Chapter 6
1087 Words
Corporate Games
Ava learned quickly that Lucian’s empire ran on fear, caffeine and flawless execution and she was determined to give him the last one in spades.
By the end of her second week, the executive floor had started to notice her. Emails went out faster than ever, contracts were proofed before Lucian even asked, and she’d caught two decimal-point errors in a fifty-million-dollar deal memos that would have cost the company a fortune. Whispers followed her down the hallway.
She’s terrifyingly good.
Where did he find her?
Think she’s sleeping with him?
She pretended not to hear that last one.
Lucian heard everything, of course. And he hated it.
So he began the sabotage small, vicious, invisible to anyone else.
A critical file accidentally deleted from the shared drive five minutes before a board presentation.
A meeting moved up an hour with no notification, so she walked in late, cheeks burning, while he watched with cool amusement.
Her coffee order switched to decaf, so by three p.m. she was dragging and he could smirk, Tired already, Miss Harper?
She never complained. Never snapped. Just fixed it, faster and better than before, eyes promising murder when no one else was looking.
Friday afternoon he called her into his office and shut the door.
You’re making me look bad, he said without preamble, leaning against the desk.
Ava lifted a brow. You asked for perfection. I’m delivering.
I asked for obedience. He pushed off the desk, prowled closer. You’re showing off.
Maybe if you stopped tripping me, I wouldn’t have to sprint to keep up.
Something hot and dangerous flashed in his eyes. He stopped inches away, voice dropping. Careful. Pride is expensive.
She met his stare. So is underestimating me.
For a second the air crackled then he turned away abruptly. Be ready at seven. Black tie. Tanaka Group dinner. You’ll sit on my right and charm the hell out of them.
That night she wore the dress he’d left on the bed, midnight blue silk, off-the-shoulder, slit high enough to be lethal. When she walked into the living room, Lucian’s conversation with his driver died mid-sentence. His gaze dragged over her like hands.
Too much? she asked sweetly.
His jaw flexed. It’ll do.
The restaurant was perched on the 62nd floor of a Midtown tower, all glass and candlelight. The Tanaka Group father, son, and their terrifyingly sharp CFO wanted to co-invest in Blackwell’s new Tokyo project. Two hundred million on the table.
Ava spoke fluent Japanese, something Lucian clearly hadn’t known. She laughed at the father’s terrible dad jokes, asked the son about his new baby and when the CFO tried to low-ball the valuation, she slid a single revised spreadsheet across the table that made the woman’s eyebrows climb into her hairline.
By dessert, Mr. Tanaka was calling her Ava-chan and bowing over her hand. The deal closed at 2.2 times the original ask.
In the elevator down, Lucian was silent. She waited for the criticism, the dig, anything.
Instead he said, very quietly, You were brilliant.
The praise hit harder than any insult. She glanced at him, his profile was turned away, city lights strobing across his face.
Back in the penthouse, he didn’t speak again until the door shut behind them.
Bedroom, he ordered, voice rough. Now.
Her pulse kicked. She walked ahead of him, feeling his stare on her back like a brand.
Inside, he didn’t turn on the lights. Only the glow from the skyline bled through the windows, painting everything silver and shadow.
Undress, he said. Slowly.
She did, fingers steady even as her heart thundered. The silk whispered to the floor. She stood in only the black lace he’d chosen, panties, no bra and waited.
He produced a strip of black satin from his pocket. A blindfold.
Ava’s breath caught. Lucian
Trust is earned, he murmured, stepping behind her. Tonight I’m taking it.
The silk settled over her eyes, cool and absolute. Darkness swallowed the room. Every sense sharpened, the faint scent of his cologne, the rustle of his shirt as he removed it, the soft clink of his belt.
He didn’t touch her yet. Just circled, predator slow.
Hands behind your back.
She obeyed. Soft leather cuffs clicked around her wrists, not tight, but inescapable. Then his fingertips finally grazed her skin, tracing the collarbone, the slope of her breast, the curve of her waist. Goosebumps raced in their wake.
You shone tonight, he said against her ear, lips barely brushing. Made me proud. Made me hard. Made me want to ruin you for anyone else.”
His palm slid between her thighs, finding her soaked already. A low approving growl. So honest here. Always so honest.
He teased her mercilessly, feather-light strokes, never enough, until she was trembling, thighs pressing together for friction he wouldn’t allow.
Please, she whispered, hating the word, needing it anyway.
Please what?
She bit her lip. He waited. The silence stretched until it broke her.
Please, sir.
A dark chuckle. Better.
Then his mouth was on her, no warning, no gentleness, tongue ruthless, fingers curling inside her until she sobbed into the void. The blindfold made everything sharper, the wet sounds, her own ragged breathing, the way he moaned against her like she was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
He brought her to the edge three times and pulled back, until tears of frustration soaked the silk.
Only then did he spin her, bend her over the foot of the bed and drive into her in one long thrust. She cried out, the sudden fullness overwhelming. He set a punishing rhythm, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping the cuffs so she couldn’t move, couldn’t escape the pleasure he forced on her again and again.
When she came it was blinding, body seizing, voice breaking on his name. He followed moments later, hips stuttering, her name a curse and a prayer on his lips.
After, he removed the blindfold gently, almost reverently. The city lights blurred through the tears she hadn’t realized she’d shed.
He uncuffed her, massaged her wrists, then pulled her against his chest, still buried inside her, as if he couldn’t bear to separate yet.
Against her temple he whispered, Two hundred thousand credited. Seven hundred and eighty-one nights left.
But his arms tightened around her like he was the one afraid she’d vanish again.
And for the first time since she’d signed her name, Ava wondered which one of them was really keeping score.
- Writer
