"Trust me?" she asked quietly. It should've been a difficult question, but it wasn't. An hour ago she was a stranger watching you from across a crowded bar. Now you're climbing into the back of a black Rolls Royce because somehow saying no feels impossible. She flirts like it's a language. Smiles like she's already won. Kisses like she doesn't ask for permission from the world. A woman in a tailored suit calls her boss and suddenly the gorgeous stranger you've been shamelessly flirting with might not be just another woman at the bar and you have absolutely no idea what you've just walked into.
Part 2 Word Count: 12k Warnings: Smut Part 1
Alexia nodded once toward Cata, "Take her home."
Cata was already moving before the words had fully left her mouth, "This way."
You looked back instinctively.
Alexia was still standing exactly where you'd left her, one hand tucked into the pocket of her trousers, the other already gesturing for two men near the railings to come closer.
Nobody questioned her, or hesitated, they simply moved.
You swallowed and followed Cata down the narrow corridor leading towards the lower deck, neither of you spoke.
The yacht suddenly felt different, less like the floating palace it had seemed when you'd first stepped aboard and more like somewhere people obeyed orders.
Crew members moved with purpose, no one looked panicked, just practiced as though everyone knew exactly where they were supposed to be.
Cata walked several paces ahead of you, you simply followed, the route wasn't the same one you'd taken to Alexia's cabin.
This one wound through narrower corridors, quieter passages used more by crew than guests.
Halfway down the corridor Cata's earpiece crackled, she pressed two fingers against it, "Sí." A pause, another voice you couldn't hear. She sighed quietly, "Entendido."
She glanced apologetically towards you.
"One second."
Before you could answer she'd turned down another passageway, you hesitated before following.
She stopped beside several members of Alexia's inner circle you'd noticed earlier in the evening, the ones sitting with Alexia around the table before you'd arrived.
Patri stood with her arms folded, the joking smile she'd worn earlier nowhere to be found.
Mapi was speaking quietly with Misa, who was giving instructions to two suited security guards.
Ingrid stood a little further back, her face pale as she handed bottled water to someone sitting against the wall.
No one noticed you, their attention was fixed elsewhere.
"The boss wants the lower deck cleared before the police arrive."
One of them nodded, "And the body?"
Your stomach tightened, Cata's expression didn't change, "Same instructions."
She turned to leave, you followed or at least, you tried to, because as you rounded the corner your eyes betrayed you.
You hadn't meant to look, you'd promised yourself you wouldn't, every instinct told you not to, but human curiosity had always been stronger than common sense.
Near the far wall, surrounded by two members of security, lay a body beneath a hastily drawn white sheet.
You looked away immediately, then without meaning to you looked back, only for a second. The sheet covered almost everything, except one foot.
A snakeskin boot protruded awkwardly from beneath the fabric, twisted slightly onto its side. One leg bent awkwardly where whoever had covered them clearly hadn't wanted to touch them any more than necessary.
Something... Something about those boots. It tugged at something in the back of your mind, you'd seen those boots before. Somewhere recently.
You frowned. Where? The answer refused to come, just a flicker of recognition that disappeared the harder you chased it.
You frowned, they looked familiar, not enough that you could place them or to know from where. Just enough for something at the back of your mind to stir, like recognising a song without remembering its name.
Cata's voice broke your concentration, "This way."
You tore your gaze away, neither of you spoke for the next several minutes, the two of you continued towards the gangway in silence.
Outside, the cool night air hit your face. You hadn't realised how suffocating the yacht had become until you stepped off it.
Behind you, men moved with quiet efficiency, no panic, no shouting, just Alexia's orders being carried out.
You found yourself glancing back towards the enormous yacht one last time. Its lights still glittered against the dark water, from a distance it looked like every other luxury party drifting across the Mediterranean.
Elegant, untouchable, beautiful, only now you knew better.
You glanced back one last time, she'd appeared on the upper deck now, silhouetted against the lights of the yacht.
Someone approached her, she listened, said something the man nodded once before disappearing again.
💪🏼
You climbed into the waiting car beside Cata, fastening your seatbelt as engine started.
The marina slowly disappeared behind you as you stared out of the window, barely seeing the lights reflected across the water.
One thought chased another. Who exactly was Alexia Putellas?
Because whatever she'd told you she did, whatever you'd assumed it clearly wasn't the whole truth.
The way everyone had deferred to Alexia without hesitation.
Boss.
Until tonight, you'd almost convinced yourself it was affectionate, a nickname, an inside joke between friends.
Now, there wasn't a single part of you that believed that anymore.
She wasn't called the boss. She was the boss. Whatever Alexia did, whatever empire she'd built around herself, everyone aboard that yacht answered to her. And despite everything you'd seen, your mind kept drifting back to one small, insignificant detail.
Those snakeskin boots, you couldn't remember where you'd seen them, but the feeling that you should know refused to let you go.
The drive back to the city was almost painfully quiet.
The gentle hum of the engine filled the space where conversation probably should have been, while Barcelona drifted past the windows in streaks of gold and white
The marina disappeared behind you as the car slipped onto the quieter roads leading back towards the city.
Cata drove with one hand resting lightly on the wheel, eyes flicking between the road and the mirrors every few seconds with practiced routine.
You tried looking out of the window, that lasted all of thirty seconds before your own thoughts became far too loud.
You hated your own brain sometimes, it refused to let anything go, with a quiet sigh, you reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone.
The familiar Sudoku app opened almost automatically, anything to stop yourself thinking, a few moments passed before Cata broke the silence, "What are you doing?" She was still watching the road, but there was the slightest hint of suspicion in her tone.
You didn't look up, "Sudoku." You filled another number into one of the squares, "You never played?"
"...No."
"It's quite addictive."
"Mhm." Cata gave a quiet hum that suggested she remained unconvinced.
Another silence, you solved another row, Cata glanced sideways briefly before looking back to the road.
The traffic light ahead flicked to red, the Rolls Royce came to a smooth stop, you heard Cata exhale almost like she'd made a decision she wasn't entirely happy with.
Her fingers tapped once against the steering wheel, twice, then she let out a quiet breath, "I shouldn't do this."
You finally looked away from your phone, "What?"
Without answering immediately, Cata reached across to the glove compartment.
She pulled out a small notepad and a pen, quickly, neatly, she scribbled down a phone number before tearing the page free.
She held it out to you, "If you ever need anything..." She paused, "...my number."
You looked down at the scrap of paper in your hand, the words were simple so matter of fact, but they carried more weight than she probably intended.
"Thank you."
She nodded once, "I mean it."
The traffic lights changed, she pulled away smoothly.
You folded the paper carefully instead of stuffing it into your pocket, sliding it safely into your phone case.
"You don't trust many people."
You said it quietly, it wasn't really a question.
Cata was silent for several seconds, "No, but when the boss does." You looked across at her, "That's enough for me."
There it was again, not Alexia, the boss. The title rolled off Cata's tongue so naturally it was obvious she'd used it a thousand times before.
"I've worked for her a long time," Cata continued, eyes never leaving the road. "Long enough to know she likes control." Another pause, "But also long enough to know she doesn't like innocent people getting caught in the middle of things."
You turned your attention back to the glowing Sudoku grid, but the numbers blurred together. You filled in a three where a seven should have gone, deleted it immediately.
For someone trying very hard not to think about Alexia, she was proving remarkably difficult to get out of your head.
The rest of the journey passed in companionable silence.
You'd insisted Cata drop you back outside the club, she hadn't argued.
