Romans de Tiwas’s Pen

I hated her before I ever touched her. That’s the cleanest way to say it.Elena Voss walked into the boardroom six months ago wearing a tailored charcoal suit and a smile sharp enough to slice through quarterly projections. She didn’t just present ideas, she dismantled everyone else’s. Especially mine and I’ve never been dismantled in my life.“I disagree,” she said during her first executive meeting, eyes sliding to me across polished walnut. “I think Camille’s approach lacks imagination.” She didn’t blink, neither did I. That was the beginning.We became the firm’s two predators circling the same prize: Chief Operating Officer. One promotion. Two of us. Equal performance metrics. Equal ruthlessness.She stole clients from under me with velvet diplomacy. I countered by outmaneuvering her in budget allocations. She Bcc’d the board on strategic revisions. I corrected her projections publicly. We were vicious, controlled, professional and beneath every exchange was something that hummed

I had just arrived at Clara’s house, expecting the usual warm greetings and laughter. But something felt… off. The front door was slightly ajar. I hesitated before I pushed it open quietly, stepping inside. The house smelled faintly of vanilla and summer air, but there was something else, something electric, lingering in the silence.Then I heard it. Soft, wet moans, coming from her bedroom. My breath caught. My feet carried me toward the sound, curiosity tangled with something much more primal.And there she was. Clara, on her bed, breasts exposed with her nipples hard with arousal, her white legs raised slightly at the knees with her fingers moving in slow, deliberate rhythm. Her eyes fluttered closed, lips parted, every shiver, every gasp pulling me in closer. My pulse spiked, desire curling low in my belly.I watched as she began to move her hips and I could see her pussy swollen and dripping her juices. It was a surreal moment. I think of leaving but I cannot move my legs from th

The scent of ink hit me before anything else. Sharp, electric, a little dangerous. I shouldn’t have been here. Not in Roxy’s tattoo studio, not sitting in that chair, exposing my skin to someone I barely knew, someone whose laugh made me forget the meticulous control I worked so hard to maintain.But curiosity and something darker, something forbidden had led me here.Roxy grinned at me, leaning against her workstation, sleeves rolled up, colors tattooed on her forearms. “Ready for this, Dana?” Her voice was playful, teasing, and I felt a shiver that had nothing to do with nerves.“I… think so,” I muttered, tugging at the cuffs of my suit jacket, suddenly aware of every inch of my professional facade. Control was my life, my career and my safe, orderly world but here I was, exposing my skin, exposing myself to chaos. To her.She tilted her head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Relax. You’ll love it. Trust me.”I wanted to. I wanted to trust her with everything. But the second she guided

I knew she was trouble the moment she didn’t smile at me. Most people smile. They either want something, or they want to be wanted.Mara Kade did neither. She stood in my living room like a storm cloud in tailored black with broad shoulders, steady eyes, hands clasped behind her back. The security firm had sent over a file after the latest threat letter.“She comes highly recommended,” my manager had said.Highly recommended didn’t cover it. She looked like she’d snap someone in half without raising her pulse.“I don’t need a bodyguard inside my house,” I told her.Her eyes swept the room once, calculating exits. “You do now.” She said with no flattery, no nerves and no starstruck hesitation.I smiled sweetly. “Do you know who I am?”“Yes.”“And?”“And you’re not as invincible as you think.”I almost laughed. No one talked to me like that, no one dared. I decided right then that I would make her crack.Film sets are chaos disguised as glamour. Mara moved through them like controlled v

I noticed him because he didn’t look at me like the others did. Most men at the gym stare but he assessed. There’s a difference. He made me feel an excitement I have not felt since I became a full housewife and let my life revolve around the house, gym and stores.I was midway through deadlifts when I felt that awareness of being watched. Not in a way that made me uncomfortable. In a way that made me want to lift heavier.I finished my set, stood upright, and caught his reflection in the mirror.He didn’t look away. Interesting.He was across the room at the squat rack. Sleeves cut off, forearms taut, posture disciplined. The kind of man who trained with intention, not ego.I wiped my hands slowly with a towel as I watched him re-racked his weights. Then he walked toward the water station just as I did.“Strong set,” he said casually.His voice was calm. Even. Controlled.“Thanks,” I replied. “Your depth could use work.”His brow lifted slightly.Bold.I held his gaze.“You were watch

The library was my sanctuary and where I worked with my other colleague who usually sat at the entrance. I stay on the third floor in the corner by the tall windows and occupy my time with philosophy and literature. The smell of paper and dust and old wood grounding me after long days. I liked anonymity and silence there.Until he started sitting across from me. The first day, I assumed it was coincidence. The second day, I suspected curiosity. By the third, I knew it was deliberate. He never interrupted. Never tried to start conversation. But he watched. Not constantly. Not rudely. Just enough.Enough that when I looked up from my book, our eyes met like it had been planned. He held my gaze. And I didn’t look away.Finally, I closed my book.“You know,” I said quietly, mindful of the silence rule, “most people at least attempt subtlety.”A slow smile curved his mouth.“I thought I was being subtle.”“You’re not.”He leaned back slightly in his chair. “Then why haven’t you moved?”Th

I never meant for this to happen. Not tonight, not while my friend was upstairs, taking her shower and singing softly in that way she does when she thinks no one is listening. I had just finished my work at the gym as a gym instructor and decided to visit my best friend for a while, before going to my house.But then I heard the door open. Then footsteps of my friend’s boyfriend. That familiar rhythm of his presence in her apartment. Apparently, Brittany had left something behind in his house as I saw her shoes through the bag he was holdingHe paused in the living room. I could see him, tall, tense, eyes scanning the space.I let myself look back. Slowly and deliberately.“Hey,” I said softly, my voice low, teasing. I have always avoided sharing the same spaces with him alone because of how attracted I was to himHe startled slightly, then smiled looking curious, amused and almost caught off guard.“You… didn’t expect me,” I continued, stepping closer. “I just thought I’d… hang out w

I shouldn’t have been watching. But the balcony doors were open and so were the curtains. It wasn’t my fault that his apartment faced mine across the courtyard. It wasn’t my fault that warm night air carried sound like a secret begging to be overheard. I just returned home late after closing the bar and wanted to shower and sleep but I just settled in and started hearing sounds from outside my buildingAt first, I thought the laughter was music.Then I saw her.She was sitting on his kitchen counter, legs wrapped loosely around his waist, her fingers tangled in his shirt as he kissed along her neck. Slow and confident, like he knew exactly what he was doing.I froze behind my own curtain. I should have stepped away, Instead, I stayed. Because the man kissing her wasn’t just any man.He was the stranger I’d noticed two weeks ago at the café downstairs. The one with the dark eyes and the lazy smile who held my gaze a second longer than necessary when I ordered my coffee.The one who had

I noticed him the day he moved in. Not because I meant to. Not because I was watching.But because he carried his own couch up two flights of stairs like it weighed nothing, jaw tight, forearms flexing, T-shirt clinging in a way that made my breath hitch before I could stop it.I had been unlocking my door when he looked up mid-step. Our eyes met. Just for a second but it was enough to imprint him in my mind.For the next week, I told myself I wasn’t paying attention. But I knew the rhythm of his footsteps already. Knew the sound of his laugh through the thin walls. Knew that he played music late at night jazz that bled faintly into my bedroom when everything else was quiet.And sometimes… sometimes I’d lie awake and imagine what it would feel like to be on the other side of that wall. Close enough to touch.I’d catch glimpses of him in the hallway. Fresh from a shower, sleeves rolled up and keys dangling from long fingers. He was always polite and always calm.“Evening.”“Morning.”S