Bound by Desire

Temptation

Grace had read some online posts. Why would someone like to find a master?

The replies were diverse, but she found one that resonated with her.

Because she had never felt complete paternal love, never felt like she could trust her back to anyone, never had a hand gently stroke her hair and say, "Well done."

Born into a not-so-well-off family, the whole family always revolved around her younger brother.

Her sisters were much older than her, dropping out of school early to work. She was the only one who kept studying.

She had heard plenty of complaints. After she got into high school, her family didn't intend to let her continue her studies, but a teacher from school came to her home, saying her grades were good and she shouldn't give up.

Grace would never forget that teacher's name.

In her three years of high school, he had taken care of her a lot. Sometimes when money was tight, he would invite her to eat in the cafeteria.

He had never crossed the line, but Grace thought he must have liked her.

A distant memory, one that Grace had never forgotten.

She realized that from that time on, she knew how important the love of an "elder" was to her.

She could be cared for too.

Sara said she had once experienced the pleasure of being completely cared for, completely enveloped, completely spoiled. Willingly endure all the slaps, surrendering herself to her master.

You know, after the slap, he would patiently massage away every trace of blood on you. You can confidently show him all your shameful and naked desires, without fear or hesitation. Because he will accept every aspect of you.

As Sara spoke these words, warm tears welled up in Grace's eyes. In the past, she had felt shame and concealment when using small toys and watching sp/sm videos. It wasn't until she met Sara that she realized it wasn't something to be ashamed of.

The reasons behind it may be complex and difficult to articulate. But liking a "spicy Italian coffee" is not wrong at all—

The plane took off at nine o'clock in the evening.

On Alexander's private plane, there were some commonly used clothes. Grace and James sat together, scrolling through news on social media about Charlie's injury.

Most of them were tweets from F1 fans, mainly concerned about whether Charlie would recover before the start of the March season.

The team had put in a lot of effort this year to compete for the championship, hiring a new manager and planning to poach two aerodynamics engineers from the Red Bull team. Who knew that at this critical moment, the key driver would get injured.

James pointed to a tweet, and Grace looked at it.

"Roman brought 'good luck' to Ferrari!"

James opened the replies, and surprisingly, there were many people mocking as well.

"Some of them are going too far," Grace murmured.

James shrugged. "Who knows."

Grace froze in place for a moment.

She actually knew that her colleagues in the team were not happy with Alexander, but at this moment, James's seemingly neutral reply actually revealed his position.

He was just like those netizens on Twitter, standing by to watch the excitement in the "fire."

Not far away, the door to the lounge reopened, and Alexander came out in a new shirt and waistcoat.

James smoothly closed the tweets and then started talking to Alexander.

Grace leaned back in her chair.

A feeling that was hard to describe.

Originally, she was just an onlooker, and to her, Alexander was unattainable.

But... that cup of coffee.

She caught sight of the empty coffee cup.

—"My bad, Grace."

His tone was gentle yet authoritative, but he could also apologize to her without any resentment.

He wasn't the kind of high and mighty, arrogant man.

But the position he held was enviable, and not everyone could bear such pressure.

Grace forced herself to look away from Alexander, but the sound of him talking to James still entered her ears clearly.

His voice was deep, like fingers threading through thick velvet. Listening carefully, it was easy to get lost in the rhythmic tones and forget what he was saying.

Grace realized her own loss of control again. She had been too unstable lately.

The pressure at work, along with Alexander's presence, made her feel like her internship was on the brink of collapse.

Her heart squeezed uncomfortably, and Grace wanted to lie down, but she couldn't.

An hour later, the plane landed at Monaco Airport, and the cold air in the airport instantly swept away Grace's romantic thoughts and anxiety.

James drove, and the three of them headed to Charlie's house—

Charlie's injury was not serious. The medical team gave Alexander a comprehensive and detailed report, confirming that with a month of rest, he would be able to fully recover.

That night, the three of them checked into a hotel. Grace took out her laptop and started writing a press release. The next morning, James received the draft, and after he revised it, he showed it to Alexander, who then approved it for release.

The crisis was quickly resolved, and the team issued a statement. The rumors about Charlie being scrapped for the season also collapsed.

