Session IV: Keep Going
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⟡ Miniseries: Sin Sessions⟡
⟡ Sin Sessions Masterlist
⟡ Sevika x Fem Reader
⟡ genre: slow burn, office romance, wlw
⟡ summary: Sevika is the CEO, and her newly out, inexperienced assistant is about to learn that some lessons that aren’t in the employee handbook
wc: 8.1k
warnings: 18+ · nsfw · dom/ sub power dynamics · workplace dynamics · office sex (semi-public) ·spanking (hand + ruler) · mild pain kink? · dirty talk · grinding, fingering · heavy kissing · light jealousy · intense sexual + emotional tension · interruption of intimate moment
a/n: just a quick heads up — I won’t be posting again until the 29th! I’m taking a little Thanksgiving break to spend time with my family. thank you for being patient, and I hope everyone has a cozy holiday week <333
✎ᝰ.
You linger in the stillness for a while after, the weight of your phone heavy in your pocket. Eventually, you force yourself toward the bathroom — a hot shower, at least, might rinse away the thoughts clinging to you.
Steam fills the small space, curling against the mirror. You let the heat sink into your skin, let it blur the edges of your mind. For a few minutes, it almost works.
When you step out, you pull on a loose tank top and soft shorts, towel-drying your hair as you cross the room. The evening is quiet, the city humming faintly through the window — calm, ordinary. You pad barefoot into the kitchen, reaching for a glass of water when your phone buzzes on the counter.
Sevika: Let me in.
Your heart shoots straight to your throat.
She’s here?
You barely register the towel dropping from your hands onto the counter before you’re already moving — tripping once over the edge of the rug, muttering a curse as you scramble for your keys. Your pulse thunders in your ears all the way to the elevator.
By the time you reach the front doors, she’s there — leaning casually against the hood of her car, hands in her pockets.
You push the door open, breathless. “What are you doing here?”
Sevika’s smirk deepens, lazy and knowing. “Figured I should come collect my card.”
Your stomach sinks a little, an ache pressing against your chest. So that’s why she’s here. You were almost hoping she was here to see you specifically. You try to mask it, but she tilts her head, sharp eyes catching the flicker of disappointment before you can hide it.
“Oh, I mean,” she drawls, stepping closer. “I of course wanted to see my lovely assistant?”
You roll your eyes, fighting the tug of a smile.
Stepping aside as she brushes past you into the lobby. The faint scent of smoke and leather follows her.
✎ᝰ.
The elevator ride is quiet, but not uncomfortably so — just charged, the kind of silence that seems to press against your skin. You keep your eyes fixed on the glowing floor numbers, pretending you don’t feel Sevika’s gaze on you.
When the doors open, you guide her down the hall to your apartment.
Inside, the place feels suddenly too small. Too lived-in. Too yours. You shut the door behind her, trying not to think about the way your stomach twists.
Sevika surveys the space with a slow sweep of her eyes. A beat. Then, a simple, “Cozy.”
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, though your fingers still fidget with the hem of your tank top.
Cozy is generous. Compared to whatever penthouse she probably lives in, your little apartment feels… embarrassingly small. Like she has no business standing in a place this humble.
“Uh—do you want something to drink?” you offer, already drifting toward the kitchen because standing still feels impossible.
“Water’s fine,” she replies.
You grab a glass from the cabinet, fill it, and bring it back to her. She takes it with a nod.
“Thanks,” she murmurs.
You hesitate only a second before grabbing your wallet from the counter. You pull out the sleek black card and extend it toward her.
“Here. And… thank you. For letting me use it today.”
Her eyebrow lifts in quiet amusement as she tucks the card into her pocket. “Not a problem.”
Your fingers twitch again — a restless, nervous habit. You clasp your hands together to try and hide it, but Sevika notices.
One corner of her mouth curves. “Do you want me to head out?” she asks casually, but there’s something gentle under it. An out.
Your response is immediate, too quick to tame. “No.” You swallow, heat rising to your cheeks. “I… don’t want you to leave.”
