Victor's new office sat one floor below the penthouse. Same view. Smaller scale. The desk is like a runway. Chairs that cost more than rent. He waved me in. Cigar already lit. Smoke curled lazily toward vents that probably filtered gold.
"Sit, kid." He patted the leather. "You're moving up."
I swallowed. Tie too tight again. "Thank you, sir."
He leaned back. Belly-strained buttons. Eyes were sharp despite the booze on his breath. "Isabella says you've got potential."
Potential. The word dripped from her mouth differently.
"She's been guiding the Asia numbers," I said. Careful.
Victor chuckled. "She guides everything." He puffed smoke. "But you listen. That's rare."
Promotion meant direct reports to him. Meant meetings in his calendar. Meant to see her in daylight. Suits crisp. Legs crossed at conference tables while her foot nudged my calf under mahogany.
On her first day on the new floor, she passed by my glass cubicle. Didn't stop. Just a glance. A flicker of tongue wetting the bottom lip. Gone.
Lunch alone. Couldn't eat. Hard half the day thinking about last night. She is on the kitchen island. Legs over my shoulders. Screaming into a dish towel so the doorman wouldn't hear.
Afternoon briefing. Victor droned acquisitions. Isabella is at his side. Tablet in hand. Professional. Ice.
But when Victor turned to the screen her fingers brushed my wrist under the table. Traced a circle. Promise.
Meeting ended. She lingered. "J. My office. Files."
Heart kicked. I followed.
Her space smelled like her. Jasmine. Smoke. Sex underneath. The door clicked shut. Blinds dropped automatically.
"Lock it."
I did.
She rounded the desk. Sat on edge. Skirt rode. "Kneel."
I dropped. Carpet thick. Hands on her knees. I pushed them apart. No panties. Already wet.
"Taste."
Head under the skirt. Tongue flat. Slow lick. She gripped her hair. Pulled closer. Hips rocked. Quiet gasps. Had to be. Victor is two doors down.
She came fast. Thighs clamped my ears. Bit my shoulder to muffle.
I stood shaky. She zipped me open. Stroked twice. "Not here. Tonight. Penthouse. Bring the key."
Key. Always the key.
I left her office flushed. Victor is in the hall.
"Everything good?" Eyebrow raised.
"Files sorted, sir."
He nodded. Clapped my back. Hard. "Dinner tomorrow. My place. Meet the family."
Family. Stomach dropped.
That night penthouse. The door opened before I knocked.
She wore leather. Corset. Thigh-high boots. Hair in a braid like a whip.
"Strip."
I did. Slow. She watched. Sipping red wine.
Naked. Hard. She circled. Boot heel clicked.
"Wrists."
Silk ties again. But this time to a hook in the ceiling. The hidden panel slid back. Arms up. Stretched. Toes barely touched.
Vulnerable.
She trailed a crop. Soft leather tip. Down my chest. Over nipples. Stomach. Cock. Teased.
"Safe word?" She whispered.
"Red."
She smiled. "Good boy."
Crop snapped light on my ass. Sting. Then kiss. Tongue soothed.
Again. Harder. Welts rose.
Pain flipped to heat. Cock leaked.
She dropped to her knees. Mouth hot. Took deep. Crop forgotten.
I came down her throat. She swallowed. Stood.
She untied me. Led to the bedroom.
New toy. Strap-on. Black. Thick.
"Ever?"
I shook my head.
"Lube." She bent me over the bed. Ass up.
Slow. Burn. Full. She reached around. Stroked me in rhythm.
I moaned loudly. Shame gone.
She fucked me till I saw stars. Came again. Untouched.
After she held me. Rare tenderness. "You're perfect."
I whispered, "Why me?"
Silence. Then, "Because you're clean. Untouched. Mine to ruin."
Ruin. The word should've scared me. Didn't.
We slept tangled.
Morning. She was up first. Coffee. Black.
"Victor's dinner. Behave. Call me Mrs Hale."
Mrs. Hale. Knife twist.
I dressed. Left separately. Key in pocket.
Office. Normal. Almost.
Victor's driver picked me up at seven. Mansion outside the city. Gates. Guards. Driveway longer than a football field.
Isabella opened the door. Gown silver. Slit to the thigh. Hair up. Diamonds at the throat.
"J. Punctual." Smile for show.
Victor inside. He poured scotch. "Son, meet the wife properly."
Handshake. Her grip lingered half a second too long.
Dinner. Table for twelve. But just us. Staff hovered.
Conversation safe. Markets. My "humble beginnings." Victor's war stories.
Isabella quiet. Foot found mine under the table. Slid up calf. Dangerous.
Dessert. She excused herself. "Powder room."
Minutes later text. *Wine cellar. Now.*
Heart raced. I slipped away. "Bathroom."
Downstairs. Dark wood. Bottles dusty.
She waited. Back against racks. Gown hiked.
"Quick."
I pushed inside. Wet. Ready. Fucked standing. Hand over her mouth.
I came fast. Pulled out. She fixed the gown.
Back upstairs separate. Victor none the wiser.
Night ended. The driver dropped me off at the apartment.
Couldn't sleep. Replayed the risk.
Next day office. She called me in.
Drawer open. USB drive.
"Watch this. Alone."
I took it. Home that night. Plugged in.
Video. Elevator. First kiss. My face is clear. Hers angled away.
Another. Penthouse. Me tied. Her cropping.
All of it.
Recorded.
Heart stopped.
Text from her. *Insurance. Be good.*
Insurance.
Trapped.
But hard again. Shameful.
I jerked off to my own humiliation.
Addiction deeper.
And the dinner. Just the start.
Family meant more than table manners.
Victor had plans.
So did she.
For now the drawer. The drive. The proof.
The key was still warm in my hand.
The air tasted of rust and jasmine. Silence thick as wool swallowed the clicks.