2

He came at 12:03 a.m. exactly.

Lila had spent the last hour watching the digital clock on her nightstand, the red numbers burning into her retinas. She had been naked for a long time, the air in the room beginning to feel heavy and static.

Her heart was hammering so hard she could feel the thud of it in the back of her throat, a physical reminder that she was venturing into territory she couldn't map out. The balcony door stood wide open, just as he had told her to leave it. The warm night air of Lagos drifted inside, licking across her bare skin like a humid promise. It felt like a physical touch, a precursor to what was coming.

When Midnight moved into the room, he didn't make a sound. He simply appeared, a darker shape moving through the dark. He reached back and closed the glass door behind him, the lock engaging with a soft, final click that seemed to echo through the entire apartment. Tonight, he looked less like a phantom and more like a man, though that didn't make him any less terrifying.

He wore a black button-down shirt and dark trousers, but no shoes. The sight of his bare feet on her white marble floor felt strangely, uncomfortably intimate. It stripped away the formality of his intrusion, making the space feel like it belonged to him as much as it did to her.

He didn't move toward her immediately. He just stood there, his eyes tracking the way her chest rose and fell with her panicked breathing.

“On your knees,” he said.

The command was quiet, but it had the force of a physical blow. Lila didn't hesitate. She didn't even think about it. She slid off the edge of the bed before her brain could catch up with her movements, her body reacting to the steel in his voice. The carpet was thick and soft under her shins as she knelt on the floor. She kept her hands resting on her thighs, her fingers digging into her own skin. Her breasts felt heavy, the tips aching and sensitive in the open air, reaching for a touch she was both terrified of and desperate for.

He began to circle her. He moved with a predatory grace, his footsteps silent on the rug. Lila kept her head down, watching his feet move in her peripheral vision.

“You researched me today,” he said, his voice a low vibration in the quiet room. “You spent hours at that laptop of yours, looking for a name, a face, a record.

You found nothing. That frustrated you, didn't it, Lila?”

A low chuckle escaped him, a sound that made the hair on her arms stand up.

“Good,” he murmured. “I want you off balance. I want you wondering who I am every second you’re awake.”

He stopped directly in front of her. His fingers moved under her jaw, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to look at him. The contact was electric, a sudden jolt of heat that raced through her entire system.

Up close, his eyes were even more intense, the silver threads in the iris seeming to glow in the dim light of the city.

“Tell me your safest word,” he said.

It was a question, but it felt like an anchor. He was giving her a way out, a boundary in a situation that felt like it had none.

“Lagoon,” she whispered. Her voice was thin, barely a breath.

“Use it and everything stops,” he told her, his gaze locked on hers. “The door opens, I leave, and I never come back. But you won’t need it tonight.”

He moved his hand from her jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip, pulling it down slightly. “Open.”

Lila obeyed. Her mouth felt dry, her heart still racing a mile a minute. He pushed two fingers inside her mouth, the intrusion sudden and dominant. He began stroking her tongue, his fingers rough and demanding.

“Suck,” he commanded.

She did as she was told. She hollowed her cheeks, taking him in, tasting the faint salt of his skin and something else—something darker, like the smell of the night air and expensive tobacco.

The act felt primal, a total submission that made her pussy clench hard. She could feel herself dripping, the wetness sliding down her inner thighs, cooling in the breeze from the balcony. She was a mess for him, and they both knew it.

He withdrew his fingers slowly, they were glistening and slick with her saliva. He didn't wipe them away. Instead, he reached out and painted her nipples with the moisture, his touch light but deliberate. He watched as they reacted, growing even harder under his attention.

“You’re soaked already,” he said, his voice dropping to a rough growl. “I can smell it on you.”

He crouched down, bringing his mouth close to her ear, so close she could feel the heat of his breath. It sent a violent shiver down her spine.

“I know your history, Lila,” he whispered. “I know you’ve spent your life being the one in control. The successful designer, the woman who handles everything. But I also know you’ve never let anyone take you the way you actually need to be taken. Rough. Possessive. Like you’re a piece of property that belongs to them.”

The words hit her like a physical weight. He was stripping away the layers of her carefully constructed life, exposing the raw, ugly need she tried to hide even from herself.

“Stand up,” he said, rising to his full height. “Bend over the bed.”

Lila stood on trembling legs. She moved to the side of the bed and leaned over, her face pressed against the cool, smooth sheets. She arched her back, raising her ass toward him, feeling completely exposed and vulnerable. She expected a blow, a sting, something to punish her for her need. But he didn't hit her.

Instead, he dragged two fingers through her folds. He was slow about it, spreading her own wetness from her clit down to her entrance, making sure she was thoroughly coated. Then, without any further warning, he pushed both fingers inside her in one slow, deep thrust.

Lila let out a muffled moan into the mattress, her fingers clutching at the fabric of the duvet.

“Quiet,” he warned. He began to curl his fingers upward, finding the sensitive spot that made her vision go blurry. “You don’t come until I say so. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she gasped, the word lost in the bedding.

He began to fuck her with his fingers. It was a torturous pace—deep, relentless, and agonizingly slow. He didn't let up, his rhythm steady and demanding. With his other hand, he began to stroke her body. He ran his palm over the small of her back, gripped her hips to hold her in place, and traced the curve of her ass. The combination of the friction inside her and the possessive weight of his hand on her skin was almost too much to bear. Every time she felt the pressure building, every time she moved her hips to try and find the release, he would stop. He would pull back just enough to leave her whimpering, his fingers staying deep but motionless until her breathing slowed.

“Please,” she finally gasped out, her voice breaking. She couldn't take the teetering on the edge anymore. Her body was a wire stretched too tight, vibrating with a need that felt like it was going to tear her apart.

“Please what?” he asked. He sounded entirely too calm, his voice steady while she was falling to pieces.

“Make me come. Please, Midnight. I can’t… please.”

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he added a third finger, stretching her beautifully, filling her so completely that she felt like she might split.

“Come on my hand,” he said, his voice low and commanding, right against her ear. “Come for me like the desperate little slut you are.”

The orgasm crashed through her with a violence she wasn't prepared for. Her knees buckled, her legs giving out under the sheer force of the pleasure. He caught her, his strong arm wrapping around her waist to hold her steady against the bed while her body pulsed and gushed around his hand.

She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but ride out the waves of sensation that seemed to go on forever.

When the last of the shudders finally faded, leaving her weak and dazed, he withdrew his hand. He moved around the bed and stood in front of her. He brought his glistening fingers to her mouth, holding them there until she parted her lips and tasted herself.

“Tomorrow,” he murmured, leaning in to press his face against her hair. The scent of him was everywhere now. “Tomorrow, I’m going to taste you properly. I want to know exactly what you’re like when I’m not using my hands.”

He stepped back, his expression unreadable in the shadows.