Her smirk softens into something more reserved. “Alright then,” she says quietly. “I’ll stay.”
The room warms around the edges.
She nods toward the living room. “You wanna put something on? A movie, a show… whatever you usually watch before bed.”
You nod — too eagerly — and lead the way. The couch dips as she sits beside you, close but not crowding, her presence filling the room in a way that feels impossibly grounding.
You grab the remote, fingers brushing nervously over the buttons. Sevika leans back, comfortable, her arm settling along the back of the couch.
You scroll aimlessly through the streaming options, pretending to be focused, but your mind is still tangled in nerves. You can feel Sevika beside you — the quiet strength of her presence, the heat of her body, the subtle shift of the couch when she adjusts.
Then her arm moves. Without hesitation, she hooks two fingers lightly into the fabric of your tank top and tugs gently.
“Come here,” she murmurs.
Your breath catches as you’re guided into her side, your body settling against the firm warmth of her. Her arm drapes around your waist like it belongs there, palm resting comfortably against your upper thigh. You swear your heart is trying to punch its way out of your chest, but you lean in anyway, letting your head rest lightly against her shoulder.
“That’s better,” she says, more to herself than to you.
You’re pretty sure she can feel how tense you are — your muscles are stiff, your breathing uneven in that embarrassed, trying-not-to-be-obvious way. But she doesn’t point it out. She just gives your thigh a slow, absentminded rub with her thumb, as if settling you in is second nature.
You clear your throat and refocus on the TV screen. “Um… do you like action movies?”
Her response is a low hum of approval. “Action works.”
You click through until one of your favorites pops up — something loud and fast-paced, explosions and neon cityscapes and absolutely no emotional plotline to get tangled in. Perfect distraction material.
You hit play.
The opening notes blast through the speakers, filling the apartment with sound. But all you can really think about is the weight of her arm, the way her body shifts subtly as she relaxes into the cushions, the steady rise and fall of her chest.
At first, it is just a subtle shift, a heat building low in your belly as her fingers idly trace patterns on your thigh. But then it intensifies, your nipples tightening against the thin fabric of your shirt, hardening into stiff peaks that poke visibly through the material. You squirm a little, crossing your legs to ease the growing ache between your thighs, but it only makes things worse.
Sevika glances down at you, her dark eyes narrowing slightly with concern. "Everything okay?" she murmurs, her voice low and rough, vibrating through her chest.
You nod quickly, cheeks flushing as you avoid her gaze, focusing instead on what's happening on screen. But Sevika's sharp eyes catch the way your shirt strains over your hardened nipples, the outline clear even in the low light. She doesn't say a word about it, though—her lips just curve into a smirk as she tightens her arm around you.
The wetness comes next, a slick warmth soaking into your panties as arousal pools between your folds. It’s distracting, insistent, making you shift again.
You can't take it anymore. "I, um, I need to use the bathroom," you stammer, starting to push yourself up from the couch.
Before you can stand fully, Sevika's hand catches your wrist, tugging you back down—but not beside her this time. She pulls you straight onto her lap, your legs straddling her thighs as you settle against her.
Her hands grip your waist firmly, holding you in place. "I think it's time for another lesson," she says, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, eyes locking onto yours with that intense gleam.
Your heart pounds, but the nervousness mixes with excitement, making your body hum. You nod, biting your lip, and then—without overthinking it—you lean in and capture her mouth with yours. The kiss is bold, your tongue slipping past her lips to tangle with hers, a soft whimper escaping as you press closer.
Sevika's eyes widen for a split second, caught off guard by your sudden initiative. You’re usually so shy, hesitant in these moments, but here you are, kissing her like you need it to breathe. Her surprise melts into hunger, and she kisses you back fiercely, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck.
You rock your hips forward, grinding your core against her, the friction sending sparks through your clit. Sevika groans into your mouth, her free hand moving to your hips, gripping the soft flesh there and guiding your movements—helping you find a rhythm that has you both breathing harder.
