The weeks following their agreement to exclusivity flew by in a whirlwind of stolen moments and escalating intimacy. Simon West, the man who had built an empire on calculated risks and ironclad control, found himself utterly captivated by Lily Pan. She was a force—witty, unpredictable, and sexually voracious in a way that kept him constantly off-balance and perpetually aroused.
Their routine settled into something deliciously addictive. Lily would text him mid-day with teasing messages that ranged from innocent emojis to explicit descriptions of what she wanted to do to him that night. Simon, in boardrooms negotiating multi-million-dollar deals, would feel his phone vibrate and fight a smile—or a hard-on—depending on the content.
One Tuesday afternoon, during a particularly tense investor call, his phone buzzed twice.
Lily: Thinking about last night. Specifically, your tongue.
Lily: Also, I'm not wearing panties under this skirt right now.
Simon muted the call for a split second to type back.
Simon: You're evil. And you're going to pay for that tonight.
Lily: Promises, promises.
He wrapped the call early, intuition telling him the deal would close anyway. By evening, he was pacing his penthouse like a caged animal waiting for her arrival.
When the elevator dinged at 7:45, Lily stepped out carrying takeout bags from their favorite Thai place and wearing a short plaid skirt that made her look like the world's sexiest schoolgirl fantasy. Paired with a cropped white blouse that showed a sliver of toned midriff, she was clearly intent on torture.
"Dinner first," she announced, brushing past him with a wicked grin. "Or you'll need your strength."
They ate on the terrace, city lights twinkling below like a private audience to their foreplay. Conversation flowed effortlessly—her mocking his latest Forbes cover ("Brooding billionaire? Really?"), him teasing her about a client who'd clearly been flirting during her pitch. But underneath every word ran a current of electricity.
Halfway through pad thai, Lily stretched deliberately, blouse riding up to reveal the edge of black lace. Simon's fork paused mid-air.
"No panties, huh?"
She batted innocent lashes. "I'm a woman of my word."
The food was abandoned. He pulled her onto his lap, hands sliding under that sinful skirt to confirm her claim. She was already wet, grinding against his palm with shameless abandon.
"Fuck dinner," he growled, carrying her inside.
They didn't make it past the living room couch. Skirt rucked up, blouse unbuttoned just enough, he took her there—fast and desperate, her nails scoring his back as she came with his name on her lips. Round two was slower, on the rug again, with her riding him until they were both shaking.
Afterward, sprawled naked and satisfied, she traced patterns through the sweat on his chest.
"You know," she said lazily, "I expected you to be good in bed. I didn't expect you to be… addictive."
He chuckled, fingers playing with her hair. "Same goes, Miss Pan. You're ruining me for all other women."
"That was the plan."
Their physical compatibility was off the charts, but it was the emotional intimacy that surprised them both. Late-night talks after sex became sacred—her curled against his side, sharing childhood stories, fears, dreams. Simon opened up about the pressure of running WestTech, the loneliness at the top that he'd masked with casual flings. Lily admitted her terror of failure, how freelancing felt like constantly walking a tightrope.
"You're not failing," he told her one night, after she'd landed a major contract. They were in his hot tub, champagne bubbling around them. "You're building something incredible."
She straddled him under the water, kissing him deeply. "You're good for my ego, West."
"And you're good for my everything else."
But exclusivity didn't mean isolation. Simon's world was full of social obligations—galas, launches, networking events. Lily accompanied him to several, stunning in designer gowns he insisted on buying her (which led to fantastic fights followed by even better makeup sex).
At one tech gala, she wore emerald silk that matched her shifting eyes. They circulated separately for a while—her charming potential clients, him working the room with his usual charisma. But his intuition kept pinging toward her location, like a compass needle.
When he found her cornered by a sleazy venture capitalist twice her age, Simon's protective instincts flared. The guy was leaning too close, hand brushing her arm.
"Everything okay here?" Simon appeared at her side, arm sliding possessively around her waist.
The VC straightened, recognizing him. "Just discussing Lily's impressive portfolio."
"I'm sure." Simon's smile didn't reach his eyes. "But she's needed elsewhere."
As they walked away, Lily laughed softly. "Jealous, Oracle?"
"Territorial," he corrected. "There's a difference."
Back at his place that night, he showed her exactly how territorial—marking her neck with love bites, fucking her against the window overlooking the city until she screamed his name loud enough for half of Manhattan to hear.
Yet even in their bubble, cracks began to appear. Lily's freelance schedule grew hectic, deadlines pulling her away for days at a time. Simon's company faced growing pains—ErosAI's success brought competitors sniffing around, including aggressive acquisition offers.
One Thursday, Lily canceled their plans last minute for a client emergency. Simon understood intellectually, but his gut twisted with something unfamiliar—neediness.
