Indecent Proposal

Lana Reyes

The steady thrum of Vortex was supposed to drown him out.

That was the lie I kept clinging to like it might hold.

The lights, the music, the endless rotation of overpriced cocktails and spoiled Wall Street assholes—it should’ve kept me focused. Numb. Safe.

But it didn’t.

Because no matter how many drinks I poured, how many fake smiles I forced, I couldn’t scrub him from my skin.

Couldn’t un-feel what he did to me.

I moved behind the bar like a ghost in heels. My hands remembered the motions—lime wedge, pour, garnish—but my body? My body was still pressed to the hallway wall, gasping into his shoulder while his fingers slid deep and filthy between my thighs.

God.

My muscles clenched, a betrayal I couldn’t control. Every step reminded me. The heat. The stretch. The pressure of his palm grinding against my clit until I came hard enough to see stars, fully clothed, like I was already his.

And then he looked at me—wrecked, panting—and said, smug as sin:

“See? I could make you come whenever I want.”

That broke something in me.

I slapped him. Hard. And he fucking smiled.

I hated him.

I hated how wet I still was when I walked away. How fast my heart was pounding now just remembering it.

I slammed a lime wedge into a glass too hard. Juice splashed up my wrist. My breath came shallow. Too hot. Too fast.

No. No. I needed to snap out of it.

I wasn’t some possession. I wasn’t his. I was a fucking law student, not a plaything.

Get it together, Reyes. You’re not broken yet.

“Going on break,” I barked to whoever was closest, then stormed toward the back hallway like I was chasing a fire I couldn’t put out.

The quiet hit like a hammer.

No music. No neon. Just me and the echo of everything I wanted to forget.

I leaned against the break room door, chest heaving, thighs already pressed together like I could hold the memory in—or keep it out.

But I could still feel him.

Still feel the curl of his fingers. The sharp line of his jaw against my cheek. The way I’d arched into him without thinking. Without hesitating.

I was spiraling.

Ashamed. Angry.

And soaked.

Then my phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

Of course he had my number.

I opened the message with trembling hands.

Did you like coming on my fingers, or are you still thinking about what my cock would feel like instead?

I nearly dropped the phone.

I read it again.

And again.

My skin flushed hot. Fury bloomed like wildfire.

But the worst part?

I didn’t delete it.

I liked it.

And now—right now, as I stood alone and shaking, trying to breathe—I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Imagining his hands. His mouth. His cock.

What it would feel like if I let him finish what he started.

What it would sound like if I stopped fighting.

What it would feel like if I asked for it.

I was unraveling.

I could feel it.

And the sickest, most terrifying part?

I wanted him to keep going.

I pushed into the breakroom and stopped cold.

Elliot Harrington was already there.

Standing in the shadows, arms folded, posture too relaxed—like he’d been waiting.

Like I’d walked into a trap he’d set hours ago and was just now springing.

“Lana,” he drawled, smooth and unbothered. “Just the person I was hoping to see.”

My stomach dropped.

“Mr. Harrington, I was just—”

“Relax,” he cut in, stepping forward with a calm that chilled me. “This won’t take long.”

His eyes scanned me like an appraisal. No lust. No curiosity. Just calculation.

A transaction.

“I have an offer. Twelve hours. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

My breath caught.

“You know what that buys.”

I stared at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

His smile barely moved. “A little game we like to play. Behind locked doors, no cameras, no questions. You. As the feature. It’s been arranged.”

I blinked. My throat closed.

They knew.

Nathan. Elliot. All of them.

The rent. The overdue bills. My mother’s surgery. My entire life stretched thin and bleeding.

And now they were holding out a check—like a lifeline.

If I was willing to drown first.

“You knew,” I whispered. “You’ve known everything.”

Elliot shrugged. “We do our homework. You were flagged months ago. Nathan moved fast once he saw... potential.”

My skin crawled.

Flagged.

Like prey.

“I’m not for sale,” I bit out.

He took a step closer. “Everyone is. The only difference is how much they cost.”

I shook my head. “You think this is kindness?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “It’s opportunity. And I’d think very carefully before walking away from it. You’re running out of time, Lana. You know it. We know it.”

My blood boiled. Shame and rage twisted inside me, indistinguishable.

“Tell Nathan to go to hell.”

Elliot’s smirk faded. Just slightly.

“You’re already in it,” he said.

And then he walked out.

No fight. No explanation. Just left the poison lingering in the air.

The door clicked shut behind him, and suddenly the room felt smaller.

Tighter.