"That's it," she murmurs against your lips, but she isn't content to let you lead for long.
With a gentle but firm push, she eases you back onto the couch, laying you down beneath her. Her body hovers over yours, all that solid strength making you feel small and protected. She reaches for the hem of your shirt, pausing to look into your eyes, silently asking for permission.
You nod, breath hitching, and she peels the fabric up and over your head, tossing it aside. Your breasts spill free, nipples hard and begging for attention. Sevika's gaze darkens as she takes you in, then she lowers her head, her mouth closing over one nipple. She sucks hard, tongue flicking the sensitive bud, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.
Your back arches off the couch, pressing your chest further into her mouth as a soft moan slips from your lips. The sensation is electric, her warm mouth pulling and teasing while her hand kneads your other breast, rolling the nipple between her fingers. You tangle your fingers in her hair, holding her there as waves of pleasure pulse through you.
After lavishing attention on both nipples until they are slick and throbbing, Sevika pulls back, crawling up to kiss you gently, her lips soft and reassuring against yours. She nuzzles your ear, her breath hot as she whispers, "Can I finger you?"
You bite your lip, nerves fluttering in your stomach—this is new territory, your first time with anyone else touching you there. But the excitement wins out, and you nod, whispering, "Yes, please."
Sevika's smile is tender as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your shorts, sliding them down your legs slowly, kissing your collarbone, your shoulder, anywhere she can reach to soothe you. "I've got you," she murmurs, her voice steady and calm. "Tell me if you need me to stop."
Once your shorts are off, she trails her fingers down your body—starting between your breasts, circling your navel, then lower, over the soft skin of your stomach until she reaches the edge of your panties. She doesn't dive right in; instead, she presses her palm flat against your mound, rubbing slow circles over the damp fabric, feeling the heat radiating from your pussy.
You whimper at the pressure, hips bucking up instinctively. Sevika's fingers move lower, stroking along your slit through the thin barrier, and when she feels the soaked cotton clinging to your folds, she groans low in her throat. She leans in, lips brushing your neck as she kisses the sensitive skin there.
"Fuck, I love how wet you get for me," she rasps, her voice thick with desire.
Heat floods your cheeks, but the words only make you wetter, your arousal seeping through your panties. Then her fingers brush over your clit, a light, teasing stroke that has you moaning loud, your thighs trembling.
Impatience surges through you. You reach down, shimmying your panties off yourself and kicking them away, exposing your glistening pussy to her gaze. Sevika grins, her eyes flicking up to meet yours with a playful glint.
"Eager, aren't you?" she teases, her thumb circling your clit once more before she slides a finger along your entrance, gathering your slickness.
She pushes in slowly, just the tip at first, watching your face intently for any sign of discomfort. Your eyes flutter shut, a gasp escaping as the stretch burns slightly—but fuck does it feel good, so much better than your own tentative touches. The fullness, the way her finger curls just right inside you, hitting nerves you didn't even know you had.
Seeing the pleasure in your features, Sevika thrusts deeper, her finger pumping in and out with increasing speed. She adds a second when you don't flinch, stretching you further as her thumb rubs firm circles over your clit. The sensation builds fast, overwhelming—ten times more intense than anything you've ever done alone, her touch precise.
You moan louder, hips rolling up to meet her hand, the wet sounds of her fingers fucking your pussy filling the room.
"Mhmm," Sevika hums approvingly, her metal hand pinning your hip down to keep you steady as she drives into you harder, faster.
Your orgasm crashes over you hard, vision going white as your pussy spasms around her fingers, gushing wetness that soaks her hand. Your legs snap shut instinctively, trapping her wrist as tremors wrack your body, every muscle seizing in ecstasy.
Sevika doesn’t let up, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to your neck, murmuring through it all. “That’s it.” Her voice anchors you as you ride the high, moans tearing from your throat in broken waves, body shaking.
When the aftershocks finally ebb, she eases her fingers free with a gentle twist, bringing them to her mouth, licking them clean slowly, eyes locked on yours. “You taste so fucking good,” she growls.
