LOGIN⚠️WARNING: For mature readers 18+ only. Themes: Body worship, dominance, primal play, and MFM/threesome content. "Stop fighting it, Sloane," he growls, his fist knotted in my hair. He yanks my head back until my throat arches, exposing my frantic pulse. His thumb shoves past my lips, pressing down on my tongue with bruising force, marking me before he even tastes me. I choke on a gasp, thighs trembling against the wall. "We can’t." "Shut the fuck up," he snarls, his teeth grazing the sensitive cord of my neck. "I’ve spent years tracking every prim step you took. I’ve fantasized about the moment I finally cornered my prey." He sinks his teeth into the junction of my shoulder, a sharp, possessive bite that will leave a jagged purple brand by morning. "Now, you’re locked in this cage with us. I’m going to leave my mark on every inch of your skin." Behind him, his twin looms. A silent, lethal predator. I’m caged between them, the air thick with the scent of woodsmoke and ruin. For four years, I was the invisible shield for the Sterling empire. To me, they were liabilities. To them, I was the hunt. Zurich changed everything. The boy I once scheduled is now a man who pins me down, whispering filth while his brother watches, his eyes dark with the same starving intent. I was paid to guard the Sterling legacy. Now, I’m the prize. I want them to hunt me. I want them to worship me. I want them to break me until there is nothing left but surrender.
View More(Sloane’s POV)“The revitalization of the economic urban sector in Zurich serves as the primary blueprint for what we can achieve in our own metropolitan hubs, provided we.”Leon’s voice didn’t just break. It splintered. A microscopic fracture. A tremor so small it probably slipped past the thousands watching the flickering blue livestream. But to me, it sounded like the first structural failure in a skyscraper. He stood behind the heavy oak podium while the stage lights turned his skin to ash, catching the uneven texture of the concealer I had spent forty minutes smoothing over his cheek. His hands lay flat against the wood, fingers splayed so wide the tendons in his forearms rose like taut wires. He was reciting the words I had drilled into him at 3:00 AM. Yet he wasn’t owning them. He was a man performing a death row request, not a Sterling claiming his birthright. “Mr. Sterling?” The
(Sloane's POV)My eyes burned with a dry, gritty heat that felt like a fever.The red pen in my hand was a heavy, blunt instrument. No matter how hard I locked my joints, my fingers would not stop their low grade tremors. I had been staring at the same paragraph on agricultural subsidies for twenty minutes until the words blurred into a meaningless charcoal sludge.Every time Leon’s voice softened or his pace faltered, I shut him down with a sharp, rhythmic tap of my pen against the wood."Again," I said.My voice was a hollow rasp, stripped of everything but the work. I did not look up from the legal pad."From the infrastructure pivot. You are rushing the transition. If you leave a gap that wide, they will gut you during the rebuttal. Make it seamless."The apartment reeked of stale espresso and the metallic tang of pure, unadulterated exhaustion.Legal pads were scattered like wreckage across the kitchen island. Empty mugs formed a ceramic graveyard on the counter, and highlighters
(Sloane’s POV)The silence in the kitchen was not empty. It was heavy, like the air right before a transformer blows.Kai stood in the doorway, the hallway light framing him in a way that made him look like a statue. He did not drop his suitcase. He did not loosen his tie. He just stood there, his gaze moving from my messy hair to the dark, smeared lipstick on Leon's chin.Leon did not move away from the counter. He did not even try to look like a man who had not just been pressed against his assistant in a desperate, copper-tasting kiss. Instead, he leaned back, resting his weight on his elbows. He looked at his brother with a slow, dangerous smile."So," Kai said. His voice was a low, melodic blade. "This is how the preparation for the debate is going. This is the rigorous schedule you told me was so vital to the success of the debate."He took a step into the room, his eyes scanning the carnage of the table. The legal pads were scattered. My highlighter was uncapped, drying out on
(Sloane POV)The red glow of the digital clock on the microwave hit 12:04 AM when the lock turned.I did not look up. I was busy redlining Leon's opening statement for the third time tonight. My highlighter bled through the cheap legal pad."You are late," I said.My neck was stiff. A dull ache pulsed behind my left ear from staring at the same four paragraphs for three hours. "We were supposed to run the healthcare rebuttal at ten. You are behind schedule."Leon did not answer with an apology. He did not even acknowledge the table. He just walked into the kitchen. His boots were heavy and wet on the linoleum. They left a trail of dark smears.He looked like he had been dragged through a gutter. His hair was matted. A fresh angry welt rose along his cheekbone. His breathing was too fast and too shallow.He reached into his pocket and slapped two tickets onto the middle of my notes. They were heavy and high gloss. They looked absurdly expensive against the backdrop of my scribbled stat
(Sloane’s POV)The restaurant was a museum of quiet money, where the only sounds were the precise click of silver on china and the low, practiced murmur of German, and it was the kind of place where even the flowers looked disciplined as they sat in their crystal vase
(Sloane’s POV)~~~~~~~ Three weeks later~~~~~~~~The air in Zurich smelled like money and regret.It was a clean, cold smell. Like bank vaults and freshly washed stones. Our apartment was all sharp angles and white walls, high above the Limmat river. It was beautiful. It was a priso
(Sloane's POV)James found me in the pantry, counting cans of soup like a crazy person. It was the only place in the house that was ever truly quiet.“Miss Sloane?”I jumped, nearly dropping a can of tomato bisque. “James. You scared me.”“Mr. Sterling would like to see you. In t
(Sloane’s POV)The slides were a band-aid on a bullet wound.I’d stayed up until 3 AM building them from Kai’s outline, making the data look simple, foolproof.Leon had glanced at them for maybe ninety seconds that morning, chewing on a piece of toast.“Looks fancy,” he






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