The Forty Fifth Floor

The elevator ride to the forty fifth floor felt like falling upward.

Vienna watched the numbers climb on the digital display. Twenty. Twenty five. Thirty. Each floor took her further from the professional woman she was trying to be and closer to the hungry girl she had tried to leave behind in that hotel room.

Thirty five. Thirty eight. Forty.

She should have said no.

She should have taken the box back upstairs, set it on his desk, and told him firmly that she was his employee, not his plaything. She should have drawn a line and refused to cross it.

Forty two. Forty three. Forty four.

But the truth was simpler and more dangerous.

She wanted to see him.

She wanted to feel his hands on her again. She wanted to hear his voice in her ear, low and commanding, calling her princess and good girl and other names she had never let anyone speak. She wanted to kneel for him and beg for him and fall apart for him.

Forty five.

The doors opened.

The forty fifth floor was nothing like the rest of the building. Where the tenth floor was bright and bustling, this floor was dim and quiet. The walls were dark wood instead of glass. The floors were polished concrete instead of carpet. No desks. No computers. No people.

Just a long hallway leading to a single door at the end.

Vienna stepped out of the elevator. Her flats made soft sounds on the concrete. The air was cooler here, almost cold, and she shivered as she walked.

The door at the end of the hallway was closed.

She knocked.

"Come in," his voice said.

She pushed open the door.

The room beyond took her breath away.

It was a conference room, but unlike any she had ever seen. One entire wall was glass, floor to ceiling, overlooking the city. The sky was gray and low, clouds brushing the tops of the buildings, and the light that filtered through was soft and silver. A long wooden table ran down the center of the room, but it was empty.

Ezra stood by the window, his back to her.

He had taken off his suit jacket. His shirt sleeves were still rolled to his elbows. His tie was gone, and the top button of his shirt was undone, revealing a sliver of his chest.

He did not turn around.

"Close the door," he said.

Vienna closed the door.

The click of the lock was softer than yesterday, but it still sent a jolt through her. She was locked in a room with him. Alone. Forty five floors above the city. No one knew she was here.

"I found the box," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

"I know."

"There were no files in it."

"I know that too."

She waited. He did not turn around.

"Why did you send me down there?" she asked.

"Because I wanted to see if you would come." He turned then, slowly, and his dark eyes found hers across the room. "You could have brought the box back to my office. You could have set it on my desk and said nothing. You could have spent your lunch hour at your desk, eating a sad sandwich, being professional."

"I should have."

"But you did not." He walked toward her, his steps slow and deliberate. "You came up here. Alone. To a floor no one uses. To a room with a locked door. Because you wanted to."

Vienna's throat tightened. "That is not fair."

"No," he agreed. "It is not. I am not a fair man, Vienna. I told you that from the beginning."

He stopped in front of her. Close enough to touch. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. He looked down at her, and she saw the hunger in his eyes, the same hunger from the hotel room, barely restrained.

"Tell me to stop," he said quietly. "Tell me to go back to my office and pretend that nothing happened between us. Tell me you want to be just my assistant, and I will never touch you again. I will never mention the auction. I will never call you princess. I will be your boss and nothing more."

Vienna's lips parted.

The words were right there. Stop. Go away. Leave me alone.

But she could not say them.

Because she did not want him to stop. She did not want him to go away. She did not want him to leave her alone.

"What do you want?" she asked instead.

Ezra's hand came up to her face. His thumb traced her cheekbone, feather light, the same way he had touched her in the hotel room. "I want you on your knees."

Her knees buckled before she made the decision. It was instinct, pure and undeniable. She lowered herself to the cold concrete floor, her slacks pooling around her legs, and looked up at him.

"Good girl," he breathed.

He walked to the table and pulled out a chair. He sat in it, legs spread, and looked at her kneeling before him. The city sprawled behind his head, gray and endless.

"Crawl to me," he said.

She crawled.

Her knees pressed against the concrete. Her palms flattened against the cold floor. She moved slowly, deliberately, watching his face as she approached. His expression was unreadable, but his chest rose and fell faster than before.

When she reached his feet, she sat back on her heels and waited.

"Hands behind your back," he said.

She crossed her wrists behind her.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a strip of black silk. It was not rope, just a length of fabric, soft and smooth. He leaned down and wrapped it around her wrists, tying them together in a loose knot.

"Not tight," he said. "Just enough to remind you."

"Yes, Sir."

He smiled. "There she is. There is my princess."

His hand came down on her head, fingers threading through her hair. He tilted her face up to look at him.

"You have been so brave," he said. "Taking the job. Sitting at that desk. Pretending you do not remember every single thing I did to you."

"I remember," she whispered.

"Tell me what you remember."

"I remember your hands. Your mouth. The way you said my name."

"What else?"

"I remember the paddle. Ten strikes. I counted every one."

His eyes darkened. "Did you like it?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Did you think about it when you went home? When you were lying in your bed, trying to sleep?"

