Nina’s body arched into every punishing thrust Billie delivered. The strap hit deep, over and over, the rhythm unrelenting. Billie wasn’t just fucking Nina. She was taking her apart, piece by piece, exactly how Nina needed her to.
“Eyes on me,” Billie ordered, her voice steady but pitched with a dark, simmering heat.
Nina’s eyes flew open, threaded with tears and pleasure. “I’m…God, Billie, I’m looking. I-I’m watching.”
“So good for me. You crave me using your body, don’t you?”
Nina’s breath hitched as she took her bottom lip between her teeth. “Y-yes. Always.”
Billie leaned forward, her hands planted firm on either side of Nina’s head. Her thrusts slowed and deepened. “And now you’ll show me exactly how much you wanted this. How much I’m in your head. Under your skin.”
Nina’s body trembled. “I’ve thought about this all day,” she confessed in a rush. “About your hands on me. Your mouth. You…buried deep inside of me. I’ve walked aroundachingfor you, wet for you, ready to drop to my knees just to breathe you in.”
Billie’s control thinned dangerously. She pressed her forehead to Nina’s, every movement of her hips now a claiming…a reaffirmation of the power between them. “That’s what I want to hear.”
Nina clutched Billie’s waistcoat, her other hand cupping the back of her neck. Billie could allow it, but only because she knew what she had with Nina. They fucked, and that was all it would ever be.
“When I’m with you, you make me feel alive.”
Billie let those words land, and then she drove her hips forward, fucking Nina hard enough to draw out every sound she’d been holding back since she’d walked through the door. “Come for me,” Billie growled against her temple. “Now.”
Nina’s cries spilled through the room, her body tightening and breaking in rhythm with Billie’s thrusts. Ecstasy flashed across her face in waves until her entire frame trembled.
Billie slowed only when Nina’s lips parted in a soft whimper, her climax still rippling through her. She drew back and stared deep into Nina’s eyes. She didn’t look ruined…she looked whole.
Billie smoothed the hair from Nina’s damp forehead with the backs of her fingers. “Still so perfect.”
Nina pulled a deep breath into her lungs, her hand sliding up to Billie’s cheek. “You always make me feel like that’s true.”
Billie smiled. It didn’t matter that her own heart was cold and dead. This womanwasperfect. She just…couldn’t be perfect for Billie in any other light. “That’s because it is.” She withdrew slowly and eased Nina’s skirt back down, her touch shifting from possessive to tender. The contrast was intentional. A reminder that what she took, she always gave back more of. “Clean up,” Billie brushed her thumb against Nina’s lower lip. “Then come back. I’m not done with you yet.”
“Yes, Billie.” She slid off the desk, her legs trembling as she steadied herself. Billie watched every movement, already anticipating the next round.
Tonight was far from finished.
Chapter Three
The taxi droppedDebra at the corner of Savile Row, and for a moment she wondered if she’d misjudged the whole thing. The street looked as intimidating as she’d imagined, with its spotless façades and discreet brass plaques…those doors that only opened for people who knew they belonged there.
You booked it, you might as well walk in.
She smoothed her overcoat down, took a breath, and crossed the pavement.
Brown & Co. didn’t look like the other tailors. There were no mannequins in the window, no loud displays…just light, clean lines, and a single black suit suspended on a brass rail. A plaque by the door read ‘By Appointment Only.’ The letters were simple and confident, and it was in that moment that Debra knew Billie Brown hadnothingto prove.
As she stepped inside, the quietness of the space felt deliberate.
“Ms Allen?”
The voice came from her right. Low, warm, and threaded with something that made her spine both tingle and straighten.
Debra turned.
The approaching figure seemed to embody the very legend of the establishment. Billie Brown stood taller than anticipated, her slender frame carrying itself with authority, wrapped in a dark suit that hung with meticulous accuracy. Beneath it, a crisp white shirt lay open at the collar, while a measuring tape was draped around her neck like a casual afterthought. She wore her hair short—styled but refusing to fully comply—above a jawline that could have been carved rather than born.
No photograph had or ever would do her justice.
“Billie Brown,” she said, extending a hand. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