She'd simply nodded, pulled the Rolls Royce to the curb a street away from the marina and waited while you climbed out.
"Goodnight," she'd said.
"Goodnight."
The car had disappeared into traffic almost silently, leaving you standing beneath the glow of a flickering streetlight, only then had you started the walk home.
The city felt different after the yacht, luxury gave way to cracked pavements and graffiti covered shutters the further you walked.
The apartment block came into view exactly as it always had, peeling paint, a temperamental security door that only locked if you slammed it hard enough. The light above the entrance had been broken for nearly six months.
You dug your keys from your bag and let yourself in, the familiar smell of stale cigarettes and someone's overcooked dinner lingered in the communal hallway.
Nothing had changed, halfway up the stairs you heard it.
"You never listen to me!"
"Oh, don't start again!"
Your neighbours, again.
The couple at the end of the corridor seemed to have perfected the art of conducting every disagreement at maximum volume.
Tonight was apparently no exception, a door slammed, someone shouted something muffled through the walls.
You kept walking, past them, past the peeling wallpaper and the broken light fitting that nobody ever seemed interested in fixing.
Your own front door finally came into view, you unlocked it, stepped inside and locked it again behind you. Only then did you realise how tightly you'd been holding yourself together.
Your shoulders dropped, you kicked your shoes off by the door and let your bag fall onto the sofa.
The shower was the first thing you wanted, you twisted the tap as hot as it would go and stood beneath the spray until the room filled with steam.
The water washed away salt from the sea air, the lingering scent of Alexia's perfume, the expensive cologne that had clung to the yacht.
None of it managed to wash away the memories, you scrubbed shampoo through your hair with perhaps a little more force than necessary.
By the time you climbed into bed, your hair was still damp, the digital clock on your bedside table read 1:47 a.m.
You switched off the lamp, darkness settled over the room, sleep didn't. You rolled onto your side, then your back, then the other side.
Every time you closed your eyes, your brain picked a different detail to obsess over.
The feel of Alexia's strap in you, Cata quietly handing you her phone number. The way everyone aboard that yacht had listened the second Alexia spoke.
You thought about your own flat. The uneven radiator that clanged every winter, the mould stain above the kitchen window you kept meaning to deal with, the shouting neighbours.
Then you thought about Alexia's world, the probable fortress disguised as a home, the yacht, the security, the people who would quite literally kill for her.
The contrast was almost laughable.
You wondered whether she'd even remember you in the morning, whether you'd simply become another face from another party. Someone she'd flirted with for a few weeks before life inevitably pulled her attention elsewhere.
You told yourself that was the sensible outcome, the safest one.
Eventually, sometime after three, exhaustion finally won.
Your thoughts blurred into dreams.
The last thing you remembered before sleep claimed you was a pair of hazel eyes watching you from between your own thighs.
💪🏼
By the time Cata returned to the yacht, the lower deck looked as though nothing had ever happened.
The blood had been scrubbed away, the body was gone.
Fresh glasses had replaced the shattered ones.
The guests had either gone home or been discreetly encouraged off the boat. Security remained doubled around the perimeter, but the frantic urgency had faded into quiet efficiency.
Alexia was exactly where she'd been told she'd find her, on the top deck not entertaining anyone, a whiskey sat untouched beside her.
Mapi lounged across one of the outdoor sofas eating an ice lolly she'd found somewhere, despite it being well after two in the morning.
Patri was halfway through a cigarette.
Alexia looked up the second Cata appeared, "What did she say?"
Cata stopped beside her, "She asked me if I played Sudoku."
Alexia slowly turned her head, "...What?"
Cata shrugged, "I'm not fucking with you." For the first time all evening, the bodyguard let out a small, genuine chuckle, "She barely spoke."
Alexia frowned, "She didn't ask about tonight?"
"No."
"About me?"
"No."
"The shooting?"
Cata shook her head, "She got in the car, sat in silence for about ten minutes, then pulled her phone out and was playing Sudoku."
There was a pause, Alexia blinked once, "I'm sorry"
Cata folded her arms, "I know."
"After everything that happened"
"Mm."
"she played Sudoku?"
"Mm."
Alexia looked genuinely baffled, "I don't understand." Alexia's gaze drifted back towards the coastline, she'd expected questions, fear, maybe anger not... Sudoku.
From the sun lounger nearby came Mapi's voice, "Elite game, to be fair."
Everyone looked over.
Mapi was sprawled on her back wearing an oversized shirt over her bikini, lazily chewing on an ice lolly as though they weren't discussing the strangest woman Alexia had ever met.
She pointed the half melted ice lolly in Alexia's direction, "Very calming."
Patri looked horrified, "You play Sudoku?"
"I do."
"I don't think I know you anymore."
"It's numbers."
"It's witchcraft."
"It's literally numbers."
Patri shook her head dramatically, "You all scare me."
Alexia ignored them both, "Cata."
"Hm?"
"She really didn't ask anything?"
"She looked like she was trying very hard not to think."
Mapi raised her ice lolly thoughtfully, "Which is exactly why she opened Sudoku."
Alexia looked at her, "What?"
Mapi shrugged, "It's keeps the mind busy,"
Patri snorted, "You would say that."
"I'm serious." Mapi gestured with the melting ice lolly, "You can't spiral if you're trying to work out where the seven goes."
Alexia barely heard either of them, "She didn't ask about the body" She said it more to herself than anyone else.
Cata watched her quietly, "I did give her my number."
That made Alexia turn around much faster than before, "You what?"
Cata met her eyes without flinching, "I know."
"You know I don't like surprises."
"I do."
"You gave a civilian your personal number."
"I did."
Patri nearly dropped her drink, "Oh, this is getting interesting."
Alexia folded her arms, "Explain."
Cata's voice remained calm, "She walked onto this yacht because her friend was invited to a party."
Alexia said nothing.
"She witnessed something she never should've seen."
Still nothing.
"And then she walked back into an apartment by herself."
Alexia's expression softened almost imperceptibly.
"I thought..." Cata chose her words carefully, "...if she ever found herself scared... or confused... I'd rather she called me than the police."
Alexia held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded once, "Thank you."
Cata looked almost surprised, "You aren't angry?"
"I was." A tiny smile appeared, "For about three seconds."
Patri grinned, "A new record."
Alexia ignored her, instead, she found herself smiling despite everything.
The image formed in her head almost involuntarily. You. Fresh off a yacht where someone had opened fire. Ignoring every dramatic question available to you,m opening a Sudoku app.
She laughed quietly to herself, Mapi pointed with the remains of her ice lolly, "What was that?"
Patri looked over, "What?"
"She did the smile."
"The smile?" Patri gasped theatrically, "Oh no."
Alexia raised an eyebrow, "What now?"
Patri sat upright, "Boss..." She struggled not to laugh, "...I think you've got a crush."
Six seconds of complete silence followed, Alexia stared at her, then picked up the nearest cushion and threw it.
Patri caught it effortlessly, laughing so hard she almost fell off the sun lounger, "I'll take that as a yes."
Alexia rolled her eyes, but she couldn't quite suppress the smile threatening at the corners of her mouth.
For someone she'd only met twice, you occupied an alarming amount of space in her thoughts.
And somehow, the fact that your coping mechanism after witnessing chaos was to quietly solve number puzzles only made you more fascinating.
💪🏼 Sunday dinners had never changed, no matter what was happening in the rest of your life, no matter how chaotic work became or how many business trips your father took or how many arguments your siblings had accumulated throughout the week.