"Yes."

"Did you touch yourself?"

Vienna's face flushed. "No."

"Liar."

"I did not," she said. "I wanted to. But I did not."

"Why not?"

"Because it would not have been the same. Because I wanted your hands, not mine. Because you told me my pleasure belongs to you, and I did not want to take something that was not mine to take."

Ezra went very still.

For a long moment, he did not speak. He just looked at her, his dark eyes searching her face, and Vienna felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with her clothes.

"You are extraordinary," he said finally. "Do you know that?"

"No, Sir."

"You are." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Stand up."

She stood on shaky legs. Her bound hands hung behind her back. He stood too, towering over her, and his hands went to her blouse. He unbuttoned it slowly, one button at a time, watching her face as he revealed her skin.

Underneath, she wore a simple black bra. Nothing fancy. Nothing like the lace from the auction.

He did not seem to mind.

He pushed the blouse off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Then his hands went to her slacks. He unbuttoned them, unzipped them, and pushed them down her hips. She stepped out of them, leaving her in just her bra, her panties, and her flats.

"Beautiful," he murmured. "Even more beautiful than I remember."

He led her to the window.

The glass was cold against her skin when he pressed her against it. Her bound hands were trapped between her back and the window. Her bare breasts pressed against the cold surface. Below her, forty five floors down, the city moved on without her.

"Look," he said in her ear. "Look at all those people. They have no idea that you are up here, half naked, bound and waiting for me."

Vienna's breath fogged the glass.

"They cannot see you," he continued. "The glass is tinted. But you can see them. You can see how normal their lives are. How safe. How boring."

His hands slid around her waist and down to her hips. He pulled her back from the window just enough to press his body against hers. She felt him through his trousers, hard and ready.

"And here you are," he said against her neck. "Forty five floors above them all. On the edge of the world. About to be fucked by your boss."

"Ezra," she whispered. It was the first time she had said his real name.

He groaned. "Say it again."

"Ezra."

"Again."

"Ezra. Ezra. Ezra."

He spun her around and pushed her back against the window. Her bound wrists pressed into the glass. His body pinned her in place. His face was inches from hers, his dark eyes wild.

"You are mine," he said. "Not because of a contract. Not because of an auction. Because you want to be. Because you came up here when you could have walked away. Because you are kneeling for me again when you could have said no."

"I do not want to say no," she admitted.

"I know." He kissed her then, hard and demanding, his tongue sliding against hers. She moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound. "I know, princess."

He reached between them and pulled her panties aside. His fingers found her wet and ready, and he groaned against her lips.

"Soaked," he said. "Just from kneeling. Just from looking at me. You are so fucking perfect."

He unfastened his trousers and freed himself. He did not ask. He did not wait. He lifted her slightly, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, and then he was inside her.

Vienna cried out.

The window was cold against her back. His body was hot against her front. He filled her completely, stretching her in a way she was already beginning to crave, and he did not move. He just held himself there, buried deep, his forehead pressed to hers.

"Look at me," he said.

She looked.

"I am going to fuck you against this window," he said, "and you are going to come for me, and then I am going to take you back downstairs and you are going to sit at your desk and pretend nothing happened. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good girl."

He began to move.

The rhythm was different from the hotel room. Faster. Desperate. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her onto him with each thrust. The window rattled behind her. The city sprawled below. She was being fucked forty five floors above the earth by a man she barely knew, and she had never wanted anything more.

"Please," she gasped. "Please, Ezra, please."

"Please what?"

"Please let me come."

"Not yet."

"I cannot wait."

"You can." He thrust deeper, harder, and she saw stars. "You can wait until I tell you. You can hold on for me. You are strong, Vienna. Stronger than you know."

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She was so close, so desperately close, and he was giving her nothing but more, more, more.

"Ezra," she sobbed.

"Come for me, princess."

She shattered.

Her body convulsed around him, her inner walls clenching and releasing, and she screamed his name into the empty conference room. He followed seconds later, burying his face in her neck, his body shuddering against hers.

They stayed like that for a long moment. Pressed against the window. Wrapped around each other. Breathing the same air.

Then he pulled back and looked at her.

Her makeup was ruined. Her hair was a mess. Her body was marked with his fingerprints and the cold lines of the window frame.

She had never felt more beautiful.

"I meant what I said," he told her softly. "You are extraordinary."

He untied her wrists and helped her dress. He buttoned her blouse himself, his fingers careful and slow. He tucked in her blouse and smoothed her hair and wiped the smeared mascara from under her eyes.

Then he kissed her one last time, soft and sweet.

"Go back to your desk," he said. "I will be down in ten minutes. And Vienna?"

She looked at him.

"Do not look so guilty. You were running an errand. That is all anyone needs to know."

She walked to the elevator on shaking legs.

As the doors closed, she saw him still standing by the window, watching her go.

And she knew, with absolute certainty, that she was already in too deep.