Selina's POVI was already on my second coffee, and the clock on my monitor said 10:27 AM. Vera, queen of punctuality, was a no-show. This was the sort of thing that would get me worried if I didn’t know her priorities in life: orgasms first, salary second, and emotional health and existential dread somewhere in the low forties.Still, she’d never been this late.I’d finished the spreadsheet I wasn’t supposed to start until next week and even flagged the inconsistencies in red, a move that would have sent any other junior associate straight into HR, but my direct report had a soft spot for “independent thinkers.” It was the only way I survived this place: that and Vera, who was currently AWOL, probably somewhere getting her toes curled by the flavor of the week.I was composing a mental text—Hey, did you die, or are you in the throes of post-coital bliss?—when the glass doors of the office shuddered and Vera stumbled in, every eye in the bullpen magnetized to her.She limped, but with
Grant's POVWhen Vera first sauntered into my den—shirt half-tucked, tits practically begging to burst from those little lace triangles—I didn’t figure she’d last past my first thrust. She was human, and we all knew how that story went: moans, gushing, and a few frantic minutes before they either broke or begged for a breather. I had buried more human lovers than I cared to count, each one a footnote in the encyclopedic boredom that was my nocturnal grind. But Vera? She was a problem.A beautiful, reckless, spitfire problem with a coyote’s appetite and a pornographer’s vocabulary. She had me on the back foot from our first fuck, and if you think I mean that figuratively, you’ve never had a woman reach around and grab a fistful of your balls the moment you try to flex on her.Tonight, we started at 2:02 a.m., according to the blinking green digits of my stovetop clock. The bottle of gin we’d shared was already gone, and the cheap-ass lemon-lime soda she’d insisted on as a chaser was go
Vera's POVIt was almost two in the morning, and I couldn't take it anymore.For the past three weeks, Grant had been stringing me along with his sweet lips and his clever hands but always, always pulling back just as I lost myself in him. First it was the teasing—his mouth on my neck, his fingers tight on my waist as he backed me into the library stacks or pinned me to the black granite kitchen counter. Then it was his talent for knowing exactly where to stop: one knuckle shy, one breath short, one slow grind before pulling away like he'd left the milk on the stove.Tonight I was going to make him finish what he started, even if I had to drag him there by the dick.I padded barefoot down the hallway, silk robe swishing against my thighs, the house as silent as a held breath. The banister was cold under my palm. There was no one awake but me and my need.Grant’s door was barely cracked. I didn't bother to knock; he was expecting me, or he should have been after the way I'd looked at h
Lucas's POVI dialed Lydia's number out of boredom, not longing. My office was a glass-and-chrome terrarium perched above city traffic—perfect for anyone with a god complex or a penchant for voyeurism. I had both. The phone vibrated twice, and she answered, breathless, as if she'd been jogging or chasing an ambulance.“Oh, Lucas, I was around the corner. If you want, I can come to your office.”Of course she was. Lydia had the persistence of a fly and the survival instinct of a lemming. I pictured her standing on the curb, phone clutched tight, eyes on my building. She would have ditched work for this. Or maybe she was unemployed and just hadn’t bothered telling me.“Fine. Come up.” I let the line go dead and spun my chair to face the window, wondering if I could squeeze in a nap before she arrived.I hated clingy women. Lydia was that in chemical form—an addictive substance I wanted to scrub off my skin. But I couldn't argue with her technique. Some people had soft hands, Lydia had a
Selina's POVI didn't know anyone could get so desperate for dick until I met Lydia Sykes. Scratch that. Until I met Lydia Sykes and found out she had less dignity than a Craigslist scammer and more ambition than a starving rat. I wanted to be disgusted, but mostly I was annoyed, because I could already see how this story would play out: Lucas Blackwood, the flavor of the month, dicking down a bottle blonde in a glass elevator, then sending her off with the same dismissive smile he reserved for baristas and board members. He promised he would handle her, but that woman won't give up, and I will end her if she continues like this.What I didn’t see coming was her obsession. When Vera told me who she is, it was hard to believe, but it started to make sense with time. I didn’t see her trailing me like a bloodhound in red-bottoms, peering around corners, timing her “accidental” run-ins at every lunch spot on my block. At first I thought she was stalking Lucas, which would make sense, but
Selina's POVIf you’d told me someone would become that desperate for a dick, I’d have called you a liar, or at least a melodramatic attention whore. But Lydia Sykes had always prided herself on exceeding even the lowest expectations. I could have ignored her DMs, her little gifts, and her disarming sweetness—if not for the fact she tasted Lucas’s cock and then decided she needed the rest of the meal. She went from sidepiece to stalker in three skipped periods flat.I’d been nursing my bitterness all morning, sipping burnt caramel lattes at my desk and plotting my move. By nine, Lydia’s first couriered envelope landed, and my day spun on its axis. The second package came with a note—her slanted, childish script: “Let’s find a way to work together. Call me?” She’d even dotted the fucking ‘i’ with a heart, as if I was going to bake cookies for her. As if she wasn’t Lucas’s latest chew toy and I wasn’t the one left gnawing on the bone.I spent the next hour orchestrating my entrance. It