Sunday meant everyone came home.
The dining room was already loud by the time your mother called everyone to sit down.
Your sisters were arguing over who'd stolen whose charger.
One of your brothers was winding the other up over a football result.
Your mother floated effortlessly between them all, pretending not to hear half of it while setting dishes onto the table.
Your father sat at the head as always.
Alongside him were two of his oldest business associates, men who'd been appearing at these dinners for so long you'd stopped questioning it as a child.
Nobody questioned it anymore, it had always been this way. You'd long ago stopped asking why half the people at your family table weren't actually related to you.
Your mother certainly never did or rather she pretended not to, it was an unspoken agreement everyone seemed content to keep.
The conversations were always careful, business was discussed.
Never specifics, never in front of your mother, or in front of you girls, it had always been an unspoken rule.
Your mother pretended not to notice, you and your sisters had learnt to do the same. Your brother's less successfully.
You reached for the serving spoon just as your mother emerged from the kitchen carrying another roasting tray.
"Right." She smiled, "Before your father steals all the potatoes..."
"He absolutely would," one of your sisters muttered.
"...everyone help yourselves."
Chairs scraped, hands reached, the usual chaos began, one of the older men looked around the table, "It's strangely civil tonight."
Your father smiled into his wine, "Manuel isn't here."
A chorus of amused agreement circled the table, "That's why there's enough food."
Someone laughed, "He'd have been first in the queue."
"As always."
"...Where is Manuel?" Your father barely looked up from pouring himself another glass of wine.
Another voice joined in, "He's probably late because he's polishing those ridiculous snakeskin boots."
The table laughed, "They're his pride and joy."
"I swear he'd save those before he'd save his own wife."
More laughter, you smiled automatically, then stopped, your fork froze halfway to your mouth, snakeskin boots.
Something cold slid through your stomach, no, your mind immediately pushed the thought away, coincidence.
There were plenty of snakeskin boots in the world, your heart, however, had already begun beating a little faster.
"...his trademark," someone was saying.
"You could spot Manuel from across the room just by those bloody things."
Your grip tightened around your fork, your breathing became noticeably shallower, your stomach lurched. No. No...Surely not.
You heard your own voice before you realised you'd spoken, "...Manuel?"
The conversation faltered, your father looked over, "Hm?"
You swallowed, "Where..." Your mouth suddenly felt dry, "...where is Manuel?"
One of the men shrugged, "Haven't heard from him since yesterday."
"Probably nursing a hangover."
Another chuckled, "Or avoiding work."
Your father didn't laugh, he simply took another sip of wine, your eyes stayed fixed on him.
He noticed, for just a fraction of a second, something unreadable crossed his face, then it was gone.
Your mother appeared beside you, "You alright, sweetheart?"
You blinked, "What?"
"You've gone pale."
Had you? You forced a smile, "I'm fine."
"You sure?"
"Mhm."
You weren't, not even close, because all at once the memories of the previous night came crashing together. Those boots, those stupid ridiculous snakeskin boots.
You looked down at your untouched dinner, around you the conversation had already moved on. Your mother was asking someone to pass the vegetables. Your sisters were laughing at something. One of your brothers was telling a story.
You heard yourself asking before you'd properly decided to, "...Where is Manuel?"
The room quietened just enough for your father to look over, "Told you. Running late."
Your stomach tightened, "...Is he alright?"
Your father studied you for a second, "I've not heard otherwise."
Another associate chuckled, "He'll probably walk in halfway through dessert pretending nothing happened."
The laughter returned you couldn't join in, your mind was moving too quickly.
You'd always known, not known known, but known. You'd always known your father worked complicated jobs, you'd overheard enough conversations growing up. Seen enough expensive watches exchanged after closed door meetings, watched enough unfamiliar cars arrive late at night, but it had always remained abstract.
A line you deliberately never crossed, your father dealt in things respectable businessmen didn't.
Your mother never asked, neither did you, that had always been the arrangement. Don't ask questions, don't look too closely, everyone stayed safe that way.
You'd accepted that long ago, but now you'd looked and once you had you couldn't unsee it.
A horrible thought settled into the pit of your stomach if Manuel really was the man on Alexia's yacht then your father's world and Alexia's were far closer together than you'd ever imagined.
Until a phone vibrated, your father's right hand man glanced at the screen before excusing himself with a quiet, "Sorry." He excused himself quietly, stepping through the open doors onto the terrace.
Nobody paid him much attention, calls happened, business never really stopped.
You weren't entirely sure why you watched him, maybe because your stomach still hadn't settled. Maybe because once your brain had made the connection, it refused to let it go.
He answered the call with his back to the room, you couldn't hear a word, didn't need to. You watched his posture instead, the easy confidence disappeared, his shoulders stiffened, his jaw clenched.
Something inside you dropped, he ended the call almost immediately, walked back inside but didn't sit.
Instead he bent slightly, placing one hand on the back of your father's chair before leaning down to whisper into his ear, you saw your father's face.
The warmth disappeared, the smile he'd worn all evening simply vanished, his expression hardened into something you rarely saw at home.
Your father didn't ask a single question, he just stared ahead for a second thinking, then he stood.
The scrape of his chair across the wooden floor silenced the room, even your mother looked up.
Your father snapped his fingers once, every man seated around the table looked towards him immediately, your father didn't raise his voice.
"With me."
That was all, nothing more. The business associates stood, so did your brothers.
Your eldest brother barely glanced at the rest of the family before following. Your younger one hesitated only long enough to kiss your mother's cheek, then he was gone too.
The room suddenly felt much larger, much quieter, your mother sighed softly, "They never finish dessert."
She sounded almost amused, as though this happened every week, she began collecting plates.
Your sisters resumed their conversation life continued, only you remained frozen, because you'd seen your father's face before.
When someone spoke his surname with too much confidence.
When a deal had gone wrong.
When he'd come home late with bruised knuckles and your mother had silently placed dinner in front of him without asking where he'd been.
You knew better now than you had as a child.
When you were little, you thought people respected your father because he was successful, because your family had money, because everyone seemed to know him.
Now you knew it was something else, your surname travelled before you did. You'd seen strangers falter halfway through saying it. Watched arguments dissolve the second someone realised whose daughter you were.
Doors opened, people apologised, voices lowered, not because your father was wealthy, because your father was feared.
You'd never asked why, you'd never wanted the answer, your mother had perfected the art of looking away.
You had inherited it until last nigh
You looked towards the hallway where the men were a silent procession, coats collected, phones checked, weapons...
The front door opened then closed, engines started outside, then silence the house fell strangely still.
A horrible feeling settled low in your stomach if that phone call had confirmed what you thought, then your father already knew. Which meant he would also want to know who had done it.
Your thoughts leapt somewhere across the city to Alexia. You didn't know what role she'd played, you didn't know whether she'd ordered it.
You knew almost nothing, except that if was on her boat and your father wasn't a man known for patience or mercy.
You looked instinctively towards your phone lying beside your plate, you wished, with sudden desperation, that you'd asked Alexia for her number.
A horrible helplessness spread through your chest, because all you knew a convoy of very dangerous men had just left your childhood home. And they were heading straight towards the woman who may never get to finish what she stared in her cabin.
Your father wouldn't care about the reasons, he'd care that someone had killed one of his own and if there was one thing everyone knew about your father. It was that nobody touched his people without paying for it.
You hesitated, if you called your father to plead with him, you would be stepping directly into a war you had spent your entire life pretending didn't exist.
