. “Financials,” I said. “The transfers that paid for the mercenaries who torched the rickhouse. It took the IT team all night to decrypt, but every wire, every money order traces back to an off-book LLC.” I let the pause linger. “Registered in Nevada to a shell called Elmwood Development.”
Lila whistled, low and impressed. “Someone did their homework.”
“Not enough to hide from our accountants,” I said, and passed the page down the table. “Page two: communications. Burner phones. Four voice calls between the Elmwood number and someone in this building in the twelve hours before the attack. Those calls originated from Marcus Ellery’s direct line.”
A ripple went through the room. Bennet’s chair creaked. Evelyn’s nostrils flared, just a fraction. Lila’s fingers danced on the keyboard, already prepping her questions.
I didn’t smile. “Page three: security footage.” I thumbed the tablet on and tossed it to the middle of the table. Video played, grainy but clear: a figure in a dark suit, slick as an undertaker, strolling the aging warehouse floor at 2:47 AM, forty-five minutes before the fires started. The timestamp did the rest.
Celia’s hand flew to her mouth. “That’s—”
“That’s Marcus,” I finished.
It was then, on cue, that the glass wall of the conference room slid open and Marcus strolled in. He wore his usual blue suit, immaculate except for a tiny white thread on the lapel that made my teeth itch. He carried no notes, just a single envelope. He took the head of the table without asking, smiled a wolf’s smile at the room, and said, “Caroline. What a show.”
I ignored him. “The point is, this was an inside job. Designed to look like a random act of terrorism but so precise it cut the heart out of our inventory without leaving a single trace back to the real perpetrator. Except, Marcus, you made one mistake.”
He opened the envelope. “Do tell.”
I flicked the final page at him. It skittered across the varnished table and stopped dead under his hand. “You gave them the security codes. Only two people had access: myself, and you. I changed mine last Friday. IT confirms your credentials unlocked the system at 3:18 AM, disabling the fire suppression and the silent alarm. You’re not just an arsonist. You’re a traitor.”
For a moment, he said nothing. Just stared at the document like he might eat it. Then, slow and deliberate, he slid a second page from his envelope and placed it on top of the pile. “You missed a detail, Carrie. Or maybe you just didn’t want to see it.”
