Ava wore power like a second skin. Her curves, her sharp tongue, the click of her heels against the marble floors—it all drew attention. But she never craved it. She commanded it.

Tyrone noticed the way she carried herself differently after their exchange. Her eyes lingered a moment longer. Her words dripped with something darker—taunting, almost flirtatious, but not surrendering. Not yet.

He loved a chase. But Ava wasn’t just running—she was leading him somewhere.

It came to a head during an after-hours strategy session.

Everyone had gone home. Only Tyrone and Ava remained, seated on opposite sides of the glass conference table. The city lights glowed behind her, casting her in silhouette as she stretched just slightly, showing off the smooth line of her waist through her blouse.

“Impressive work,” he said, watching her over the rim of his whiskey glass. “But you already know that.”

“I’m not looking for praise,” Ava replied, voice low. “I’m looking for opportunity.”

“You’ve got that, too.”

She leaned forward. “Do I have your attention, Tyrone?”

His jaw clenched. She had no idea what doors she was opening. Or maybe she did.

He stood, circling the table slowly, deliberately, until he came behind her. She didn’t flinch, but her breath hitched just slightly. His hands didn’t touch her yet—only hovered, warm and close, over her shoulders.

“You always had my attention,” he said, voice like velvet and steel. “But now you’re asking for more.”

“I want to know what Jasmin felt,” she said, daring. “I want to know what it’s like to be broken down by you… just to see how I rebuild.”

His hands slid down her arms, finally making contact. “You sure about that?”

“I don’t scare easy.”

He pulled her chair back gently, spinning her to face him. In one swift move, he hoisted her onto the edge of the table, pushing her knees apart, stepping between them.

“Then don’t pretend you didn’t wear this dress for me,” he said, lifting the hem higher. “Don’t pretend your panties aren’t soaked.”

She stared at him, lips parted.

He slid a hand under the silk, finding her heat. “Because you’re ready for this, Ava. And I’m going to give you every inch.”

The next ten minutes were a blur of ripped fabric, hushed moans, and skin meeting skin.

Ava clawed at his shirt, nails dragging down his chest as he lifted her off the table and pinned her against the glass wall, her legs wrapped around his waist. Her moans were low, guttural, his name falling from her lips like a confession.

Neither of them heard the elevator chime.

Maya stepped into the dim hallway, holding a folder against her chest. Her internship review had been postponed, and she hoped she could slip it under Tyrone’s door.

She paused outside the boardroom.

A noise. A low thump. Then a muffled gasp.

She stepped closer, brows furrowed. The blinds were mostly drawn, but not completely. She moved to the crack—squinting—

But just before she saw too much, her phone buzzed loudly in her pocket.

The sound echoed in the quiet hall. She panicked, fumbling it.

Inside the boardroom, Ava’s eyes flew open, and Tyrone paused mid-thrust. Silence.

“Shh,” he whispered, hand over her mouth.

Maya blinked, confused, then shook her head. “Weird,” she murmured. “Must be the janitor.” She turned, heels echoing as she left.

Inside, Ava let out a breathless laugh. “That was close.”

Tyrone just grinned. “You like danger?”

“I like being the one you risk it all for.”

Lance had been with King Enterprises for just over a year. Tall, lean, with soft hazel eyes and a quiet disposition, he kept to himself—most of the time.

But from the very beginning, there was one thing he couldn’t ignore: Tyrone King.

He admired his authority, his poise, the way everyone respected him—feared him. Lance sat in meetings, stealing glances, soaking in his voice, his presence. When Tyrone walked into a room, Lance’s stomach knotted. Not from nerves—but from longing.

At first, Lance convinced himself it was just admiration. The way a junior analyst looks up to a powerful CEO.

But then came the dreams. Dark, vivid dreams of kneeling in front of Tyrone’s desk. Of being pinned down and told what to do. Of serving him.

And he didn’t hate it.

He started volunteering for late nights, hoping for a moment alone. He left small notes—“Report completed, sir.” “Updated the projections per your last command.”

Subtle. Respectful. But yearning.

One night, fate gave him a moment.

He was dropping off a quarterly report when he found Tyrone alone in his office, shirt unbuttoned, tie loose. The man looked up slowly, raising an eyebrow.

“Lance,” he said, voice low. “You work late.”

“I like to be… useful,” Lance replied.