If you didn't the collision between your father's empire and Alexia's was coming whether you wanted it to or not.
And somehow you couldn't stop thinking that the woman who'd asked you to trust her deserved to know exactly what was heading her way.
You wrapped your arms around yourself and stared out across the table, trying to make sense of the knot tightening in your chest.
It wasn't fear it was confusion, because your first instinct hadn't been relief that your father was handling whatever had happened.
It hadn't been loyalty, it had been Alexia., the thought landed heavily enough to make you close your eyes. Your very first thought had been how to warn her, how to protect her.
Your eyes looked to the little bit of paper in the back of your phone, you didn't know if the number was secure, you didn't know who might answer. You didn't even know if she'd be able to pick up, every second mattered. You were moving before you'd even fully decided to, your chair scraped violently across the wooden floor.
Everyone looked up, "Y/N?"
You barely heard your mother's voice, you were already halfway across the kitchen one second you were sat frozen in the dining room, the next you were heading for the garage.
Behind you came your mother's voice, "Y/N?" The garage lights flickered on as you shoved the side door open. "Y/N!" she called again, louder this time, or closer you weren't sure.
Your brothers' cars filled one side, your father's sat immaculate beneath its cover, in the far corner your eldest brother Luis' motorbike.
Your mother caught up just as you were pulling a helmet from the shelf, "Y/N, what are you doing?" Your mother sounded genuinely frightened.
You didn't answer immediately, you threw one leg over the bike and reached for the keys hanging neatly on the wall.
Your mother stared, "No."
You jammed the key into the ignition, "I'm borrowing Luis' bike."
Her eyes widened, "You're doing what?"
"It'll be fine."
"Y/N."
The engine roared to life, the sound filled the garage, your mother flinched, "You haven't ridden in years!"
"I know."
"Then get off it!" You thumbed the control for the garage door, it began crawling upwards, "Y/N!"
"I'm bringing it back."
"Y/N!" Your mother stepped towards you, "Your father will—"
"I know." You pulled your visor down, "I'm sorry I have to go"
"Go where?"
"I..." The answer caught in your throat, because you couldn't exactly say, To warn the woman who might have just killed one of Dad's men.
The automatic garage door began crawling upwards, too slowly, you revved the engine once, twice, the gap became just wide enough.
You didn't wait, the bike lurched forward, your mother shouted your name.
You squeezed beneath the rising door with inches to spare before tearing down the driveway.
The evening air hit like a wall, the front gates were still opening, just enough, you leaned the bike slightly and shot through the narrowing gap then you were gone.
The engine screamed beneath you, streetlights blurred into long golden streaks cool evening air whipped through the gaps in your helmet.
Your heart beat almost as loudly as the motor you had no plan, only destinations.
The bar, you'd met Alexia there, maybe she was there, you pulled up outside barely ten minutes later.
You killed the engine and hurried inside, the bartender recognised you, offered you your usual, "Have you seen Alexia?"
His smile faltered, "No."
"You sure?"
"I haven't seen her."
"What about..." You realised you didn't know anyone else's names, "...her friends?"
He shook his head, "They're not here tonight."
You thanked him anyway before hurrying back outside, the marina, it had to be. The bike tore through the city once more, you parked illegally this time and ran.
Past rows of expensive yachts, security barriers, empty berths, your trainers echoed against the wooden walkways.
The place was eerily quiet, the yacht was gone, only dark water rocking gently against empty moorings.
You turned slowly in a full circle, your breathing came hard you ran a hand through your hair.
No towering yacht, no black Rolls Royce, no sign of Alexia, the marina felt wrong. Too quiet, after everything that had happened the previous night, you'd expected police, tape.
Instead there was nothing, as though the yacht had never existed, as though no one had died, a chill ran down your spine. The silence around the city felt deliberate, like something enormous was happening just out of sight.
You stared at the folded piece of paper in the back of your phone, for a long moment, you simply looked at the number.
Then you unfolded it completely, typed each digit into your phone, our thumb hovered over the call button, "If this is a terrible idea..."
You pressed it anyway, the phone rang, three times, by the fourth ring you were convinced it was going to voicemail.
Then, "Hello?"
Cata, you'd never been so relieved to hear someone's voice.
"Cata..." There was a pause, "...It's Y/N."
Recognition was immediate, "Y/N." You could almost picture her straightening where she stood, "Is everything alright?"
"I need to speak to Alexia."
Silence, when Cata spoke again, her voice had become noticeably more guarded, "No."
Your stomach dropped, "No?"
"You can't just demand to speak Alexia, she's busy"
"What?"
"You need to forget about her."
"Cata—"
"I'm serious." Her tone was calm, professional, "The less you know about her world, the safer you'll be."
"I don't care about that."
"You should."
"I don't."
Another silence, when Cata spoke again, there was genuine regret beneath her words, "I'm sorry. I can't help you."
She was about to end the call, the tiny shift in the line, words tumbled out before you could stop them, "It's about Carlos Hernandez."
Nothing, not even breathing, the line went completely still.
"Cata?"
No answer, you pulled the phone away to check the call hadn't disconnected. It hadn't.
"Cata?"
When she finally spoke, her voice was entirely different, "...Say that again."
"Carlos Hernandez." Another pause, "He's my dad, he's after Alexia, I need to speak to her"
Then, "Hang on."
The line clicked, not disconnected, just muted, inside the estate, Cata lowered the phone slowly.
There were only a handful of people who should even know that name so she believed you.
She turned immediately, crossing the home with purposeful strides, past the kitchen where Ingrid, who looked up from washing dishes.
Past Mapi and Patri arguing over a football match in the sitting room, she stopped outside a closed door.
Knocked twice, firm, several seconds passed. The door opened, Alexia stood there in a grey T-shirt and loose jogging bottoms, reading glasses balanced low on her nose, obvious irritation written across her face.
"I said I didn't want to be—" She stopped, Cata never interrupted without reason, "...What happened?"
Cata held up the phone, "It's Y/N."
Alexia frowned, "Why is she calling you?"
Cata hesitated, "She says it's about Carlos Hernandez."
Every trace of annoyance disappeared from Alexia's face, Cata nodded once.
Alexia didn't move, she simply stared at Cata for a long second, as though trying to decide whether she'd misheard her, "...You're certain?"
Cata nodded once, "She said, 'Carlos Hernandez is my dad.'"
From the sitting room doorway came the unmistakable sound of a television being muted.
Patri appeared first, "What happened?"
She took one look at Alexia's face before the smile she'd been wearing disappeared.
Mapi followed a second later, curiosity quickly giving way to concern, "What is it?"
Cata held up the still connected phone, "Y/N."
Patri blinked, "The yacht girl?"
Alexia still hadn't spoken, she was thinking, Misa emerged from the hallway, drying her hands with a towel after finishing a training session downstairs, "What did I miss?"
Mapi answered before anyone else could, "Apparently Boss's mystery woman is Carlos Hernandez's daughter."
Misa stopped walking, "...What?"
"The one from the yacht."
Misa looked from Mapi to Cata, searching for the joke, finding none, her expression hardened immediately.
"Are you fucking kidding?" Alexia finally looked up, Misa stepped closer, "That's too convenient." Nobody interrupted, "She appears out of nowhere." Misa began counting on her fingers, "She meets you in a bar, ends up on the yacht. And now,"
She shook her head.
"...she suddenly reveals she's Carlos Hernandez's daughter?" Her eyes settled on Alexia, "Boss." The word was clipped, "I think she's a plant."
