The elevator's mirrored walls threw Lena back at herself: hair swept clean, charcoal sheath sharp, the collar hidden just under the first button of her blouse. If she stood straight, it disappeared. If she breathed too hard, leather kissed air.
Her phone buzzed twice as the doors opened onto the conference level.
Julian: Presence.
Julian: Change. Kit. Now.
The ladies' room was empty. She opened the zip pouch he'd made her keep at the office and now in her suitcase: sheer black silk blouse, softer than sense; a narrower pencil skirt with a higher slit; thin stockings that whispered when she moved. No bra. No panties. She buttoned to the point where the collar nearly showed and left it.
Her pulse smoothed into that dangerous, even rhythm she'd learned around him.
Another text as she stepped into the corridor.
Julian: Hair up. Left side. Show your throat.
She twisted it into a clean knot, exposing the elegant line of her neck and the shadow of leather beneath. The atrium beyond was all glass, money, roasted coffee and quiet deals. He was already there, suit dark, posture relaxed, control absolute. He didn't beckon.
Her phone buzzed in her palm.
Julian: By the bar. Two fingers on the stem. Look at no one until I touch you.
She took her place, peripheral vision full of suits and name badges, the city glittering ten floors down. She waited, eyes on the ridge of her wineglass, shoulders loose, throat bared.
A breath warmed the back of her ear. "Color?" he asked, voice for her alone.
"Green," she whispered
Their code, quick and absolute.
"Good."
Something small and sleek brushed her palm under the bar. The toy. She slid it into place with a practiced sweep of her skirt, the cool turning warm as it settled where he wanted it. He didn't power it immediately. He let the anticipation work.
A partner approached, old-school navy suit and a handshake. "Ms. Vale, exceptional panel yesterday. That cross-motion—clean work."
"Thank you," she said, meeting his eyes. Her voice held.
The first vibration rolled through her mid-sentence - low, steady, perfectly timed. Heat shot up her spine. She didn't blink. She finished her thought with a tidy, lethal example and a smile that didn't shake. The partner beamed, said something about dinner in Q3, and drifted away, none the wiser.
A text lit her screen.
Julian: Good girl.
She didn't look around. She didn't need to. He was close enough to feel.
The next pulse hit harder. Her knees thought about giving. She took a breath, set it down like a file on a desk, and let it out slowly.
"Don't sway," he murmured behind her. "You're steel today."
A COO she didn't like sidled up, boomed a question about damages strategy. The toy peaked; Lena's nails pressed crescents into her palm. "We lead with exposure, not intent," she said, even. "And we'll win because they don't have the stomach for discovery."
The COO barked a laugh and asked her to email him. She said she would and didn't. The pulse cut off.
Silence, and then his hand, brief, ghost-light, at the base of her skull, capturing the collar's edge with a single fingertip. Praise. Ownership. She felt it everywhere.
"Higher," he said softly, and she didn't know if he meant the toy, the stakes, or the slit of her skirt. It turned out to be all three.
Minutes later, he was moving, and she followed: down the back stairs behind the service corridor, where the hum of HVAC made a private kind of noise. He didn't look back; he knew she'd come.
The door shut on the world. He turned, crowding her until her spine met cinderblock, the collar a cool band under his thumb.
"Hands on the rail," he said.
She obeyed, fingers wrapping the metal. The toy thrummed alive again. Meaner now, focused. Her breath came choppy; he steadied it with a palm at her sternum.
"Color?"
"Green." Barely.
"Hold the line, counselor," he murmured Affection buried in command.
It became a lesson. He moved her body by degrees: knees a fraction wider; chin up to expose her throat; shoulder blades back against concrete. Each adjustment made the pulse more intense and her composure more absolute. When she reached for the peak on instinct, he tightened his hand over the collar.
"No."
Her eyes glassed; her mouth opened on a silent plea.
"Ask," he said.
She swallowed. "Please, Sir. Please let me."
He didn't hurry. He watched her fight to stay still and decided she had earned breathing room. "Yellow?" he asked softly
Slow down? Check in?
She shook her head once. "Green."
Voice shredded and sure.
The corner of his mouth moved, there and gone. "Now."
She broke quietly, the orgasm ripping through her on a breath she couldn't quite catch. He held her through it. Hand firm at her throat, the other braced low at her hip. Until the tremors ran out and all that was left was the sound of the building and her pulse under his thumb.
The toy cut off. Silence expanded. He didn't move away.
"Look at me."
She did. Gray eyes in the dim; the world narrowed to the few inches between them.
"You didn't spill," he said. "You didn't look away. You didn't hide." His thumb stroked once across leather. "That's exposure."
Her laugh was shaky and small, "I felt naked."
"You were," he said, with a satisfaction that warmed instead of burned. "And you were perfect."
He kissed her then. Brief, sealing, nothing anyone in the world would have seen if they'd opened the door. He adjusted her blouse, tugged the lapel clean, and retied a loose strand of hair with the same precision he used on contracts.
"When you step back out," he said, "you carry me with you. That's the point."
"Yes, Sir."
He opened the door and paused, profile cut in the thin light. "Two hours," he added. "Executive reception. Left cuff undone." A beat. "Collar visible."
Her heart stuttered. "That's.."
"A term," he said, not unkindly. "And a test."
The door eased shut behind him.
Lena stood there for one long breath, palms still on the rail, pulse evening out as the aftershocks faded. Then she straightened, smoothed her skirt, checked the mirror by the service exit. The collar sat neat and undeniable at her throat when she let her shoulders drop the way he liked.
Back in the glass-bright world, the atrium hummed as if nothing had shifted. Her phone vibrated once.
Julian: Good girl. Don't be late.
She slid the phone away, gathered herself, and walked into the day feeling seen.
Not by them.
By him.
End of Chapter Seven
Next: Chapter Eight - The Reception