He distracted himself with work, but by midnight found himself texting.
Simon: Miss you.
The response came twenty minutes later.
Lily: Miss you more. Tomorrow?
Simon: My place. All night.
Lily: Deal. Bring toys.
He smiled despite himself.
The next evening, she arrived exhausted but radiant, collapsing into his arms the moment the elevator doors closed.
"Rough day?"
"The worst. Client changed everything at the last second." She buried her face in his neck. "Need you to make me forget."
He carried her to the bedroom, undressing her slowly, worshipping every inch with hands and mouth until she was trembling. When he finally slid inside her, it felt like coming home.
They explored new territories that night—silk ties binding her wrists, ice cubes trailing down her body, her on her knees taking him deep while he gripped her hair. Every discovery drew them closer, boundaries blurring in the best way.
After, tangled in sheets damp with sweat, she whispered, "I think I'm falling for you, Simon West."
His heart stuttered. "Good. Because I fell weeks ago."
The admission hung between them, terrifying and perfect.
But life, as it does, intruded.
The following week brought Betty into their orbit.
Betty Harrington was a financial wizard Simon had been courting for months to join WestTech as CFO. Mid-thirties, elegant, with warm brown eyes and a gentle smile that hid razor-sharp intelligence. His intuition had flagged her as essential—the missing piece for taking the company public.
They met for lunch at Per Se to finalize her contract. Lily knew about it—Simon was scrupulous about transparency—but encouraged him to hire Betty, having researched her impressive track record.
Betty arrived in a tailored navy suit that accentuated her curves without trying to. Conversation flowed easily—market trends, IPO strategies, shared laughter over industry gossip. Simon's gut pinged repeatedly: trust her, need her, she's perfect for this.
As coffee arrived, Betty leaned forward. "I have to say, Simon, working for you would be a dream. Your intuition is legendary."
He smiled. "Flattery works on me."
"It's not flattery. It's fact." Her eyes held his a beat longer than professional.
His intuition noted the spark—attraction, mutual. But Lily's face flashed in his mind, their recent confession still fresh.
Still, when Betty accepted the position with enthusiastic handshakes, Simon felt only professional satisfaction.
That night, he told Lily everything over dinner—Betty's hire, the lunch, the easy rapport.
"She sounds amazing," Lily said genuinely. "You need someone like that."
"Yeah." He hesitated. "There was… chemistry. Nothing happened, obviously."
Lily set down her wine glass, studying him. "Define chemistry."
"Sparks. The kind I felt with you that first night."
She was quiet for a long moment. Simon braced for anger, jealousy, the fight that might end them.
Instead, she laughed softly. "Simon, you're a magnet for brilliant, beautiful women. I knew that going in."
"That doesn't bother you?"
"It would if you lied about it." She reached for his hand. "But you're telling me. That matters."
Relief flooded him. "So we're okay?"
"We're better than okay." She stood, moving to his lap. "But you're going to make it up to me anyway."
The makeup sex was spectacular—slow and intense on the dining table, then again in the shower. Lily took control, riding him with deliberate sensuality that left them both wrecked.
Later, in bed, she asked, "What if there is chemistry with Betty? Or someone else? Would you act on it?"
The question blindsided him. "I said exclusive."
"I know." She traced his jaw. "But I've been thinking… we're both high-drive people. And honest. What if… we didn't have to hide things?"
His intuition stirred, sensing a shift. "What are you suggesting?"
"Not cheating. Openness. If something happens, we talk about it. No secrets."
Simon processed this, heart pounding. "You'd be okay with me… with other women?"
"If I trust them. And if it doesn't threaten us." She met his eyes steadily. "I'm not saying tomorrow. But I don't want to own you, Simon. I want to share you—with the right people."
The idea was radical, thrilling, terrifying. His gut—usually so clear—was conflicted.
"I need to think," he said honestly.
"Of course." She kissed him softly. "No pressure. Just… something to consider."
Sleep came slowly that night, mind racing with possibilities.
The next day at work, Betty started officially. She was everything promised—brilliant, efficient, charming the entire team. During their first strategy meeting, Simon caught her glancing at him when she thought he wasn't looking.
His intuition whispered: opportunity.
That evening, he told Lily about Betty's first day.
"She's even better than I hoped," he admitted.
Lily smiled slowly. "Bring her to dinner Friday. I want to meet the woman who's going to make you billions."
Simon's eyebrows shot up. "You're sure?"
"Positive." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Let's see if those sparks are real."
The flirtation that had begun as exclusive was evolving into something bigger, bolder. Simon felt the ground shifting beneath his empire—and for once, his golden intuition wasn't warning him away.
It was pulling him forward.