Patri frowned, "That's a hell of an accusation."
"It's a logical one." Mapi folded her arms but didn't disagree, Misa continued, "Carlos has been trying to get close to us for years."
She nodded towards the phone.
"Now suddenly his daughter just happens to walk into your life?"
Alexia remained unreadable, Misa took another step, "Bring her in." Silence, "I'll go get her, we need to end this now." She spoke with complete certainty.
Patri grimaced, "Misa..."
"What?"
"That's a bit..."
"A bit what?"
"A bit harsh."
"We've done worse."
"...Fair."
Alexia's eyes drifted to the floor, thinking, every person in the room recognised the look, nobody spoke while she weighed the possibilities.
If you were telling the truth, you represented the biggest security breach she'd experienced in years.
Slowly, Alexia looked up, "Misa." She met her gaze, "No."
Misa frowned, "You don't think she's a plant?"
"I think she might be." That answer caught everyone slightly off guard, Alexia continued, "I also think if Carlos Hernandez wanted someone close to me..." A faint smile appeared, "he'd choose someone considerably better trained."
Patri snorted, "True, she copes with trauma by playing Sudoku."
Even Misa's mouth twitched despite herself.
Alexia looked towards Cata, "Find out where she is." Alexia didn't hesitate, "Bring her to me."
Misa raised an eyebrow, "Just like that?"
Alexia met her eyes calmly, "If she's lying..." Her voice was steady, "...she can try to lie to my face."
"And if she's telling the truth?"
Alexia's expression became unreadable once more, "Then Carlos Hernandez has just declared war."
Nobody argued with that.
Cata lifted the phone back to her ear as she quietly stepped into the hallway, "Y/N?" Her voice was calm again, "I need your location."
She listened for a moment before nodding to herself.
"I'll be there in ten minutes."
The call ended.
Cata slipped the phone into her pocket.
"She's at the marina."
Alexia was already retreating back into her office, "Go" 💪🏼
You hadn't moved from the marina, the low growl of an engine pulled your attention from the water, a familiar black Rolls Royce eased to a stop beside the pavement.
The driver's door opened, Cata climbed out, immaculate as ever in a black suit despite the late hour.
She looked around once before her eyes settled on you, "Get in."
You instinctively reached for the front passenger door.
"The back."
You looked up, "What?"
"The back, please."
There was no edge to her voice, just quiet professionalism.
You nodded, "Right."
Climbing into the rear felt strangely different this time, the first time you'd sat back here, everything had been exciting, mild blowing, now it felt intimidating.
Cata pulled away from the curb without another word, the city slipped past in silence.
You tried counting traffic lights, buildings, anything to stop your mind spiralling.
It didn't work, eventually you cleared your throat, "Am I in trouble?"
Cata looked at you briefly through the mirror, her silence wasn't exactly reassuring. Neither of you spoke again for the remainder of the journey.
The gates appeared out of nowhere, tall stone walls stretched away in both directions, disappearing into trees.
The gates swung open before the Rolls Royce even slowed, you watched cameras follow the car as it wound along the long driveway.
The estate looked elegant, beautiful and somehow intimidating.
The car rolled to a stop outside the front entrance, Cata climbed out first, she opened your door, you looked at her waiting and swallowed.
Your legs felt strangely heavy as you climbed out onto the gravel, the house towered above you.
It looked less like someone's home and more like somewhere history had happened.
"This way."
You followed closely behind Cata, the front door opened before she reached it, aomeone inside had clearly been watching.
The entrance hall was enormous, polished wooden floors reflected the warm light from chandeliers overhead, paintings lined the walls, fresh flowers sat on a table beneath a sweeping staircase.
It was beautiful and unnervingly quiet, you became acutely aware of your own footsteps.
Cata led you deeper into the house, past a sitting room where voices murmured behind half closed doors, past a kitchen that smelled faintly of fresh bread and coffee. Someone laughed somewhere upstairs, the normality of it all felt almost surreal.
This was the headquarters of a criminal empire and someone was apparently baking.
Your eyes wandered as you walked, a bookshelf stretching floor to ceiling, old family photographs, a grandfather clock ticking steadily in the corner.
You were so distracted looking around that you failed to notice Cata had stopped.
You walked straight into her back, "Oh—" You stumbled a step backwards, "Sorry."
She didn't seem remotely bothered, she simply raised her hand and knocked twice on the door in front of you.
You suddenly realised your heart was hammering, the handle turned, the door opened.
Alexia stood on the other side, she was in a grey t-shirt, loose dark jogging bottoms and reading glasses resting low on her nose.
She looked...fuck, but also unexpectedly ordinary. If you ignored the fact she ran one of the most feared organisations in the city.
Her eyes met yours immediately, she studied you for a long second, then stepped aside, opening the door wider.
"Thank you, Cata." Cata inclined her head, Alexia looked back at you, "Come in."
You hesitated only briefly before stepping over the threshold, the room felt private, lived in, books covered one wall, screens with live pictures of all the cameras on the property on the other.
A large desk sat in the middle of the room, scattered with neatly organised paperwork.
A chessboard stood abandoned on a side table midway through a game, nothing about it resembled the office of the woman you'd imagined.
You heard the door close behind you, then the unmistakable sound of a lock turning, your shoulders tensed after you flinched at the noise.
Your flinch was barely noticeable, but Alexia saw it. Of course she did.
For a fleeting moment, something passed across her face, not annoyance or amusement.
She rested one hand lightly against the now locked door, "I locked it," she said quietly, "to make sure nobody interrupts us." She held your gaze, "Not to stop you leaving."
The words hung gently between you, there was no pressure in them, just an acknowledgement that she'd noticed your reaction.
Alexia took a slow step away from the door, giving you more space rather than less.
"I think," she said, removing her glasses and setting them carefully on the desk, "we both have quite a few questions."
You realised you weren't the only nervous person in the room.
Alexia didn't speak, she simply watched you.
The room had become impossibly quiet, the ticking of the antique clock somewhere behind you suddenly sounding far louder than it should have.
She hadn't asked you to sit down, you hadn't took it upon yourself either.
She leaned one hip against the edge of her desk instead, arms folded loosely, giving you space to speak first, "You said..." Alexia began carefully, "Carlos Hernandez is your father."
You nodded once, "He is."
"And you came here to warn me."
"Yes."
"Why?"
The question wasn't accusatory, it was genuine. You looked down at your hands before answering, "Because I know what my father is like."
Alexia's expression remained unreadable.
"I think..." You sighed quietly, "I think I've spent most of my life pretending not to know who my father really is."
The admission felt strange to say aloud.
"My mum..." You let out a humourless laugh. "She's always had this incredible ability to not ask questions." You smiled faintly, "I used to think she genuinely didn't know."
Your eyes drifted towards the bookshelf rather than Alexia.
"I don't think that's true anymore. I think she made a choice."
Your voice had become quieter now.
"She chose not to know." You looked back at Alexia, as you searched for the right words, "If Dad comes home late, she doesn't ask where he's been. If someone appears at our dinner table covered in cuts and bruises, she doesn't ask why. If people lower their voices when business comes up..."
You shrugged.
"...she walks into another room." Alexia listened without interrupting, "I copied her."
You laughed once, not because anything was funny, "Actually, all my sisters did. We all just...looked the other way."
You met Alexia's eyes again.
"It was easier."
"You knew he wasn't legitimate."