She pulls back slightly, her grey eyes scanning your face with a mix of pride and affection, but you could see the hunger still simmering there—unquenched, waiting.
A new curiosity sparks in your chest. Your hand trembles as you reach up, tracing the line of her jaw.
"Sevika," you whisper, voice hesitant and soft, cheeks burning. "Can I... can I do it to you?"
Her eyes widen, genuine shock flashing across her face for a moment. She blinks, then a slow, intrigued smile tugs at her lips.
"You want to?" She searches your face, making sure it wasn't just post-orgasm haze talking. When you nod, she exhales a low chuckle. "Okay-
A sharp, sudden knock splits the air.
Both of you freeze.
Another knock follows immediately, louder this time. Then a familiar voice, bright and too cheerful for the hour:
“Sweetheart? It’s Mom! Are you home?”
Your stomach drops straight through the floor.
“Oh you’re fucking kidding—” The words tumble out in a strangled whisper.
Sevika goes perfectly still, jaw tightening just a fraction as her eyes flick toward the front door. She looks back at you, gaze dragging over your completely bare state.
There’s another knock.
“Honey? I brought you something! Open up!”
You scramble off the couch, nearly tripping over your own feet as you reach for your discarded clothes.
“Shit—shitshitshit—Mom, one sec!” you shout, voice pitching embarrassingly high.
Your shorts are nowhere. Your panties are—god, you don’t even know. You drag your tank top on first, tugging it down with shaking hands while Sevika watches from the couch, sitting back slightly, arms braced on her knees, a grin forming.
You finally find your shorts half under the coffee table. You yank them on, then move to grab the oversized jacket hanging by the door and shove your arms through it.
You pull it tight around you, willing your heartbeat to calm.
“Honey?” your mom calls again, worry edging into her tone. “You okay?”
“Yeah! Yes—just—one second!”
You spin toward Sevika, shooting her a helpless look and crack the door open.
Your mom sweeps inside the moment she sees you, pulling you into a warm, crushing hug that smells like vanilla lotion and home.
“Sweetheart! I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by. I brought food—vegetarian, don’t worry—oh! Did I wake you?”
You shake your head, forcing a smile. “Just… cleaning.”
Your mom pulls back, still hugging your arms. Then her eyes drift over your shoulder—
And she stops.
Sevika stands by the couch now, tall and solid in her half-unbuttoned dress shirt and rolled sleeves, metal arm glinting under the soft apartment light.
Your mom blinks. Smiles. Then beams.
“Oh!” she says brightly. “Is this your girlfriend?”
You freeze.
Sevika’s eyes widen just a fraction—caught off guard—then settle into a slow, dangerous grin.
You swallow hard, cheeks burning.
“Uh—yes,” you say, voice cracking. “Yeah. That’s… Sevika.”
Your mom lights up like she’s witnessing the climax of a rom-com.
She walks right up to Sevika—who straightens slightly, not expecting the ambush— and your mom reaches out and squeezes her bicep.
You could die of embarrassment.
“Oh my goodness,” your mom gushes, “you’re strong!”
“Mom!” you hiss, mortified.
Sevika huffs a quiet breath—half laugh, half disbelief—as your mom pats her arm again, like she’s inspecting a prized racehorse.
“So,” your mom says, turning back to you with a conspiratorial smile, “how long have you two been dating?”
Before you can answer, Sevika speaks.
“Long enough that I’ve lost track,” she says, tone smooth as silk.
Your head snaps toward her. She doesn’t look at you directly—just the faintest side glance, the corner of her mouth twitching like she’s enjoying this a little too much.
Then she claps her hands together. “Well! I am thrilled. You two are adorable together.”
You nearly combust on the spot.
Your mom lifts the takeout bag. “I brought dinner. Is Sevika staying?”
The last thing you need is your mom telling Sevika baby stories or asking about wedding colors.
“Oh—she was just heading out,” you blurt.
