We couldn't sleep.
It's maybe because we didn't have time to.
Soft glow of the city lights still bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling glass. 4:30 a.m. The world outside was quiet, but inside my chest everything roared.
Me on top of him, his arm was heavy around my waist, his bare chest pressed against my cheek, one thick thigh wedged between mine like he still needed to claim me even when in rest. My body ached in the sweetest places — between my legs, across my breasts, the faint bruises on my hips where his fingers had dug in while he fucked me through shattering orgasms last night. I was still wet. Still full of him. Completely his.
Astaghfirullah…
The word rose automatically, soft as breath, but it didn't sting the way it used to.
Not after he had whispered "I Love You" while buried to the hilt inside me.
He stirred behind me, lips brushing the nape of my neck. "Can't sleep either?" His voice was gravel-rough with exhaustion and thought. Something that sounded like home.
I turned in his arms until we were face to face. "No," I whispered. "My mind won't stop."
He tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear — the same hair he had freed from my hijab and buried his face in while he came.
"Then let me give it something better to think about." His grey eyes held mine, steady, almost tender.
"From now on, this is how mornings go. I wake up, I hit the gym, I come back and shower while you make that Kashmiri khawa you love. We eat breakfast together. I watch you get dressed. I kiss you before we leave. Simple. Ours."
"I want you to know more about me."
My heart squeezed.
"Me too." I said.
He told me about his way of going to the day. When he woke up, he went to the gym. His morning coffee, and protein rich breakfast.
He told me about his secret closet where he has all same looking shirts and a small Tux collection.
My heart hurt with happiness.
He was speaking like I was already family.
Like the $150 million deal, the blackmail video, the entire board breathing down his neck — none of it mattered more than this quiet moment.
"I'll protect you, Aafreen," he said, voice low and fierce. "From Ji-Ah, from the board, from every single person who thinks they can use you against me. You're not a secret anymore. You're mine. And I don't hide what's mine."
Tears pricked my eyes. I pressed my face into his chest, breathing in cedar and musk and the faint trace of last night's sin. "I don't deserve you, Luci."
"You deserve everything." He kissed the top of my head. "Now come on. Let's start our day."
We rose together. He reached for the coffee machine, but I caught his wrist.
"Let me," I said softly. "I want to make you my khawa."
He watched me move around his kitchen in nothing but his oversized white shirt, sleeves rolled past my elbows, hem brushing my bare thighs.
I boiled the water, added the green tea, crushed cardamom, cinnamon, a touch of saffron — the way Ammi taught me. The fragrant steam curled up like a secret between us. When I handed him the cup, his fingers brushed mine and lingered.
"Best part of my morning already," he murmured, sipping. His eyes darkened over the rim. "Next best part is watching you get dressed in something that makes every man in the building jealous I get to take it off later."
I blushed so hard my ears burned.
The building facilities answered on the first ring — a service I never even knew existed. Lucifer gave them my exact measurements without hesitation, voice calm and commanding.
"Stunning office attire. Tight blouse, pretty bow at the neck, hugging skirt. Make it elegant but… impossible to ignore. And breakfast for two — whatever she wants."
Thirty minutes later the private elevator chimed. A discreet attendant wheeled in a rack of clothes and silver-domed trays.
Fresh bread, scrambled eggs with green chillies, mango juice, and a small bowl of my favorite barfi.
Lucifer ate like a man who had just won the world, eyes never leaving me as I chose the outfit.
The blouse was cream silk, fitted so perfectly it cupped my heavy breasts and cinched my waist like it had been sewn on my body. A soft satin bow sat right at the hollow of my throat — innocent enough to pass corporate, sinful enough that every breath made the fabric strain. The skirt was charcoal, high-waisted and hugging, ending just above my knees, the slit in the back high enough that walking felt dangerous. No hijab. Just my hair loose, falling in dark waves down my back, the titanium choker gleaming against my skin like a brand.
I stepped in front of the mirror and almost didn't recognize myself. The woman staring back looked powerful. Desired. His.
Lucifer came up behind me, hands sliding over my hips. "Aafreen. You're going to make the whole board forget why they're angry."
He kissed the side of my neck, teeth grazing the choker. "And then I'm going to remind them exactly who is behind you."
Ranjeet was waiting downstairs with the Escalade. My legs were still trembling from last night; every step in these heels sent little aftershocks through me.
Lucifer noticed. He slipped an arm around my waist, steadying me, his palm warm against the curve of my hip the entire walk to the car. I leaned into him shamelessly, breathing in the safety of his scent.
***
The C-suite was already a war zone when we arrived.
Marcus met us at the private elevator, jaw tight. "The VCs are losing their minds. The situation flipped from opportunity to threat overnight. Some of the C-suite are openly blaming you, sir. They're saying personal entanglements are compromising fiduciary duty."
I was feeling the pressure Lucifer was in.
It was because of me. If I wasn't here. None of these would have happened.
Then there were the gossips around the building.
I felt the words like knives. Secretary. Relations. Betrayal. Lies. They swirled in the air like poison. My stomach twisted. This is because of me. I was the dirt. The video from Montreal. The reason Lucifer was about to lose everything he built.
Marie appeared like a guardian angel, grabbing my elbow and pulling me into the small glass-walled pantry.
"Did you also hear about what Lucifer did?" she asked, voice low, eyes sparkling with mischief as if I weren't the center of the storm.
"Apparently some woman defended him in a restaurant. There's an audio file — him saying he loves the woman who stood up for him. No faces, no real proof. Just an empty threat to rattle the board."
Only the three of us knew the truth. Relief crashed through me so hard my knees nearly buckled.
Lucifer seemed to have heard the similar information.