"I knew..." you corrected gently, "I knew he wasn't selling insurance." That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of Alexia's mouth, "And I copied her. I knew Dad dealt in..." You searched for the right word, "...things."
You shrugged helplessly.
"I knew people were scared of him. I'd hear stories growing up. I'd catch bits of conversations. I knew there were conversations I wasn't supposed to hear, but I never asked. It was easier."
Alexia hadn't moved, "You never asked?"
"I never wanted the answers." Silence settled again, "I thought..."You swallowed, "I thought if I didn't know, then none of it had anything to do with me."
Alexia's gaze softened almost imperceptibly, "And then you saw what happened on my yacht."
You nodded, "And then I saw what happened on your yacht." Another humourless laugh escaped you, "I think that illusion disappeared pretty quickly. And I realised by meeting you and being there, I was in the middle of something I had no idea of"
Her arms remained loosely folded across her chest, "And now?"
You swallowed, "This is me stopping pretending."
Your eyes met hers properly, Alexia looked down briefly before looking back at you, "You understand how this looks."
It wasn't a question, "I do" You answered immediately. "I saw Manuel." Alexia's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, "I didn't boot the boots I saw to the person who would come for dinner at my home not until today",
You closed your eyes briefly.
"Dad got the phone call. I watched his face change." The image replayed vividly, "The second he stood up I knew."
Your breathing steadied.
"I've never seen him look like that unless someone is about to have a very bad day."
Alexia looked away for the first time since you'd entered, "So, you came to warn me of what exactly?"
"I don't know, that I think he knows he died on your yacht, or that.. I don't know honestly"
You drew a steady breath.
"I'm not here because my father sent me. I'm not here because I've been spying on you. I'm here because I watched my dad leave dinner looking like he was going to start a war and the first person I thought about was you."
The words lingered in the silence, Alexia's expression slowly faded, not because she was angry, because something about what you'd just admitted had landed deeper than she'd expected.
She unfolded her arms, walked past you, towards the wall of monitors, her hands slipped into the pockets of her joggers as she stared at them.
When she finally spoke, her voice was almost thoughtful.
"You know..." She glanced back over her shoulder, "Cata said you played Sudoku when she took you home."
Heat immediately rushed to your face, "I was trying not to have a panic attack."
Alexia let out the quietest laugh, "I know."
"If I were you..." You shook your head, "I wouldn't trust me"
Alexia didn't respond, you took a slow breath.
"I need you to understand something." She waited, "No one knows I know you"
You stepped forward without really thinking.
"Lily doesn't know. My family doesn't know. My dad..." You gave another small shake of your head, "...would lose his mind if he knew I was standing in this room."
Alexia studied you carefully.
"I looked for you before I called Cata, I was terrified"
"Of your dad?"
You hesitated, "...Partly."
"And the other part?"
You looked directly at her, "You."
Alexia blinked, you gave an embarrassed smile.
"I mean..." You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly. "I'm not blind, you have this..."
You gestured vaguely, "...presence?" Alexia raised an eyebrow.
"You..." You searched for words that didn't sound ridiculous, "...have an aura. I don't know how else to describe it. You walk into a room and everyone watches you. You barely raise your voice and people move."
You laughed quietly at yourself.
"So yes... I was slightly afraid of whoever you turned out to be."
Alexia's expression didn't change.
"I'm not blind. I know you're dangerous."
There. You'd finally said it.
"I don't know exactly who you are. I don't know what you do exactly, but..." You shrugged faintly, "...I figured getting on your bad side would probably not be a good idea"
You took another careful breath, "I'm not asking you to trust me."
Alexia remained completely still.
"I know I haven't earned that. I know who my father is. I know what that means now. I know what it probably looks like from where you're standing." Your voice cracked ever so slightly, "I'm not asking you to trust me" You held her gaze, "...I'm asking you to believe me."
Then she turned fully to face you again, "I do believe you."
Your shoulders sagged with relief before you could stop them.
"But..." The word made you tense again, "I can't promise you I won't react if something was to happen" Alexia said gently.
The truth settled heavily between you both, because whether you'd wanted this world or not you were standing in it now and there was no pretending otherwise.
You nodded, understanding even as your throat threatened to erase all your words. You didn't want promises, not from her, not from anyone.
Alexia seemed to sense it, your hands flexed at your sides there was a flicker of indecision when you met her eyes.
"You don't want anything from me," she said, not as a question. "You just want me to know."
You laughed, short and sharp, a sound you didn't even recognise, "Wanting anything would be madness," you admitted.
She stepped toward you, the distance closing to nothing, "I'm not afraid of madness," she said, and then she touched your face, light as static, as if to prove there was no such thing as too much exposure.
It didn't feel like the first time she touched you by now it felt like you'd already spent a lifetime circling this exact collision point. Her thumb traced the hollow beneath your eye, moving down to the line of your jaw, the touch reverent and curious all at once. She searched your face as if she could read the loyalty in your skin.
A thought occurred to you, maybe this was forbidden love, or something adjacent to it, so hard and bright it made every other thing in your life taste of cardboard.
"You're shaking," Alexia murmured, thumb resting at the hinge of your jaw.
"I hadn’t noticed." You leaned in, not for a kiss, but for confession, "I don't even know your last name."
She smiled, and it broke the tension the way a glass shatters "Putellas," she said, "If you say it around here, the maids will faint."
You repeated it, and it sounded like a secret you weren't meant to learn, "So what happens now?"
Alexia drew in a measured breath, "Now you decide if you want to go home and forget all of this" a look, clean and clinical, "or you stay for a little while."
You didn't know how to answer. For a second, you tried on the idea of leaving, of walking out of this fortress and back to your mother's kitchen, resuming the old, soft habit of pretending. You looked at the lock on the door, she'd left the key in it, a deliberate statement. "I want to stay," you said at last, and it felt like the bravest and stupidest thing you'd ever said.
Alexia nodded, "Good." She released your face and turned away, crossing to the drinks cart, "I'm going to pour us something truly disgusting," she said over her shoulder. "We might both need it."
You tried to laugh, found yourself trembling, then realised it was the first time in hours you'd let yourself feel anything that wasn't either terror or shame. She poured two glasses of something brown and viscous, then handed you a glass. Your hands brushed. You pretended not to notice the brush of her fingers as you took the glass. You watched her settle back against the desk and sip without ceremony, without flinching, giving you nothing. You brought it to your lips and your face did something involuntary.
You held the glass to your chest, eyes drifting around the room. She was watching you over the rim of hers, "You're thinking," she said quietly before taking another sip and setting the glass down beside her. You looked back at her, "What about?"
“Didn’t have you down as a reader” Her clasped into her lap as she looked amused at you, “I won’t take offence at that”
You let your gaze wander around the office, the books stacked in lopsided towers or slotted sideways to make room for chess sets, dusty trophies, and the occasional bottle of aged liquor. You tried to picture Alexia reading for pleasure, and failed. You pictured her instead using books as blunt objects, slamming them shut, leaving them face down in the middle of a chapter as if daring somebody else to tidy up after her.
"I was thinking," you said, "about what you'd be like if you ever took a day off." You raised your glass, then sipped.
Alexia’s lips curled, "I don’t believe in holidays," she said, "Life gets too messy while you’re gone and when you come back, there’s a backlog of mess, and then you need another vacation to recover from it."
You kept your eyes on her, not flinching from the challenge in her tone, "Does anyone ever get close enough to see the mess, or do you have it all cleaned up before the doors open?"