The breath punched out of me. My back hit the lockers. My fists clenched so hard my nails carved into my palms.

They’d been watching me. Studying me. Planning this.

Since before the hallway. Before the gallery. Maybe even before that first drink Nathan ever ordered from me.

My heart jackhammered in my chest.

Had the gallery been staged? That car ride? That first kiss?

Was I ever a choice, or just a perfectly rigged play they knew I’d lose?

I slid down the wall, knees buckling beneath the weight of it.

And for the first time—I didn’t know if I was shaking from fury, or the realization that I’d already started to fall.

My phone was already in my hand before I realized it. I yanked it out of my pocket, opened the last message.

Did you like coming on my fingers, or are you still thinking about what my cock would feel like instead?

Yeah, I'm imagining how it would feel at the end of my boot.

He thinks he plays games? I burn them.

Rage tore through me. I hit CALL.

It rang once.

“Lana.”

“Don’t you fucking say my name,” I snarled, my voice cracking under the weight of my fury. “Don’t you dare say it. You arrogant, manipulative piece of shit.”

He said nothing.

Of course he didn’t.

“You think this is fun for you? A game? Some sick fantasy you can throw money at until it opens its legs for you?” My voice rose with every word. “You’re disgusting, Nathan. You and your sad little billionaire boy band of sociopaths. And the whole time, you were setting me up to be your show pony. Your Black Room fucking puppet?”

Still, silence.

His silence was worse than words. Cold. Dismissive. Superior.

“I let you touch me,” I spat, my voice trembling with rage. “I let myself feel something. You looked me in the eyes and made me believe it. You made me think I mattered.”

The lump in my throat turned to acid.

“And the whole time, you were setting me up for your sick fucking feature. Like I was just some poor waitress you could buy and parade in your perverted dungeon while your friends clapped from behind the glass.”

My voice cracked. I didn’t care.

“You knew about my mother. About the surgery. About the debt. And instead of helping me, instead of being human, you turned it into leverage.”

I was pacing now, voice getting louder, hotter. My chest was heaving. “Two hundred and fifty grand? That’s what my dignity costs to you? That’s what my soul’s worth? You probably spend more on your suits, you entitled, narcissistic asshole!”

Silence.

“I hope your feature burns to the fucking ground. I hope every twisted little fantasy you have turns to ash the second I open my mouth and tell the world what you are.”

More silence. Then—

“My car will pick you up. Be ready.”

My breath caught. I stopped pacing.

“You son of a bitch,” I screamed. “You don’t own me! You don’t get to summon me like I’m your fucking pet!”

But the line was already dead.

He hung up.

Hung up on me like I was the problem.

Like he was done.

I stood there staring at my phone, jaw trembling, vision swimming with hot, bitter tears.

Cool. Collected. In control.

Always.

He didn’t care.

Not about me. Not about my mother. Not about anything but that fucking room and how good I’d look chained up inside it.

I wanted to throw the phone. Break it. Burn it. But I couldn’t even move.

Because the worst part?

I still needed the money.

That kind of money meant my mom would live.

Meant no more choosing between rent and her meds. No more lying to debt collectors. No more praying the next rejection letter didn’t come with a shut-off notice.

And if I didn’t show up in that disgusting room, I’d be walking away from the only thing that could save her.

I wanted to scream. To break something. But I couldn’t. I had no power in this. No leverage.

Only shame.

I grabbed my bag and walked out the back door without clocking out. I didn’t care. I couldn’t stay another second in that place, not with the walls still echoing with his voice.

But when I stepped outside—

I saw the black car waiting.

Sleek. Idling.

Waiting for me.

Of course he was.

Leaning against his Bentley like it was a throne, arms crossed, that smug, fucking smirk carved across his face like he’d already won. The streetlight lit him in shards of gold and shadow, catching the sharp lines of his jaw, the devil’s gleam in his eyes.

He looked beautiful.

And he knew it.

I stopped in my tracks, fists clenched at my sides, jaw tight. “You’re unbelievable.”

Nathan straightened, slow and deliberate, like a predator stretching after a long, lazy nap. “Going somewhere?” he asked, voice low, almost gentle. Deceptively soft, like he wasn’t already playing me like a goddamn instrument.

“Yeah,” I snapped. “Anywhere that isn’t here.”

His brows lifted with mock surprise, like I’d just said something charmingly naive. “After everything, you’re still pretending this isn’t exactly where you want to be?”

