Chapter 3

Damien Reeve leaned back in his leather chair, laptop open in front of him. His office was quiet, all floor-to-ceiling glass, dim lights, and thick tension in the air.

He hit play again.

The video started up for maybe the tenth time that morning.

There she was.

Elena Voss.

Bent over her own dressing table. Hair wild. Lips parted. Her voice coming through the speakers - those soft, dirty moans she didn't know someone was recording.

And Ava was on her knees. Eating her wet pussy like she was starving.

Damien's jaw tightened. His hand slid slowly down his stomach, past his belt. He unzipped his pants without even thinking, stroking himself hard while watching Elena's face twist in pleasure.

Fuck, she was beautiful.

Classy. Fucking hot and sexy.

Mayor Leonard's perfect wife.

The same woman who never gave Damien more than a polite nod and a fake smile... while she was letting a girl tongue-fuck her upstairs like a damn porn star.

He grunted low, watching Elena grip Ava's hair, riding her face like she owned it.

God, he wanted to break her.

Not just touch her. Not just fuck her.

He wanted to ruin her.

He pumped his cock slower, thumb grazing the head, eyes locked on the screen.

He could already picture it — her on her knees in his office, mascara running, tears on her cheeks, begging him not to send the video.

Begging him to let her make it right.

He would make her say please.

He would make her crawl. And he would torture her.

He pulled his hand back, wiped it on his thigh, and reached across the desk for the landline. He pressed a button and brought the receiver to his mouth.

His voice was deep, but calm and sharp.

"Janelle. Come to my office. Now."

She didn't ask why.

She never did.

He hung up, zipped up his pants — but left the top buttons of his shirt open. The laptop stayed open.

The screen paused on the exact second Elena threw her head back, moaning, fingers tangled in Ava's hair.

He leaned back in the chair again, his cock still twitching with need, his eyes still burning.

He imagined Elena walking in through that glass door instead. Her legs will be wobbling. That dress will be half off.

Her face will be red with embarrassment, but her eyes will definitely drip with something dirtier.

He didn't want her for a night.

He wanted her to be submissive. He wants her forever.

Just as he groaned under his breath, there was a knock at the door.

He didn't answer.

The door opened anyway.

"You called for me, Mr. Reeve?"

It was Janelle, his assistant. Tight black skirt, heels, red lipstick. She was hot. She always had been.

He quickly closed the laptop and zipped up his pants.

"Lock the door," he said without looking at her.

She smiled. "Rough morning?"

He stood, walked around the desk, and gripped her chin. "Shut up and take your clothes off."

Janelle's eyes darkened. She had been doing this for months - fucking her boss on and off, in between meetings and closed-door deals.

She slid her blazer off, then her top. No bra.

Damien's hands were on her in seconds - squeezing her tits, pulling her close, kissing her hard and messy.

He shoved her against the wall, yanked up her skirt, and pulled her panties down.

"Turn around," he ordered.

She did.

He didn't even fully undress. Just pulled his pants down again, lined himself up, and slammed into her pussy in one hard thrust.

"Fuck!" Janelle gasped.

He pounded into her fast, and rough. His hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her waist.

She moaned, loving it.

But Damien?

Damien wasn't even really there.

His eyes were open but in his head, it wasn't Janelle moaning. It was Elena.

It was her voice. Her body. Her taste, still fresh in his mind from the video. Her shaking thighs. Her sharp, spoiled mouth.

He grunted and shoved deeper. "You like that, huh?" Janelle nodded, gasping. "Yes, Daddy..."

He stopped.

Something in him just snapped.

He pulled out without warning, leaving her breathless and confused.

Janelle turned to look at him, sweaty and flushed.

"What's wrong?"

Damien was breathing hard. Not from sex - from frustration.

"You're not her."

She blinked. "What?"

"Get dressed," he said coldly.

She stared at him. "Damien..."

"I said get out."

Janelle looked hurt, but she didn't argue. She grabbed her panties, slid them back on, smoothed her hair, and picked up her top with shaky hands.

She didn't say goodbye.

He didn't look at her again.

The moment the door clicked shut behind her, Damien sat back down. Still rock-hard. Still burning.

Still pissed.

He unlocked his phone and opened a blank text.

Typed slowly.

Damien:

I know you have seen the video I sent, Elena.

If you don't want your husband and the whole damn city to see it, meet me tonight. Midnight.

The address is below. Come alone.

And come wet.

He stared at the message.

Then hit send.

There was no turning back now.

Damien didn't just want to watch anymore.

He wanted Elena to be his.

To taste her. Break her. Own her.

And tonight?

She would walk into his world.

Right into the dark.

And she wouldn't leave the same.