She cocked her head, weighing you, then shrugged as if the entire world was a game of acceptable losses. "Some people don’t know how to look. Some know and pretend they don’t." Her mouth twisted. "You seem like the sort who can’t help but look."
You didn’t disagree, "You seem like the sort who likes being watched." You let the words hang, and the air in the room shifted, sharp and electric.
"That’s dangerous," Alexia said.
"Not for me."
She saluted you with her glass, drained it, and set it down with a sharp clack. "You’re still shaking," she observed, but her voice was lower now, not clinical, something almost hungry in the way she watched you.
You shook your head, then laughed, "Maybe you have that effect on people."
She took a step nearer, then another, until the difference between your bodies was centimetres. You caught yourself tensing, every muscle braced for violence or for touch, you didn’t know which you wanted. With a single finger, Alexia traced the inside of your elbow, then followed the line up to your shoulder. She stopped, considering the curve of your neck as if it was the first time she’d seen it.
"Last chance to run," she said, softly.
"I’ll take my chances," you replied.
She smiled wolfish, as if privately delighted and pushed you back, not hard, not gentle. You let it happen, let her guide you until your spine met the bookcase, the impact sending a tremor through every shelf. Several spines toppled, a copy thumped to the carpet.
She kissed you then, open mouthed and demanding, the taste of smoke and whiskey sharp between your teeth. Her hands bracketed your face, thumbs pressing under your jaw, holding you steady as her tongue traced the seam of your lips. You clung to her like she was the only thing sturdy enough to stand up to you.
You parted for air, and she didn’t let go, her hands sliding down to your waist as she tucked her forehead to yours. She let her hands drift down, fingers skimming the bottom of your shirt, and you gazed at her in daring.
“Are you going to ask?” she said, and you almost didn’t know what she meant, then you did.
You pressed a kiss to her lips, then to the line of her strong jaw, “I want you.” you whispered in to her ear.
She exhaled, sharp, and kissed you again, harder this time, her hands sliding under your shirt and up your ribs. You dug your fingers into her hair, pulling her closer, and she made a sound in the back of her throat that you felt in every nerve.
The pressure of her body against yours was overwhelming, and you let her pin you with her hips, the aggression of it both a threat and a promise.
She let go long enough to pull your shirt over your head in one smooth movement, then she just stared at you for a beat, unhurried, as if she had all the time in the world and you were the only thing worth paying attention to.
You felt the flush rising up your neck, but you held her gaze, refusing to look away even as you were bared to her. Alexia nodded approval, then leaned in, tracing her mouth down your throat, the scrape of her teeth a warning. “You sure?” she breathe.
Instead of saying yes, you hooked two fingers into the waistband of her sweatpants and pulled her so close the air shattered, “If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t be here,” you told her. “And if we’re being honest? I want you to make it impossible for me to leave.”
She blinked, stunned, then let out a slow, shaky laugh, “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Good,” you said, and watched her resolve crack, just a little, she kissed you again, hands exploring more now, and before you knew it she’d walked you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of her desk.
She lifted you to perch on the edge, Alexia stayed standing, looming above you. She studied you as if she was deciding what to do with a beautiful problem.
You sat obedient, looking up, a flush working down your chest. She trailed her fingers lightly over your shoulder, then your breast, then down your side. “Lay back,” she commanded, and you did, let yourself go limp, arms spread as she pressed at your chest until your back hit the desktop, cold against your spine, breathe stolen from your chest as she bit softly up the column of your throat. Her hands made a map of your body, every line and shadow of muscle catalogued, claimed, learned.
She unbuttoned your jeans, peeled them down your hips, mouth following the line of exposed skin as if she’d never had you before and was determined to do it right this time. You wanted to watch her, but your eyes fluttered closed every time her hands tightened, every time her tongue found a new place to linger.
For a second she went still, her breath hot against the inside of your thigh. You lifted your head just enough to see her watching you, not just with hunger but with something curious behind it. Like she wanted to see if you’d be too proud to beg. You weren’t, not even close.
“Don’t stop,” you said, and she laughed once, soft, then fit her mouth to you as neatly as if it had always belonged there. She licked you open slow, savouring you, coaxing your body to trust her again. She always did this to you, made you forget everything else, made you a body before you remembered you were a person.
And she didn’t stop. Not even when you bucked against her mouth, not even when you moaned her name into your bicep to avoid being heard by the rest of the house. She pinned your knees apart, setting a pace that had you panting before you could remember what you even had to say. At the edge, she slowed, let you hover, dragged her tongue lazy through your folds, letting you tremble while you waited for her to finish you off.
She drew it out for as long as she could stand it, which turned out to be almost as long as you could. Then, in a move you should have expected, she inserted one finger inside you, then two, curling them up until you saw stars, breath catching so hard you thought for a second you might pass out.
She fucked you with her hand, gentle at first, then harder until the sound of it was slick and obscene and the only thing you could hear in the room. She worked you with a patience that bordered on cruelty, your body growing so desperate you ached. When she brought her mouth back to your clit, tongue circling, alternating light and pressure, you came so hard you knocked your head on the edge of the desk.
You shuddered, a sound escaping you that was half sob, half desperate laughter. Only then did Alexia draw back, wiping her mouth with a knuckle, staring at you with the predatory satisfaction of a cat who’s just caught something too slow to escape.
You lay there, spent, limbs heavy and useless, and she ran her hand down your thigh, soothing the aftershocks,she made her way back up your body, mouth trailing heat, and kissed you deep enough that you tasted yourself on her tongue.
You pushed yourself up with a force that surprised even you, fingers skimming the hem of her shirt before she tugged it off herself. The fabric whispered over her skin, and then your mouth was on her tracing the ridges of her stomach, your tongue tracing the line of her abs. Her palm found the back of your head, guiding you higher, until your lips closed around her nipple, already hard against your tongue.
You hooked your fingers into the front of her joggers, the soft fabric clinging to her hips, and tugged at them. Your mouth found her breast again, teeth grazing her nipple, tongue pressing flat against the heat of her skin as you moved to the other.
Your hands slid around her waist, fingers splayed against the small of her back before dipping lower, tracing the curve of her ass. She arched into you, a silent permission, and you took it, your hands slipped into the back of her joggers, your palms cupped the full weight of her ass, kneading the soft flesh.
She made a sound, low and rough, as you dug your fingers in just shy of too hard, before the elastic snapped against her thighs, and then yanked the joggers the rest of the way down, letting them pool at her ankles.
Your mouth trailed down her torso, a slow pilgrimage of heat and teeth and worship, until you reached the soft plane of her lower stomach. Her palm tightened in your hair, not pulling you away but holding you there, a silent plea for more. She lifted one leg planting her foot firmly on the edge of the desk to open herself to you. You moved in without hesitation, your tongue finding the wet heat of her folds, tasting salt and musk and the sharp, taste of her arousal.
She let you kneel, not just let you, but guided you to it, one hand in your hair, the other braced on the desk behind your head. The power shift was instant and total, you knelt at her feet, the taste of her already slick on your tongue, and she watched you with the kind of sharp, proprietary interest usually reserved for chess pieces and difficult problems.
She adjusted her stance, widening, and you took the hint, mouth finding her again, tracing the seam of her pussy with your tongue, then plunging in, slow and deep, until you felt her thighs tense on either side of your face. She said nothing for a long time, just watched, the only sounds her breathing and the wet, obscene noise of your mouth working her. Each time you flicked her clit, her fingers tightened in your hair, a silent command, a praise, a dare.
