Our Dark Fantasies

Damien My office is too perfect for what is about to go on inside it. Thirty-eight floors up, rain streaking the tinted glass, the city a blurred smear of light beneath me. Everything in here is deliberate: charcoal walls, brushed steel, softened by thick cream rugs and the low amber glow of hidden lights. It smells faintly of oud and bergamot: expensive, controlled, masculine, control. My control. Until she walked in. I sit behind my obsidian desk, sleeves rolled to the elbow, watching the door. I already know I’m f****d. Last night, I’d read Sofia Valdez’s file until the words burned. Twenty-nine. Heiress to a shipping fortune. Three marriages already in the rear-view, the last one still bleeding on the courtroom floor. Referred by her third husband’s divorce attorney after she’d “exhibited concerning behavioral patterns.” The phrase had made me laugh out loud in the empty office at 2:am in the morning, alone, hard-on already stirring, because I knew exactly what that euphemism meant. Concerning behavioral patterns. f**k me. The intercom buzzes. “Ms. Valdez is here, Dr. Woods.” “Send her in.” The door opens and the temperature in the room climbs five degrees. Sofia steps inside like she is doing me a favor by existing in my space. Black dress, high collar, long sleeves, hem barely past dangerous, modest until you notice the way the fabric clings to every line of her. Hair the color of spilled merlot is pinned up in a loose knot, a few strands already escaping. Lips painted the color of fresh blood. Eyes a green that should come with a warning label. She don’t smile. She assesses. I loosen my tie nervously.We have met before, she was sixteen when we hung out with mutuals on a ski lift but I doubt she remembers ever meeting me. Sofia doesn’t wait for permission. She just walks in and drops into the leather chair opposite my desk, crossing those endless legs with a slowness that feels like a dare. The dress rides higher. She lets it. “Dr. Woods,” she says, voice rough around the edges, like she’d spent the night moaning into a pillow. “Sofia.” I don’t stand. Don’t offer my hand. I just watch her watch me. Silence stretches, thick enough to choke on. I break first. “You’re here because people think you’re broken.” “I’m here,” she says, “because people are tired of pretending they don’t want to f**k me and hate me for it at the same time.” She leans forward just enough that the neckline of that saintly dress gapes, giving me a shadowed glimpse of lace and skin. “I was told you don’t waste time on pretense.” Oh Lord. I set my pen down before I snap it in half. “Tell me what you actually want, Sofia.” Her eyes lock on mine, unflinching. “I want to stop pretending I don’t want to be ruined Damien. I want to be taken apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left of the good girl they all want me to be.” My pulse is a war drum. I can feel it in my throat, my c**k, the base of my spine. “Define taken apart.” The smile she gives me was slow, sharp, filthy. “I want my wrists tied so tight the silk bruises. I want my dress cut off me because I’m not allowed to undress myself. I want to be told exactly how wet I’m allowed to get before I earn the right to come.” She tilts her head. “I want to be f****d until I’m sobbing your name and still begging for more. And then..only then..I want to be held like something breakable. Even though we both know I’m already in pieces.” My vision tunnels. Every drop of blood in my body heads south. I set my pen down very carefully. “That’s quite a confession for a first session.” “I don’t have time to play cautious, Doctor.” She uncross her legs, parts them just enough that I catch a flash of black lace beneath the dress before she crosses them again. “I leave for Tokyo in three days. After that, Singapore. Then nowhere for a very long time. If you’re going to fix me or break me further..you’d better start now.” I should end it. Should stand up, open the door, refer her to someone who still has a shred of ethics. Instead I stand, round the desk, and stop in front of her chair. She has to tip her head back to hold my stare. Close enough now to smell jasmine and smoke and the faintest trace of an aroused woman. “I don’t fix people who don’t want to be fixed,” I say quietly. “Good.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Because I don’t.” I reach out, slow, and brush a loose strand of hair from her cheek. My knuckles graze her lower lip. She parts them instantly, tongue flicking out to taste my skin, and my c**k jerks hard against my zipper. “Stand up.” She rises in one fluid move. The heat rolling off her body hit me like a drug. “Take your hair down.” Her fingers go to the pins. One by one they hit the rug, and all that dark red spills over her shoulders like a battle flag. Then, before I can stop myself—before the last shred of professionalism can scream loud enough— I slide my hand into that hair, fist it at the roots, and yank her head back hard enough to make her gasp. The sound goes straight to my d**k. “Careful, Sofia,” I say against the shell of her ear. “You just handed me the keys to every locked door inside you. And I’m not in the mood to be gentle tonight.” Her answer is a soft, hungry laugh that breaks in the middle when I tighten my grip. “Lock the door, Doctor.” I lock it. Then I walk her backward until her spine meet the cold glass of the window overlooking the city. Her breath fogs the pane. I pin her wrists above her head with one hand, use the other to drag that prim little dress up to her waist. Black lace. Soaked already. I press my thigh between hers, forcing her legs wider, and lean in until my mouth brushes hers, close, but not kissing. “Last chance to change your mind,” I warn, voice ragged. She rolls her hips against my thigh, smearing wetness on my slacks, and smiles like sin itself. “Ruin me, Damien.” Sophia Valdez has evoked something in me, something I had sworn never to unleash again. My Dark side. My alter ego. The man she’s about to meet will either be her undoing or her salvation.