Chapter Two

The penthouse is too quiet at midnight.

Emily crashed hours ago—too much rosé, too much sun, too much gossip about some guy she’s been texting. The rooftop lights are off, the pool dark and still. I’m standing outside Damien’s office door in the hallway that feels longer than it did this afternoon, wearing the only thing I could find that felt even remotely “easy to take off”: a black slip dress I stole from Emily’s closet last summer. No bra. No panties. Just the thin silk clinging to my skin and my racing pulse between my legs.

I shouldn’t be here.

I should be home—helping Sophie with her science project, answering Mom’s texts, ignoring Victor’s latest voicemail demanding cash. Instead, I’m standing outside a door I have no business opening, thighs already slick from the memory of his hand under the water, his voice in my ear, the way he said good girl, I knock. Soft. Once.

The door opens before my knuckles leave the wood.

Damien’s there—still in a black, fitted shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, top button undone. No tie. No shoes. Barefoot on the hardwood

He doesn’t speak. Just steps aside.

I walk in.

The office smells like him—cedar, leather, faint cigar smoke. Floor-to-ceiling windows show the Miami skyline glittering like it’s on fire. A desk. A leather couch. A bar cart with crystal decanters. And him.

He closes the door—the lock clicks.

“On your knees,” he says.

I open my mouth, but the words die when he steps closer. His hand lifts my chin with two fingers.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Leah.”

I swallow. My knees hit the rug before I consciously decide to move.

He looks down at me, his eyes dark and  unreadable.“Good girl.”

My breath hitches.

He crouches in front of me—eye level now. His thumb retraces my lower lip, this time more slowly.

“You’ve wanted this longer than today,” he says. Not a question.

I swallow. My voice comes out small. “Yes.”

“How long?”

I close my eyes. “Since I was old enough to understand what wanting felt like.”

He’s quiet for a second. Then: “Tell me.”

I force the words out. “Sixteen. That summer at the pool party. You walked out in those black trunks, and I couldn’t stop staring. I hated myself for it. Told myself it was stupid—a phase. But every time I saw you after holidays, birthdays, and random dinners at your place, it got worse. I’d go home and… touch myself thinking about you. Your voice. Your hands.”

He exhales sharply. “And now?”

“Now I’m here,” I whisper. “On my knees. Still wanting.”

His thumb presses against my lower lip, parting it slightly.

“Then open for me, little one. And let me give you what you’ve been begging for all these years.”

He stands up, walks to the desk, and opens a drawer. Pulls out a black silk tie—his. He comes back, crouches again, and wraps it around my wrists—loose enough I could slip free if I wanted

“Hands behind your back.”

I obey.

He ties the knot.

“Comfortable?” he asks.

I test the binding. “Yes.”

“Good.” He stands again, towering over me. “Now—call your mother.”

My stomach drops. “What?”

“You heard me.” He pulls my phone from my tote on the floor, unlocks it with my face, and hands it to me—still bound, so I have to take it awkwardly between my fingers.

“Tell her you’re staying over. Emily needs you. Something came up.”

My mouth goes dry. “Sir… she’ll worry.”

“Then make her not worry.” He steps behind me. One hand on my shoulder while the other slides into my hair, gripping just enough to tilt my head back so I’m looking up at him. “Or I stop. Right now. And you go home wet, aching, and alone.”

My core clenches.

He doesn’t wait for me to argue. His free hand slips between my thighs, fingers gliding through the slick heat already there. He circles my clit once—light, teasing—then stops.

I whimper.

“Dial,” he says against my ear. “And keep quiet. If you moan, I stop. Understand?”

I nod frantically.

I dial.

Mom answers on the second ring. “Leah? It’s late, baby. Everything okay?”

Damien’s fingers return—two sliding inside me, curling slowly, thumb pressing my clit in lazy circles. He’s torturing me. I bite my lip so hard I taste blood.

“Hey, Mom,” I force out, voice higher than normal. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m… staying over at Emily’s. She’s having a rough night. Needs company.”

His thumb speeds up. I choke on a gasp, clenching around his fingers.

A pause on the line. “You sure? Sophie’s asking for you. She wants help with that volcano thing.”