You used everything you had, tongue, lips, even the tip of your nose, the whole time aware of the way she rocked into your mouth, chasing sensation with a focus that bordered on violence. When you looked up through your lashes, her eyes were half lidded, mouth parted, and you thought you could watch her come apart for hours and never get bored.
But then she did something unexpected, she stepped forward, crowding you until you had to tilt your chin up to keep your mouth where she wanted it, her scent overwhelming, the heat of her body swallowing the air. She rode your face with exquisite control, using you for leverage, one hand still tangled in your hair, the other braced so she could set her own pace.
You let go, surrendered completely. You focused on her clit, the pressure and speed she liked, learning her rhythm, matching it beat for beat. She tasted like sweat and salt and something dark, and you wanted every drop.
She fucked herself on your mouth, hips rolling, and you felt the tremor in her thighs before you heard it in her voice, the way her hands changed from controlling to clutching, how her breath came ragged, how her body started to stutter on the edge. She said your name, just once, a surprised, reverent curse, and then she came, hard, her thighs clamping around your jaw, her hand yanking your head in so close that for a moment you couldn’t breathe. You let her, let her use you until she was done, until her body shivered with aftershocks and a tremor running through her whole body.
Her mouth found yours when she guided you back to your feet, tongue pushing in, tasting herself, and you let her do that, too, let her take everything she wanted from you until you were dizzy with it.
She kept one hand on you as she pulled open drawer after drawer, unhurried, like she had all the time in the world. When she found what she wanted, she didn't ask this time. She stepped into the harness and buckled it with the practiced ease of someone who knew exactly what came next, then slicked the length of it slowly, deliberately, her eyes on you the whole time.
You watched her, nerves buzzing. Alexia was a vision, sweat slicked skin, hair knotted at the nape, abs smeared with a cameo of lipstick and saliva. She stepped toward you, black harness buckled low and hungry between her thighs, the silicone cock rigid and already glistening from her own hand, and you wondered how many times she’d worn it for lovers in this same room with these same bruised bookcases as witness. You held her gaze, refusing to shrink from the wolfish smile as she guided you back and up, seating you on the lip of the desk.
You spread your legs without being asked, and she stepped between them, hands bracing on either side of your hips, chest to chest, heat vibrating between you.
You reached for her, tangled a hand in her hair, but she caught your wrist and pinned it gently behind your back. She leaned in, her tongue flicking the shell of your ear, “This won’t be gentle,” she whispered, as if you had ever wanted it any other way.
She lined the head up, letting it brush slick through your folds, teasing, and you arched your hips, tried to get her inside, but Alexia only smiled, eyes half closed, and held you there, dangling between need and its answer.
“The room is soundproofed,” she said, a purr at the edge of her voice, “Let me hear you” She thrust in slowly, letting you feel every inch, the stretch of it, the exquisite, burning fullness. You gasped, and she captured the sound in a kiss.
Then she started to move, slow at first, and then, as you loosened and opened and gave yourself to her, faster, until the rhythm was desperate and deranged.
She smirked as you got louder, her hand travelled up between your breasts to hod your neck, “Atta girl”
Alexia’s hand stayed at your neck, forcing you to look her in the eye as she fucked you. The approach of orgasm was sharp and hot and wild, nothing like what you’d known before. And just as you started to spiral, she stopped, cock buried inside you, mouth at your ear. “You only come if I say,” she said. “Understand?”
You whimpered, nodding, and she resumed, setting a different rhythm, more brutal now, more like she was trying to hammer something out of you.
“I want you ruined for anyone else,” she said, and you realised you already were.
It hit you sooner than you expected. You squirmed under her grip, the edge rushing up fast and merciless, and heard yourself say it before you could stop it, "I'm going to come."
She showed no signs of stopping, "Did I say you could?"
You couldn't answer, you were past words. She pulled out entirely at the sound of your moan. “Fuck” you groaned legs pressing together.
She tapped your ass once, sharp. "Turn over."
You took your time, rolling slow onto your stomach, and felt her patience snap before you'd finished her hands finding your hips and angling them exactly where she wanted, no negotiation. The desk was cool against your breasts, the edge of it biting into your thighs. Behind you, the blunt head of the cock rested against you, not pushing, just present, a reminder of who was deciding the pace. Her palm came down on your ass, not cruel, but definitive.
"Good girl."
You turned your head and looked back at her over your shoulder, let the look say everything. Her pupils had gone almost fully black, "Do good girls get to come," you said with an innocent tone to it, "boss?"
She leaned over you, cock lined up, one hand twisted in your hair, the other bracing your hip. "Only if you beg," she whispered, almost sweetly.
You didn’t hesitate, pride already long since shredded, "Please," you gasped, and she pushed all the way inside, the force of it making you groan louder than you meant to. It was not gentle, not even close, but she wasn’t rough for the sake of it. Every thrust became its own command, her hips slamming into the backs of your thighs, the desk creaking with each merciless repetition.
"Again," she said.
"Please, Alexia, let me come, please," you cried, and she bent over your back, mouth at your ear.
"You take it so well," she growled.
She filled you so utterly that it burned, but you moaned for it, not caring how ragged and raw you sounded. Every muscle in your body locked and trembled. Her hand gripped your jaw, turning your face so you had no choice but to watch the reflection in the glass of a bookcase. You saw yourself, slick and ruined, face shining with sweat, lips parted, hair wild. You’d never seen anything like it, never wanted anything more.
You watched in the glass as Alexia’s hips snapped into you with relentless, perfect tempo, as if she could see your limits and chose to ride just up to the edge and hold there. She kept you at that edge on purpose, until you begged absolutely shamelessly, and even then, she didn’t immediately grant you the release she wanted you wrung dry, fucked past pride or posturing, nothing left to offer but the truth of what you wanted.
She leaned forward, her slick chest plastered to your back, and you felt her mouth at your ear, her voice barely audible, "Come for me," she said, and you came instantly, the whole world narrowing to the fierce wet heat in your belly, the way your body convulsed around her.
You cried out into the wood of the desk, hips bucking as you rode it out, heard yourself sob her name as if it were the only word you remembered. Alexia braced you, held you together as you fell apart, her palm pressed to the small of your back until every spasm had passed. Only then did she slow, letting the movement ease into a lull, gentle now, almost apologetic.
You lay there, cheek pressed to the lacquered wood, body limp and spent. Eventually, Alexia withdrew, the absence of her almost as sharp as the fullness had been. You couldn’t move for a moment, and she seemed to like that, seemed to savour the way you had to relearn your own body after what she’d done to it.
"Oh my god," you managed, voice muffled by the desk or maybe just your own disbelief.
She laughed, still bent over you, and kissed the back of your neck. It was the softest thing she’d done all night. She stood, slid the harness off with a casual click of the buckles, and tossed it onto the side table. She found her shirt and cleaned you up with it, her hands surprisingly gentle, then turned you to face her.
You looked up at her, still breathless, and she smiled really smiled at the sight of you. She laced a hand behind your neck, drew you in, and kissed you with a tenderness that was almost jarring after what had just happened. When she broke away, she pressed her forehead to yours, and both of you breathed in tandem for a while. Then she let herself drop into the chair behind her desk, sprawled out, utterly self satisfied, like a cat in a sunbeam.
Alexia watched you, her gaze soft but still predatory, as if she was planning the next move already, you rested your heels onto the arms of her chair as you lay back on her desk.
“You good there?” You hummed, “Yes, boss”
this is the best thing ive ever read