He looked calmer now, shoulders relaxed, that dangerous half-smile playing on his lips. He called every reporter into his chamber, voice ringing with command.
"There's going to be a meeting. And it's going to be a piece of cake."
He turned to Marcus. "Decline the Suamsungu offer. Full stop."
The room erupted. Equity dilution. Board-seat implications. Internal legal audits. Whispers of shareholder suits. Fingers pointed at Lucifer for choosing "personal entanglements" over duty. They would drag up his military past, his relation with is ex-family, questioning his honor, calling it compromised.
Lucifer didn't flinch. He simply said, "Print out the relevant sections of the Constitution regarding the rights and Amendments for personal life. Make copies for every opposing leader. They want to weaponize my personal life? Then let's remind them this firm was built on the fundamental right to make decisions about our own lives."
He took Dan — one of the few still firmly in his corner — and walked into the boardroom like a general heading to war. I stayed behind, heart hammering, listening to the raised voices through the glass walls.
When it ended, the board had no choice but to accept his decision. The Suamsungu deal was dead.
But the penalty
That was steep: a massive fine and the quiet suggestion that Lucifer "retire with honorary title." They said he had lost his edge.
Making a promise and backing out. Saying that the Age made him indecisive.
I learned the details later, alone in his office, when he pulled me against his chest.
I broke.
Tears poured down my face as I clutched his shirt. "This is my fault. Because I was present. If I hadn't defended you in Miami, if I hadn't come into your life—"
He clenched me tighter, cupping my face, thumbs wiping my tears. "It's not your fault, baby. It was my emotions that made me indecisive. I chose you. I will always choose you."
"I love you," I whispered, voice cracking.
He kissed me then — deep, claiming, pouring every unsaid promise into my mouth. "I love you too, Aafreen."
But the burden on my heart didn't lift.
He saw it.
His eyes darkened with that familiar hunger.
"There are ways you could make it up to me," he murmured, voice dropping into that velvet command that made my core clench.
Sparkles lit in my eyes despite the tears. "How?" I asked, already reaching for his hand.
"Come to me."
He pulled me close, fingers working the buttons of my new cream blouse one by one.
The satin bow came undone. My bra was unhooked and tossed aside. Cool office air kissed my bare breasts, nipples tightening instantly under his gaze. He kissed me again — passionate, starving — tongue claiming mine while his large hands cupped my heavy breasts, thumbs circling the sensitive peaks.
I moaned into his mouth, stunned by how good it felt, how right.
Astaghfirullah…
The word floated through my mind even as I arched into his touch, offering more.
Fear and heat twisted together — what if someone walked in? The glass walls, the open door to the outer office, the entire company just beyond.
I kissed him back harder, hands sliding under his shirt, nails dragging over the ridges of his abs.
I moved us toward his desk, breathless, until my hips hit the edge. He lifted me onto it, mouth never leaving mine, palms kneading my breasts, pinching my nipples until I whimpered.
We didn't have sex.
Not yet.
Just this — raw, desperate making out while I sat half-naked on his desk, skirt rucked up, breasts bare and flushed under his hands.
Astaghfirullah… I thought it again and again, but the guilt only made me wetter.
But then we heard some Footsteps approaching.
Panic flared. We had seconds.
Lucifer shoved me down, guiding me under the massive desk toward his chair.
I crouched there, heart hammering, completely naked from the waist up, breasts still tingling from his touch, nipples wet from his mouth. He sat, thighs spread, pretending to study his monitor as the analysts entered.
"Sir, We have a suggestion about restructuring the Suamsungu workforce into the the AI market. With the Open-Clawpic project…"
The conversation dragged.
I stayed perfectly still, crouching in the tight space, the scent of him surrounding me, my own arousal slick between my thighs.
My body yearning for his touch and kisses.
My nipples still hard and wet with his saliva from the biting.
Every second stretched. The pressure built — fear, shame, and a dark, filthy thrill that made me press my thighs together. I could see the bulge in his trousers inches from my face. I wanted to taste him. But I couldn't.
My nipples were drying out. And it felt like a flame about to die.
I wanted to feel good from his saliva longer.
This is where I did something I never did before.
I lifted my heavy breasts toward my mouth, parted my lips, and sucked my own nipple hard, desperate to keep his warm saliva glistening on my skin.
Astaghfirullah… forgive me Allah.
Wet and tender, it was pleasing. But no where near what Lucifer makes me feel.
The analysts finally left.
He looked under the table catching me pleasuring myself by kissing my own breasts.
My face burned with humiliation, but my pussy clenched so hard I almost whimpered.
He saw. He saw how far I'd fallen for him.
Lucifer pulled me up instantly, eyes blazing.
A small smirk smug on his face.
"You can always make it up to me like that," he growled, yanking me back into his lap for another searing kiss, hands roaming my bare breasts again.
My hands moved towards his face, while I gasped for air.
We only had a minute before both our phones rang — the next crisis demanding us.
He buttoned my blouse with steady fingers, straightened the satin bow, and kissed the tip of my nose.
"You look incredible," he said, voice rough. "Wear clothes like these from now on. I want the whole world to see how amazing you are."
I blushed crimson, heart soaring.
"I love you," I called over my shoulder as I rushed toward the door, the second call already ringing.
He replied with a small finger heart with that dangerous smile following me out.
Astaghfirullah… The words still came, but softer now.
I was falling deeper into haram every single day. Yet as I walked down the corridor in my tight blouse and hugging skirt, breasts still sensitive from his touch, the taste of his kiss lingering on my tongue, I felt no real regret.
This was my poison.
Sweet, addictive, impossible to quit.
And the poison's name was Lucifer.