I stood at the threshold of Kyl's penthouse door, the final click of the elevator sounding like a verdict. I took a deep breath before I knocked on the door, although the door was half open. Candlelight flickered from inside, casting long shadows through the cracks. My heart throbbed, no longer just from nerves, but from an anticipation I couldn't name.
I couldn't believe I was doing this, selling myself to actualize my dream.
When the door opened, he stood framed by warm light. His dark suit looked imperfect now, sleek yet undone. A white button left unfastened at the neck, his gaze was deep, dangerous, intimate. He flicked his hand toward the inside, and every star in the night paled in comparison.
I walked in, hips swaying against the silk of my red dress, the floor catching the light beneath my heels. The scent of jasmine, wood, and faint bourbon drifted from the living room. Music played quietly, the hum of conversation echoing as if from another world. None of that mattered.
He didn't touch me at first. He didn't want to ruin the moment..
"Let's have dinner first" he said, smiling devilishly.
Dinner was a feast of contrast: oysters dripping salt, dark risotto that stained my lips, rare steak and mushrooms glistening in butter. He watched me with slow intent: how I drank, how I chewed, how my pulse climbed when his fingers brushed the rim of his glass.
Later…
Dessert arrived : chocolate mousse crowned with edible gold. He placed a spoon in my hand. Silence fell between us.
"You're different tonight," he said softly, eyes steady, voice deep.
"Red tends to do that," I replied, breath fluttering. I dared a smile.
He leaned forward, his fingertips coming to rest at the edge of my bare shoulder. A brush. Cold and electric.
"Are you sure you came for the deal?"
I swallowed hard, tasting bitterness and want. "I came for real terms."
He didn't contradict me. Instead, he rose and gently guided me to the chaise in front of the fire. Silk slid across skin. Then his hands traced the back of my neck, slowly moving downward.
Every inch of me stiffened, then relaxed as he unraveled layers of cloths, his touch methodical, teasing. The lace of my dress feathered like a recoil, but he didn't rush. He just watched, deliberate, precise. He was in control, and he knew it.
My thighs opened on their own. A hum rose deep in my chest and I welcomed it.
He slid his hand between the silk and my skin, feeling the pulse at my hipbone. His lips brushed the same spot shortly after, breath warm, coaxing.
I realized then: dinner had been a slow prelude. Dessert was a faint heartbeat. Now came the chorus.
He undressed me fully, piece by piece, revealing what was hidden before. He worshiped every inch, hips, thighs, lithe waist, like he was disassembling a masterpiece, learning its structure before building something new.
His gaze stayed on mine. Once he reached my heart, he paused. "You feel safe," he said, voice low. "Firm, but unafraid."
The words coiled between us and I felt entirely consumed by by passion.
Then he kissed me properly. Lips firm, searching, hungry, but with intent. Every kiss inched us closer to the edge. My body hummed with tension. My jaw clenched, thighs trembled, breath became prayer.
He guided me to his king-sized bed it's white silk sheets shimmering like promise. When he lay me down, time stretched. His fingers trailed patterns on my skin, inhaling. His mouth found the dip at the base of my neck, and I gasped.
Never rush.
He whispered my name, then kissed the curve of my ribcage. When his mouth closed on mine again, it was soft but certain: I'm here. I'm waiting.
Our bodies intertwined, the breadth of his chest over me, hands moving with slow calculation. The slow dance of surfaces meeting: skin, silk, breath, heat. Light through the blinds painted bars across my bare skin as I arched into him. Every nerve awoke. my pussy dripped warm liquid, ready to take him
He explored with kisses and teasing touches before lowering himself to worship me there, where it mattered most. Feather-light, then deeper, coaxing pleasure from places unused to kindness. It sounded barbaric and holy in my ears.
My back arched as I cried out, nails digging into silk ribbons drawn across my wrists and ankles but he continued to suck on my aching centre laying with my clit using his tongue. When he paused, I realized I was tied, not helpless, but connected. I'm still me. I can still move. But I chose this. He didn't force me.
He took me again, slowly, carefully, until every boundary evaporated between pleasure and emotion. My name became worship on his lips. I came apart. Again. I came until my toes curled and my vision blurred. I didn't know orgasm could make one pass out.
He held me. Soft and sure.
Time paused. Breath slowed. City lights below glimmered, punctuating the edges of our silhouettes.
He slid off me and lay beside me, closing the distance I didn't know I'd built. Hands found mine, gentle, electric.
"You weren't mine tonight," he murmured, voice raspy. "But you were everything."
I let my fingers trace his scars, his skin recording maps I once feared to know. "I gave myself," I whispered. "On my terms."
He rolled to lie on his back, curling me carefully. We lay in silence too rich for conversation.
Then he spoke again, voice softer: "Tell me who you are now."
I stared into the dark, pressing my cheek into his chest. "I am Ivana," I breathed.
His hand traced my back like a benediction, then I passed out from exhaustion.