She had barely stepped away from the door before the lock clicked again.
Julian stepped inside, closing it with the same unhurried certainty he always carried. Black shirt open at the collar, gray eyes locked on her, hair still slightly mussed from her fingers earlier. He looked like a man who had already taken what he wanted and was ready to take more.
The collar was still at her throat. Thin leather, cool now, but heavy with its meaning. She hadn't touched it since he'd fastened it the night before.
He crossed the space between them in two slow steps, his hand brushing her jaw, tilting her chin until green eyes met gray.
"Color?"
Her pulse skipped. The word was quiet but absolute. The coded check that meant red if she wanted to stop, yellow if she needed him to slow, green if she was still his.
"Green," she breathed.
His mouth curved in approval. "Good."
Before she could speak again, he took her phone from the dresser. It lit with two unread texts from Ethan. Julian didn't even glance at her as he scrolled, reading what her husband had sent.
"You're not answering him," he said
Not a question.
"No, Sir."
"Good girl." His tone was as smooth as it was dangerous. "You're going to tell him you're busy. And you're going to mean it."
Her stomach tightened. "Julian…"
"Do it."
The command landed low, a weight she couldn't shake. She took the phone, typed exactly what he told her, and set it back down. When she looked up, his hand caught her jaw again, the pressure just shy of a grip.
"That's leverage, Lena," he murmured,
"Every choice you make with me takes you further from him."
Her breath caught, but she didn't look away.
He kissed her, not soft, not sweet, before stepping back. "Get dressed."
She turned toward her suitcase, but his hand closed around her wrist. "No. I'll choose."
He sifted through her clothes until he found a fitted black dress, long sleeves, hem skimming high enough to make her think about bending over. He laid it on the bed with a pair of thin-strapped heels.
"And nothing underneath," he said.
Her thighs pressed together instinctively, but she obeyed.
The hotel's executive lounge smelled faintly of polished wood and expensive whiskey. Conversations were low, the kind that carried power without volume.
Julian chose a corner table with a perfect view of the room. She sat across from him, trying not to think about the air against bare skin beneath her dress.
He set a glass of wine in front of her. Then, almost casually, he reached into his pocket and placed a small black remote on the table between them.
Her breath stalled.
"Put it in," he said, voice meant for her alone.
Heat surged through her chest. Under the table, she slid the discreet toy into place, the cool surface turning warm against her skin.
The first vibration rolled through her before she'd even settled back in her seat. Subtle but impossible to ignore. She bit the inside of her lip.
Julian didn't touch the remote again for several minutes. He sipped his drink, asked her about the morning briefing as if they were two colleagues making casual conversation.
Then the second pulse hit. Stronger. Longer.
Her hand tightened around the stem of her glass. Her knees pressed together.
"Don't spill," he murmured.
The rhythm shifted. Slow, steady throbs that made her toes curl inside her heels. She kept her posture perfect, her smile polite, even as heat bloomed deep and low.
He leaned in just enough for her to feel his breath. "Look at me when you take it."
Her gaze locked to his.
The pulse peaked and stopped.
She exhaled slowly, pulse thudding in her ears.
Julian sat back, remote still in hand. "Finish your wine," he said. "Then go to your room."
Her mouth parted, but before she could speak, he added, "No release. Not until I decide you've earned it."
Her body ached as she stood. The remote stayed in his pocket. The ache stayed between her thighs. And she knew she would walk back to her room dripping, restless, and entirely his.
End of Chapter Five
Next - Chapter Six: Term