The next morning Seraphina didn't run.
She waited.
Jett knew it the second he stepped onto the terrace for his usual run. Her office light was already on—unusual for a Saturday. The blinds were half-raised, just enough that he could see her silhouette moving behind the glass. Pacing. Stopping. Pacing again. Like a caged thing that had finally decided to stop pretending the bars weren't there.
He didn't go straight to her.
He ran first—longer than usual, pushing until his lungs burned and sweat soaked through his shirt. When he returned, the house was quiet. Damien had left for an early pickup game. Staff had the weekend off. The estate felt suspended, waiting.
Jett showered in the guest house. Slow. Deliberate. Let the hot water pound his shoulders while he pictured it: her on that desk, thighs spread, skirt rucked up, begging without words because her pride wouldn't let her say it out loud. His cock hardened under the spray. He didn't touch himself. Saved it.
Dressed in a plain white T-shirt and gray sweatpants—nothing fancy, nothing that screamed intent. Just comfortable enough to remind her he wasn't playing dress-up. He was real.
He crossed the lawn barefoot. Slipped through the side door. Walked the hallway like he belonged there.
Her office door was ajar.
He pushed it open without knocking.
Seraphina stood behind the mahogany desk. Back to him. Hands braced on the edge. She wore a simple black silk slip—short, barely covering the tops of her thighs, thin straps over bare shoulders. No bra. No panties. The morning light poured through the window and turned the fabric translucent. Every curve outlined. Every tremble visible.
She didn't turn.
"You came," she said quietly.
"You left the door open."
Silence.
Then she exhaled—shaky, defeated.
"I tried," she whispered. "I really tried to end this."
"I know."
"I told myself it was wrong. Dangerous. That I'd lose everything if I let it continue." She laughed softly—broken. "And I still let you in."
Jett stepped inside. Closed the door. Locked it. The click sounded final.
He crossed the room slow. Stopped behind her. Close enough that she could feel his heat but not his touch.
"Turn around," he said. Voice low. Steady.
She did.
Eyes red-rimmed but dry. Cheeks flushed. Lips parted. The silk clung to her breasts—nipples hard points pressing against the fabric. Her thighs shifted—subtle press together, like she was already aching.
Jett lifted one hand. Cupped her jaw. Thumb brushed her lower lip.
"You don't have to fight it anymore," he murmured. "Not today."
A tear slipped free. She didn't wipe it away.
Instead she leaned into his palm.
"Then make me stop thinking," she breathed. "Just… make me feel."
He kissed her then—slow. Deep. Not the frantic collisions of before. This was deliberate. Worshipful. Tongue sliding against hers like he was memorizing every inch of her mouth. Hands roaming—down her sides, over the silk, cupping her ass, lifting her gently until she sat on the edge of the desk.
She wrapped her legs around his waist. Pulled him flush. Ground against the thick ridge in his sweatpants. A soft whimper escaped when she felt how hard he was.
"Jett…"
He broke the kiss. Dropped to his knees between her spread thighs.
Pushed the slip up to her waist. Exposed her—bare, glistening, swollen. He groaned low in his throat.
"So fucking beautiful."
He leaned in. Inhaled her scent—musky, sweet, aroused. Then licked one long, slow stripe from entrance to clit.
Seraphina's head fell back. Hands fisting in his hair.
He devoured her.
Tongue circling her clit—firm, steady circles—then flicking. Sucking gently. Two fingers sliding inside—slow stretch—curling to rub that spot while his mouth worked her relentlessly. She rocked against his face. Hips rolling. Breaths coming in short, desperate pants.
"God—yes—right there—"
He added a third finger. Stretched her wider. Sucked harder.
She came with a choked sob—body locking, thighs clamping around his head, pussy pulsing around his fingers in hard waves. Wetness coated his chin, dripped onto the polished wood.
He didn't stop.
Lapped her through the aftershocks. Gentle now. Soothing. Until she was trembling, oversensitive, tugging at his hair to pull him up.
He rose. Kissed her—let her taste herself on his tongue. She moaned into his mouth.
Hands shaking, she shoved his sweatpants down. His cock sprang free—heavy, thick, veined, leaking at the tip.
She wrapped her fingers around him. Stroked slow. Eyes locked on his.
"You're going to ruin me with this," she whispered.
"I'm going to worship you with it."
He guided her back until she was lying flat on the desk—papers scattering, pen rolling to the floor. He hooked her legs over his shoulders. Notched himself at her entrance.
"Look at me," he said.
She did.
He pushed in—slow. Inch by inch. Letting her feel every ridge, every vein, every stretch.
Her mouth fell open. Eyes wide. Nails digging into his forearms.
"Fuck—you're so big—"
Halfway in he paused. Let her adjust. Kissed her inner thigh. Soft. Reverent.
"Tell me when you're ready."
She exhaled. Nodded.
"More."
He sank deeper. Bottomed out. Groaned at how tight she was—hot, wet, fluttering around him like she never wanted to let go.
They stayed like that a moment—locked together, breathing each other in.
Then he started moving.
Slow thrusts. Deep. Rolling his hips so the base of his cock ground against her clit with every stroke.
Seraphina's hands roamed—over his chest, his shoulders, into his hair. Pulling him down for messy, open-mouthed kisses.
"Harder," she gasped against his lips. "Please—don't hold back."
He didn't.
Thrusts turned harder. Faster. Desk creaking under them. Her breasts bouncing with every slam. He sucked a nipple into his mouth—bit gently—then soothed with his tongue.
She came again—sudden, violent—clenching around him so hard he nearly lost control. Crying out his name, back arching off the wood.
He fucked her through it. Relentless.
When the spasms eased he pulled out—slow—flipped her over. Bent her across the desk. Ass up. Thighs trembling.
Spread her cheeks. Slid back in from behind—deeper angle now. Hitting that spot with every thrust.
She moaned—low, broken.
"Jett—fuck—yes—"
One hand reached around. Fingers on her clit. Circling fast while he pounded into her.
"Come again," he growled against her ear. "Come on my cock. Let me feel it."
She did.
Screaming this time—muffled against her own arm. Body shaking. Pussy milking him in rhythmic pulses.
He couldn't hold back anymore.
Thrust deep one last time. Buried to the hilt. Came hard—hot spurts filling her, overflowing, dripping down her thighs.
They collapsed together—sweaty, trembling, hearts hammering.
He stayed inside her. Kissed the back of her neck. Soft. Tender.
She turned her head. Tears on her cheeks again.
"This is wrong," she whispered.
"I know."
"But don't stop."
He smiled against her skin.
"I won't."
They stayed like that a long time—bodies joined, breathing synced, the mahogany desk bearing silent witness to the first true surrender.
Outside, the neighborhood carried on.
Inside, something had shifted forever.
Seraphina Voss—the queen of control—had just handed Jett the keys to her desire.
And he intended to keep them.