“You don’t get to do that,” I growled, fury shaking through me. “You don’t get to stand there and act like I came crawling to you. You set me up, you arrogant bastard. You dangled a lifeline in front of me and then tied it around my throat.”

He took a step forward, and I didn’t move. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“I’m done, Nathan. I’m not playing your twisted little game anymore. I’m not yours. Not for sale. Not interested.”

The smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened. “You say that like you believe it.”

“I do.”

He closed more of the distance, his presence crashing into mine like a wave. His cologne hit me next—rich, dark, intoxicating. Of course it smelled expensive. Of course it made me dizzy.

“You think you can just walk away?” he asked, voice dropping to something smooth and dangerous. “After everything?”

“Watch me asshole.”

He studied me. And for a moment, just a moment, I swore I saw something in his eyes shift—something that wasn’t cold calculation. But it passed just as quickly as it came.

“You’re not done with me, Lana,” he said, quiet now. “You’re just scared.”

“I’m furious,” I bit out. “I’m disgusted. And I’m not getting in your goddamn car.”

He stepped to the passenger side and opened the door like he was offering me a throne I hadn’t earned. “Get in. You and I are going to talk. Or would you rather we do this out here, on the street?”

“I’d rather set the car on fire with you in it.”

His laugh was soft and low, and it made my skin crawl.

“You can hate me all you want,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “But you’re still standing here. You haven’t run. You won’t.”

“Fuck. You.”

He met my eyes, and I hated how steady he was. How unrattled. He was a storm in a tailored suit, and I was already soaked.

“Get in the car, Lana,” he said again, but softer now. Almost tender. “Please.”

That word—please—landed like a punch.

For a breath, I froze.

Then, like some cruel reflex, my feet moved. My body betrayed me before my mind could scream what the hell are you doing?

I slid into the seat.

The leather was cold. The door closed with a quiet finality that sounded too much like surrender.

I hated him.

And worse—I hated the part of me that still wasn’t sure if I hated myself more.

I didn’t look at him.

Not when we pulled away from the curb. Not when the city lights blurred past the tinted windows. Not even when I felt his gaze on me like heat through glass.

I stared out at the city like it could save me. But my body betrayed me—my skin was already hot, my pulse thudding between my thighs like it had a mind of its own.

And I hated it.

The car glided into a part of the city I never belonged to. Old money. Power behind hedges and iron gates.

His world.

My chest tightened when the car slowed in front of a townhouse—sleek, towering, clinical in its perfection. Of course it was his. It looked just like him.

Imposing. Unshakable. Beautiful in a way that warned you not to get close.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw the door open and run. But I didn’t.

And that terrified me.

The door clicked open, and I stepped into his home like I wasn’t walking straight into a trap.

Inside, it was cold and quiet—gleaming marble, soft lighting, everything expensive and restrained. Just like him.

I stood in the center of the room, trying to keep my breathing steady as he moved behind me. The sound of his shoes against the floor was maddening—controlled, deliberate.

He poured whiskey like we were old friends. Like I wasn’t on the edge of burning this place to the ground.

“Whiskey?”

I wanted to say no. I wanted to throw the glass at his head.

“Sure,” I said, because I was an idiot.

He handed it to me, and his fingers brushed mine—barely.

But it sent a bolt of heat shooting through me, straight to my core.

“Drink,” he said softly. “You’ll need it.”

I drank. I hated that I drank.

Then his voice came—low, velvet-lined, dangerous.

“You know why I brought you here, don’t you, Lana?”

I swallowed hard. “To finish what you started.”

He smiled, slow and lethal. “Finish? No, sweetheart. We’re just getting started.”

My stomach clenched.

“You played me,” I whispered, the fury breaking through. “You made me think I meant something.”

His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. “You do.”

I blinked.

“You don’t spend this kind of time on just anyone, Lana,” he said, stepping closer. “You caught my attention. That alone should terrify you.”

I hated the way my breath stuttered. Hated how close he was—how the heat from his body seemed to crawl over my skin like silk and fire.

“Then why?” I asked, barely able to get the words out. “Why the games? Why the offer? Why this?”

“Because,” he said, moving behind me now, his voice ghosting over my neck, “I want to see you come undone.”

A shiver raked down my spine.

“I want to see what happens when that sharp tongue goes quiet,” he murmured. “When you stop fighting, stop pretending you don’t want to know what it feels like to give yourself up completely.”

My mouth opened. Nothing came out.

“Picture it,” he whispered. “Me pinning your wrists above your head. My mouth on your throat while you writhe under me. The moment you stop pretending you’re not soaking wet for me.”