It wasn't a big PR event originally, but Alexander's late-night visit to check on Charlie's condition sparked some discussion.

James asked if they needed to respond again, but Alexander refused.

The next day, the three of them returned to Italy.

Alexander didn't rest and quickly flew to Japan to discuss the modifications to the engines for this year's season with the engine supplier.

At night, Grace left work on time.

She habitually browsed team-related information while eating, but she didn't expect that there would be only a few scattered messages about Alexander's visit to Charlie during the day, and it would become somewhat uncontrollable at night.

She sent screenshots of these tweets to James.

Grace: "Do we need to respond to this public opinion?"

James replied quickly: "Alexander said no need during the day."

Grace: "But now it's spreading beyond control."

The tweets started to criticize Alexander's showmanship, and his background was also widely discussed.

The malicious speculations and evaluations were overwhelming, and Grace didn't believe James didn't notice.

Sure enough, James's message came back quickly: "Grace, contact Alexander and ask if we need to respond again."

Grace couldn't help but curse in front of her phone.

James was good at shifting responsibility. Everyone knew that Alexander was in Japan now, and it was already past midnight in Italy. Would he get angry if he was woken up like this?

But public opinion feedback was the most unpredictable. What if Alexander asked about it later? Grace definitely wouldn't escape.

But such doubts only lasted for a second. Grace knew that work was more important than her own emotions.

She called Alexander's number and put her phone on speaker.

The phone rang, and she couldn't help but cross her arms and bite her lip.

Alexander picked up the phone on the third ring.

"Hello, Grace."

His voice was devoid of any sleepiness, calm and clear, as if he were in the same time zone as her.

Grace immediately replied, "Hi, Alexander."

Alexander remained silent as he tackled the false and malicious comments on the tweet. Grace couldn't gauge his expression, and her voice dwindled towards the end.

"That's it," Grace's heart thudded. "The situation is much worse than we thought. Does the team need to address this?"

"No need, Grace."

After a prolonged silence, Alexander's voice filled the void.

Still composed, devoid of any emotion.

"Already suspected of spreading rumors."

"No need, Grace," he reiterated.

Grace felt a pang of disappointment, yet her heart swelled with an inexplicable mixture of sourness and bitterness.

He was called out by name, yet he still said "no need."

"Sorry to disturb your rest," Grace resolved not to dwell on it.

"Don't apologize. It's your job."

"Thank you, and goodbye, Alexander."

After Grace finished speaking, she awaited Alexander's farewell.

Unexpectedly, the voice on the other end spoke:

"Have a good night, Grace."

He remembered it was nighttime in Italy, so he wished her a good night.

As Grace hung up the phone, a moment of confusion washed over her.

Soon, she identified the source of her discomfort.

She was wet.

There was a subtle commotion in her lower abdomen, and she sat in the chair, unconsciously crossing her legs.

Grace headed for a bath.

With her hair partially dry, she returned to the bedroom, unclothed.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, noting her flushed cheeks.

The damp hair cascaded over her body as it swayed, and Grace's sensitive form began to tremble uncontrollably.

Yet, she yearned for the pleasure and refrained from pushing her hair aside.

Grace closed her eyes. She reasoned that indulging in s****l fantasies wasn't unlawful.

Her mind was consumed by the climax. Heat suffused her body, causing her to pant sharply. She barely recollected herself from the throes of ecstasy, turning her gaze to the mirror.

A sharp sound pierced the air, ringing once, then again.

Grace's mind blanked momentarily before she remembered—it was her alarm clock.

She sat upright before the mirror, apprehension gripping her as she reached for her phone.

It was already 8:08, and A had sent two messages.

A: "Good evening, Grace. Did you deliver the coffee to your boss?"

Five minutes later, the second message arrived.

A: "Grace, you lost track of time."

Realizing she had missed eight o'clock while pleasuring herself, Grace felt a pang of regret. She steeled herself and composed a response.

Grace: "Good evening, I delivered the coffee to my boss. My apologies for losing track of time."

A: "What were you up to just now?"

Grace pondered the message, sinking into contemplation.

Sara had described him as elusive, and Grace was determined not to let him slip away.

A faint scent lingered on her slender fingers as she tapped out her reply.

"I was just indulging in some self-pleasure."