Tyrone studied him. “Useful is good. Obedient is better.”

The words hit Lance like a bolt of electricity.

“I can be,” he said softly. “If you want me to be.”

Tyrone stood. Crossed the space. He didn’t touch him—not yet. Just loomed, close enough to feel the heat.

“We’ll see,” he said, his voice almost a growl. “But if you want my attention, Lance… you better be ready to surrender.”

Lance’s knees nearly buckled.

The days after their late-night rendezvous blurred into a heady rhythm of business as usual—with heat simmering just beneath the surface.

Tyrone and Ava continued their affair in stolen moments. She pushed his buttons. He pushed her limits. And both thrived on the constant threat of exposure.

One evening, after everyone had left, Ava sat on his lap in his chair, skirt hitched up, his hand wrapped around her throat while she rode him—slow, grinding strokes that made her shiver.

“I told you I don’t break easy,” she whispered.

“And I told you I’d ruin you,” Tyrone growled, his other hand gripping her ass, thrusting up into her so deep it stole her breath.

She gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. “Then ruin me harder.”

He did.

Meanwhile…

Lance had grown bolder.

He started wearing tighter slacks. Tucking in his shirts a little too neatly. Subtle acts of submission—in posture, in tone, in word choice.

And Tyrone noticed everything.

Late one night, he summoned Lance to his private lounge in the upper penthouse suite of the building—a dark, moody space with soft leather furniture and low lighting. A space few ever saw.

Lance stepped in, heart racing. Tyrone was already there, drink in hand, sleeves rolled up, power practically radiating off of him.

“Sit,” Tyrone said, pointing to the floor—not the couch.

Lance obeyed.

Tyrone leaned forward. “You admire me. You obey me. But admiration isn’t service.”

Lance nodded. “I want to serve. Fully. No conditions.”

Tyrone’s eyes darkened. He stood, walking around him like a predator.

“Take off your shirt.”

Lance obeyed.

“Good,” Tyrone said, his voice deep, commanding. “Now kneel up. Hands behind your back.”

Lance’s breath caught. But he complied.

Tyrone stepped close, trailing a finger along Lance’s jawline. “If you want to belong to me, you’ll earn it. Day by day. Body and mind.”

“I’m yours,” Lance whispered, voice trembling.

Tyrone smirked. “We’ll see how far you’re willing to go.”

Elsewhere…

Maya had been watching. Quietly. Carefully.

She wasn’t sure what she saw that night by the boardroom—but she felt the shift. Jasmin moved like a woman satisfied. Ava moved like a woman possessed.

And Tyrone? He carried a darkness on his tongue that lingered in the air long after he spoke.

One afternoon, Ava found Maya alone in the break room, stirring sugar into her tea. She leaned against the counter, watching her.

“You heard something that night, didn’t you?” Ava asked, casually.

Maya stiffened. “I… don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, sweet girl,” Ava purred, stepping closer, her voice sultry. “You do. And you’ve been aching to know what it was.”

Maya flushed. “I wasn’t trying to spy.”

“But you wanted to see.”

Ava reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind Maya’s ear. “He has that effect on people. Tyrone. He pulls things out of you you didn’t know were there.”

Maya’s breath caught. “I’ve… thought about him.”

“Of course you have,” Ava whispered, leaning in, her lips close to Maya’s. “We all have.”

Maya’s lips parted, and Ava kissed her—soft and slow. Testing. Tasting. Maya gasped but didn’t pull away.

When the kiss broke, Ava smiled. “You’re curious. I like that.”

“Are you… trying to seduce me?”

“No,” Ava said, brushing her fingers down Maya’s arm. “I’m inviting you to join something… bigger than just sex. Something… powerful.”

Maya swallowed. “He’d never want me.”

Ava tilted her chin up. “Oh, baby girl… he already does. He just doesn’t know how far you’ll go.”

Maya’s eyes widened.

Later That Night…

Tyrone leaned back in his office chair, reading over quarterly reports. He barely looked up when Ava entered—until she stepped aside to reveal Maya, standing nervously in the doorway.

“What’s this?” he asked, brows raised.

“A gift,” Ava said smoothly. “She wants to learn.”

Tyrone’s eyes met Maya’s. He stood slowly, his voice a growl. “Is that true?”

Maya nodded. “Yes, sir.”

A long pause.

“Then come in,” he said. “And close the door.”

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