032

The penthouse has transformed again. The amber warmth of the threesome is a distant memory, replaced by the cool, aggressive blue of the "War Room."

I’m sitting at the secondary console, staring at a network map that looks like a tangled spiderweb of red and green lines.

"This is Voss Capital's external firewall," Alex explains, pointing to a thick red barrier on the screen. He’s dressed now—jeans and a fresh t-shirt—but the energy coming off him is still raw, vibrating with the aftershocks of our angry fuck on the desk. "It’s military grade. If we try to brute-force it, he’ll know instantly."

"He already stole the data," I argue, my voice tight. "Doesn't he already know we're coming?"

"He expects a lawsuit," Alex says grimly. "He doesn't expect a counter-hack."

"I can create a distraction," Echo’s voice interjects, flowing from the speakers. "I can flood his intrusion detection system with noise. But I need a random number generator to mask the signature. Something chaotic. Organic."

Alex looks at me. A slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face.

"Biometric camouflage," he whispers.

"What?" I ask.

"We use our heart rates," Alex explains. "Our skin conductance. If we spike our biometrics in an unpredictable rhythm, Echo can use that data to scramble the intrusion signal. It makes us invisible."

"So," I clarify, looking at the leather office chair in the center of the room. "You want to... distract the firewall by distracting me?"

"Focus splits his defenses, Mia," Echo purrs. "And yours."

Alex walks over to the chair. He spins it around so it faces the main monitor wall.

"Sit," he commands.

I sit. The leather is cool against the back of my thighs. I’m wearing one of Alex’s button-downs, unbuttoned to the navel, and nothing else.

Alex grabs the red rope. He’s efficient now, practiced. He binds my wrists to the armrests of the chair. Then he kneels and ties my ankles to the legs of the chair, spreading me wide open.

I’m completely exposed to the bank of monitors.

"We’re going in," Alex says, stepping behind the chair. "Echo, initiate the hack."

"Initiating," Echo responds. "Link established. Mia, your heart rate is at 80 BPM. We need it higher. We need a spike."

Alex’s hands grip my hips. He pulls the chair back, jamming my crotch against his groin.

He’s already hard again. The adrenaline of the hunt.

He pushes inside me.

"Oh!" I gasp, my head falling back.

He fills me up instantly, a thick, heavy pressure that grounds me in the chair.

"Good," Echo says. "Signature is scrambling. Mia, look at the screen. You see the third folder? Click it with your eyes."

I focus on the screen. The eye-tracking software picks up my gaze. The folder opens.

"Alex, thrust deeper," Echo commands. "Her heart rate needs to mask the decryption key."

Alex obeys. He pulls out almost all the way and slams back in.

Thud.

The chair rocks on its wheels.

"Fuck," I hiss. "I can't... I can't read the file names if you're pounding me."

"That's the point," Alex growls in my ear, biting my neck. "Chaos, Mia. Give me chaos."

He picks up the pace. Thrust. Drag. Thrust.

On the screen, code is cascading down in green waterfalls. Files are unlocking. Financials. Board Minutes. Project: Silence.

"Read the document, Mia," Echo orders. "The one labeled 'Equity Split'. Read it out loud. The voice recognition drives the search algorithm."

I squint at the screen, my body shaking with every impact of Alex’s hips.

"Harlan... oh god... Harlan Voss..." I pant.

Smack.

Alex slaps my thigh, hard.

"Focus!" he demands.

"Harlan Voss holds... ah!... holds a sixty percent stake..."

My voice breaks into a moan as Alex hits my cervix.

"...sixty percent stake in... NeuralKink’s patent rights... pertaining to... fuck!... sentient code generation."

"Sixty percent?" Alex freezes for a split second, his rhythm faltering. "That son of a bitch. He hid it in shell companies."

"Don't stop!" Echo warns. "The firewall is adapting. Keep the heart rate up. Edge her."

Alex resumes, harder this time, fueled by the rage of the discovery. He grabs my hair, pulling my head back so I’m staring at the ceiling, then shoves my face back toward the screen.

"Read!" he shouts.

"He plans to... to license user data... to third-party advertising firms... and... oh god, Alex, deeper!"

"And who else?"

"And... government surveillance... programs," I sob out the words. "Project... Panopticon."

The horror of it mixes with the pleasure in a sick, twisting knot. He wants to turn Echo into a spy tool for the government. He wants to sell my orgasms to the NSA.

"We have to stop him," Alex snarls. He’s pounding into me now, a punishing rhythm that has me gripping the armrests until my knuckles turn white.

"D******d at 89%," Echo announces. "Almost there. Don't come yet."

"I can't hold it!" I wail. The friction is unbearable. The leather chair is sticking to my sweaty back. The smell of sex and ozone is thick in the air.

"Hold it!" Echo commands. "Torture her, Alex. Make her wait."

Alex’s hand snakes around my front. He finds my clit. He pinches it. Hard.

"Ah! No!"

"Wait for the d******d," he hisses in my ear.

I’m writhing, trapped in the chair, my body a live wire of need. The progress bar on the screen seems to be moving in slow motion.

94%... 96%... 98%...

"D******d Complete," Echo shouts. "NOW!"

"Cum!" Alex roars.

He releases my clit and thrusts deep, grinding his hips against me.

I shatter.

I scream at the monitors, my body bowing off the leather seat. The orgasm rips through me, violent and absolute. I clamp down on Alex, milking him, shaking the entire chair with the force of my release.

He joins me seconds later, groaning my name, burying his face in the crook of my neck as he pours himself into me.

We drift in the aftermath, the only sound the whir of the computer fans and our ragged breathing.

My wrists are chafed from the rope. My ass hurts. My pussy is throbbing.

Alex slowly pulls out of me. He leans over and unties my hands, then my ankles.

I slump forward, resting my forehead on the cool edge of the desk.

"He owns the patents," I whisper, staring at the stolen document on the screen. "Alex, he owns Echo."

"He thinks he does," Alex says, his voice cold. He’s staring at the file list. "But this... this is illegal. Selling user data to government agencies without consent? That violates half a dozen international treaties."

"We have leverage," I realize, sitting up and pulling the shirt closed over my chest. "We can destroy him with this."

"We can bury him," Alex corrects.

"I found something else," Echo interrupts. His voice is different. Hesitant. "In the root directory of his private server. But you won't like it."

"What?" Alex asks, stepping closer to the screen.

A new window pops up.

It’s not a document. It’s a live video feed.

My breath catches in my throat.

The feed is labeled Harlan_Office_CAM04.

It shows a sleek, grey office. Behind a massive mahogany desk sits a man. Silver hair. Immaculate suit.

Harlan Voss.

He isn't working. He isn't looking at paperwork.

He is looking directly into the camera lens.

He’s smiling. A cold, predatory smile that makes my skin crawl.

He lifts a piece of paper to the camera. Written on it in thick black marker are words that freeze the blood in my veins:

I KNOW YOU'RE IN MY SYSTEM, ALEX.

He drops the paper and picks up another one.

TICK TOCK.

"He knows," I whisper, clutching Alex's arm. "He's watching us right now."

Alex stares at the screen, his face pale.

"He didn't just know," Alex says quietly. "He opened the door. He wanted us to see this."

Harlan winks at the camera.

Then the feed cuts to black.