God.

Heat shot through me so fast I swayed where I stood.

“I’d make you beg, Lana,” he went on, his voice tightening with intent. “Not because I need to hear it. Because you need to say it. Because your body would ache without my touch.”

My thighs pressed together. I hated that he noticed.

His hands slid around my waist, slow, just resting there. Not forcing—inviting. Daring.

“You’re twisted,” I whispered. But it came out breathy. Weak.

“And yet here you are.”

I hated him. I hated this.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

His hand on my throat. His mouth whispering filth while I bucked under him, desperate to come. The way he’d own every inch of me—mind, body, soul.

He stepped in front of me, eyes burning blue fire. “Imagine it, Lana. Everything you’ve never had. Security. Power. A life where no one touches you but me.”

I swallowed hard, the glass trembling in my hand.

“All I’d ask in return…” he said, brushing his thumb across my jaw, “is you. Every breath. Every sigh. Every orgasm. Mine.”

I could barely stand. My whole body was flushed, aching. Furious.

And the worst part?

I hadn’t said no.

Not yet.

“You wouldn’t have to think,” Nathan said, voice low and deliberate. “Not about bills. Not about school. Not about anything.”

He stepped closer, slow and sure, like a man who already owned the room—and me.

“You’d live here. In my world. My rules. Everything handled. Every decision made for you. Unless I decided otherwise.”

My skin flushed hot. Horror twisted in my chest—but under it, shamefully, was want. That dark, pulsing ache he always seemed to wake like it belonged to him.

He dragged his gaze down my body. “You’d be mine. Fully. Seen. Envied. People would whisper about how you landed someone like me.” A beat. His mouth curved. “But you’d know. You’d know what it cost.”

I didn’t breathe. Couldn’t.

“You’d come home to this house. You’d wear what I choose. Sleep where I say. Spread when I tell you.” His hand brushed my hip—barely there. A suggestion. A threat. “And every night, I’d remind you exactly what it means to belong to someone like me.”

My stomach dropped. Heat surged so fast it made me dizzy.

“No pretending, Lana. No games. Just truth. You on your knees. You begging. And me making you come until you forget your own name.”

I grabbed the edge of the bar behind me like it could ground me. It didn’t.

He leaned in, breath hot on my neck. “You’d walk into the Black Room on your own. You’d beg me to break you. And you’d thank me when I did.”

The air between us was thick. Charged.

“This isn’t seduction,” he murmured. “It’s inevitability.”

His fingers trailed my arm. Slow. Unrelenting.

“I’d bind your wrists in leather—tight enough to remind you who you belong to. I’d blindfold you. Strip you of everything except sensation. Just heat. Pain. Release. Me.”

My thighs pressed together. He noticed. Of course he did.

“I’d start slow,” he said. “The flogger soft at first, like breath against your skin. Then harder. Until the only thing left in your head is me.”

My breath hitched. I hated how badly I wanted him to keep going.

“When I was done?” His voice dropped to a rasp. “I’d soothe every mark I left. My hands. My mouth. My cock—reminding you whose you are.”

He stepped back half a pace, studying me like I was already his.

“And they’ll see it,” he said, quieter now. “Everyone. They’ll know not to touch you. Because you’ll belong to me.”

I shook. Fury and arousal tangling so tightly I couldn’t tell them apart.

“Say the word, and it stops,” he said. “But if you don’t... you’ll follow my rules. And you’ll fucking love it.”

Tell him no. Walk away. Slam the fucking door.

“Nathan…” I breathed, voice barely more than air. “Show me.”

A pause. “Show me what it means to be yours.”

For a breath, he just stared. His jaw tightened, breath shallow—like if he didn’t touch me now, he’d lose control of something he couldn’t name. . Then something flickered in his expression. A shadow of restraint snapping.

In the next breath, his hands gripped my waist and lifted me like I weighed nothing.

I gasped, legs wrapping around his torso on instinct. His body was hard—all carved muscle, heat and tension beneath that tailored control. I could feel every taut ridge of him through his shirt, feel the strength in the way his arms locked around me.

My heart thundered.

He carried me down the hall like a man claiming what was his. I clung to him—my thighs tightening around his hips, my arms tangled behind his neck. His scent engulfed me: clean soap, whiskey, and heat. Masculine and dangerous and him.

When he pushed into the bedroom, everything in me turned electric.

He set me down on the edge of the bed. His hands stayed on my hips, possessive, unmoving. We didn’t speak. He just stared—taking in every flicker of my breath, every inch of exposed skin.