Damien’s fingers curl harder—hitting that spot that makes my vision blur. I clench around him, my hips twitching forward. My bound hands dig into the leather behind me.

“Tell her—” My voice cracks. I clear my throat. “Tell her I’ll be home first thing tomorrow. I’ll help her finish it then. Promise.”

Mom sighs. “Okay. Just… be safe. Text me when you’re heading back.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”

I hang up. My whole body is trembling.

Damien pulls his fingers free. Brings them to my lips.

“Clean them.”

I open my mouth. Suck them clean. Taste myself on him.

He groans a low, guttural sound. “Good girl.”

He lifts me to my feet—effortlessly. Guides me to the leather couch. Sits me down. Spreads my thighs with gentle but firm hands.

“Lean back.”

I do.

He reaches into the drawer again. Pulls out another black silk tie, this time it was thinner, longer.

“Eyes,” he says simply. “Do you want it?”

My breath catches. “Yes, sir.”

He wraps the silk around my head, tying it gently at the back. Darkness swallows me. My other senses sharpen—the sound of his breathing, the faint creak of leather as he moves, the heat of his body so close.

He pushes the straps of the slip dress down my shoulders. The silk pools at my waist, baring my breasts to the cool air. My nipples pebble instantly.

He leans in. Kisses the inside of my thigh. Slow. Teasing. Moving higher. But he doesn’t go where I want. Instead, he drags his mouth up my stomach, over my ribs, to my breast.

His tongue flicks one nipple—light, maddening. Then he sucks—gentle at first, then deeper, pulling the peak into his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to make me arch off the couch.

“These have been driving me crazy,” he murmurs against my skin. “Every time you wore something low-cut at Emily’s parties. Every time you hugged me goodbye. I wanted to do this, waiting to know what they feel like in my mouth.”

He switches to the other breast. Same slow worship—licking circles around the peak, sucking deep, then pulling back so the air hits the wet skin and makes me shiver.

His hand slides between my thighs again, fingers circling my clit while his mouth works my breasts. Alternating. Teasing. Building me higher. Every time I start to climb, he slows down, pulls his hand away, kisses my collarbone, my neck, my jaw. Until I’m writhing, begging, tears soaking the blindfold.

“Please, sir… I need to cum. Please.”

He lifts his head. Voice rough. “You come when I say. Not before. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

He slides two fingers inside me, finding that spot that makes my vision go white out behind the blindfold.

“Oh fuck Damien, please.”

I sob his name.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Let me hear how much you need this.”

He works me with his fingers and mouth steadily and relentlessly, bringing me right to the edge over and over. Every time I tighten, every time my thighs start to shake, he stops. Pulls back. “Please, sir… please let me come. I need it. I really need you.”

He looks up at me—eyes dark, pupils blown.

“You’ve been so good,” he says softly. “So fucking perfect.”

He leans down again. Mouth on my breast. Fingers inside me—curling, stroking that spot. Thumb on my clit. Relentless now.

“I love how fucking wet you are,” he growls against my skin. “Soaking my hand, dripping down my wrist. You’re making such a mess for me, little one.”

I moan—loud, shameless.

“I’ve always wanted to know what you taste like,” he continues, voice thick. “And now I do. Sweet. Perfect. Mine.”

He speeds up—fingers thrusting deeper, thumb circling faster, mouth sucking hard on my nipple.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he says. “I can feel you clenching around me. Don’t hold back, kitten. Let it happen. Let me feel you come all over my fingers. That’s it—give it to me. Cum for me, Leah. Now.”

I shatter.

The orgasm rips through me—wave after wave, thighs clamping around his hand, bound hands scrabbling at the leather, back arching off the couch. I scream his name. Sob it. Chant it like a prayer.

He doesn’t stop until I’m limp and shaking, very oversensitive.

Only then does he pull back. Kisses my inner thigh softly. My stomach. My breasts again—gentle now. My neck. My forehead.

He removes the blindfold. Kisses my eyelids.

I blink up at him, vision blurry with tears.

He unties my wrists. Rubs the faint marks. Pulls me into his lap on the couch. Wraps me in his arms.

I’m crying—quiet, overwhelmed tears.

He strokes my hair. Kisses my temple.

“You’re safe,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”

I bury my face in his neck.

For the first time in years, I believe it.