Elara
It was past 10 p.m. when Damian summoned me back to the office.
The Blackwood Tower was mostly dark, only a few scattered lights glowing on different floors. The creative wing was empty. My heels echoed too loudly down the corridor as I walked toward his office, heart already racing.
I knew this wasn’t a normal late-night work session.
I was still wearing the same dress from earlier — the navy sheath that now felt like a costume. No underwear. The Ben Wa balls had been removed hours ago, but I still felt the ghost of them, the constant fullness, the ache of being used and denied throughout the day.
I knocked once.
“Come in.”
I stepped inside and locked the door behind me, as I had been trained.
Damian stood by the windows, city lights glittering behind him like a crown. His j