He brushed a lock of hair from my face, knuckles grazing my cheekbone, then traced the line of my jaw. My body lit up from the touch, a flush spreading across my chest, tightening my nipples under the fabric of my dress.

Then he moved. Swift, dominant. Gripping my wrists and pressing me back into the mattress.

He held me there—pinned—his eyes dark with hunger. And God, his body... The way his biceps flexed as he restrained me. The way his chest heaved under the thin fabric of his shirt. That perfectly sculpted mouth, parted just enough to show the tension curling in his jaw.

My breath hitched.

He leaned down, his lips brushing mine, slow and rough, his tongue claiming my mouth like it belonged there. His kiss tasted like sin—whiskey, fire, and the promise of ruin.

One hand slid from my wrist to my chest, gripping my breast through the dress. He palmed it, his thumb circling my nipple until I gasped beneath him, back arching.

I could feel him now—hard and throbbing—pressed against my thigh. My core clenched, a rush of slick heat flooding between my legs.

He pulled back just enough to look at me. “Undress,” he said, voice thick, low. Commanding.

I obeyed. My hands moved without thinking, stripping the dress from my body, then the bra, the panties. I was naked and trembling in front of him.

Nathan stood at the foot of the bed, eyes dragging over me with open, consuming lust. “Fuck,” he muttered, more to himself than me. “You’re perfect.”

Then he knelt between my thighs, spreading them wide, and placed one slow, devastating kiss on the inside of my thigh.

I nearly came undone from that alone.

His fingers found my center, slick and pulsing. He traced slow, deliberate circles over my clit, watching the way my breath shuddered, the way my hips lifted to chase the pressure.

“Please,” I whimpered, helpless.

He looked up at me, eyes molten. “You want more?” he murmured.

I nodded, too breathless to speak.

His fingers slipped inside me, two at once, curling with unrelenting precision. I cried out, hips bucking.

“Yes,” I gasped. “Nathan, yes—”

“Come for me,” he growled, voice dark and urgent.

And I did—hard. My body seized around him, pleasure crashing through me in waves, so raw I nearly sobbed with the release.

Before I could recover, he stood, shoving his pants down just enough to free himself. And then he was on me, inside me, filling me with one powerful thrust that knocked the air from my lungs.

He was thick. Hard. Perfect. My body welcomed him like it had been made for this—for him.

He didn’t give me time to adjust. His pace was brutal from the start, driving into me over and over. The sound of our skin, my gasps, his low groan of pleasure—it was obscene and beautiful and everything I’d ever craved without knowing it.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, anchoring him deeper. My nails raked down his back, desperate for more, for everything.

His mouth found my breast, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh as he sucked hard enough to mark. “You’re mine,” he growled, voice gravel and sin. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I moaned, barely able to speak through the onslaught of sensation.

“Again.”

“I’m yours—God, Nathan—fuck me—”

His rhythm faltered just once—just enough for me to feel the control slip, and then he was slamming into me harder, chasing his release, dragging mine out until I was delirious.

When we came, it was violent. A full-body explosion. I clung to him like he was the only thing keeping me from flying apart.

He stayed inside me for a moment, his forehead pressed to mine, breath ragged.

Then he pulled back just enough to look at me.

His hand slid into my hair. “You’re mine,” he whispered again, quieter this time. Possessive. Final.

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. I just nodded, broken open and raw, a trembling mess beneath him.

And in that moment, I didn’t care about money. Or pride. Or the fact that I was drowning in something far bigger than either of us.

I only knew one thing.

I’d never be the same again.

My body ached—used, trembling, stretched raw from everything he’d done to me.

Nathan didn’t say much. He just pulled me against him, my back to his chest, his arm locked around my waist like I was something he’d claimed and wasn’t letting go.

I couldn’t think. Could barely breathe.

The orgasm still pulsed through me in faint echoes, but the rush was fading, replaced by something heavier. The weight of what I’d just done. Of why.

Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

Mom’s surgery.

The overdue rent.

The lies.

I shut my eyes tight, but the thoughts kept racing—louder, sharper than his voice, than my own moans had been.

My body was wrecked. My mind was a haze. And I hated how quiet it felt now.

Nathan’s breath was steady against my neck. Too steady. Like this was routine for him. Like he’d already moved on in his head.

But I hadn’t.

I was still in it.

Still falling.

And somewhere between the ache in my thighs and the guilt in my gut, sleep took me under.

Not peace.

Just… exhaustion.

Total.

Complete.

Surrender