Sevika’s grin widens like she expected that answer.
“Was I?” she murmurs.
You shoot her a look that says please, for the love of everything, go along with this.
She relents, pushing off the couch and coming toward the door.
“I was just picking up something I left here last time,” she says smoothly. “But it was great meeting you.”
“Oh, you too!” your mom says brightly. “I hope to see you again soon.
Sevika steps closer—too close, warm breath brushing your cheek—and leans in.
“See you tomorrow, babe,” she says quietly, lips grazing the corner of your jaw as she presses a soft kiss to your cheek.
Your entire body lights up like a struck match.
She straightens, gives your mom a polite nod, and leaves—door clicking shut behind her.
You barely manage a breath before your mom sighs happily.
“Sweetheart,” she whispers, “she’s gorgeous.”
You drop your face into your hands. “Mom. Please.”
But she’s already in your kitchen, unpacking the food.
You sit together, eating. Your mom talks about her day, about your dad, about some recipe she’s been perfecting. She asks about work, about whether you’re eating enough, and you nod through mouthfuls of roasted vegetables.
It’s simple. Warm. Familiar.
The kind of moment you don’t realize you’ve missed until you’re in it again.
When the plates are empty and the conversation settles into a soft quiet, she stands to gather her things. She moves around your place with the practiced ease of someone who’s done it a hundred times—tucking leftovers away, rinsing her cup, smoothing the dish towel on the counter.
Then, as she’s slipping her bag over her shoulder by the door, she pauses. A small hesitation. Like she’s turning a thought over in her mind before she speaks.
“Oh—one more thing,” she says casually. “Isn’t that the Sevika? The owner of that huge international company?”
Your heart stutters. “I—uh—”
“And aren’t you working there now?”
You swallow. “Yes.”
A slow smirk spreads across her face.
“Dating your boss is scandalous, sweetheart,” she says, patting your cheek. “But I’m happy for you. Bring her to the family dinner in a few weeks.”
You blink. “Mom, I probably can’t—work is—”
“No excuses.”
You deflate. “Okay.”
She cups your cheeks, kisses your forehead.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Then she’s gone, door closing gently behind her.
The silence that follows feels different now— echoing, warm, scattered with pieces of Sevika still lingering in the air.
✎ᝰ.
You’ve showered, put on a clean oversized tee, and collapsed into bed face-first, replaying the evening in slow, embarrassing motion.
Your mom squeezing Sevika’s bicep. Sevika kissing your cheek in front of your mom.
And then—
Your phone buzzes on the pillow beside you.
You groan and grab it without looking.
It’s her.
Sevika: “Girlfriend,” hm?
Your soul leaves your body.
You: I panicked
A long moment. Long enough that you start overthinking.
Sevika: Didn’t know you were in such a rush to label things.
You nearly drop your phone.
You: It’s not like that!!
Sevika: I’m teasing.
Your face heats.
You: You didn’t have to play along though. Thanks.
Sevika: Your reaction was worth it. Anyways get some rest. Busy week ahead.
It’s professional. Normal. Exactly the kind of message a CEO should send her employee.
So why does it feel like something else sits between the lines?
You set your phone aside, trying to steady your breath.
As you drop it onto the nightstand, something flutters to the floor.
A small, folded napkin.
You instantly know what it is.
Your stomach lurches as you pick it up—Zara’s handwriting looping across the paper, her number scrawled in dark ink.
You stare at it for a long, suspended moment.
Guilt rises first—sharp, unexpected. Not because of Zara. But because Sevika’s kiss still burns faintly on your cheek, and something about that feels… wrong to overwrite.
Which is ridiculous. She’s your boss. You don’t owe her anything… technically.
But your fingers still hover over your phone like you’re waiting for permission you’ll never get from her.
You inhale, then type the number in.
Your thumb pauses above the text bar.
You could put the napkin away. Forget it. But something else pushes through—a mix of guilt and curiosity and that stubborn part of you that still wants to be the version of yourself Sevika keeps trying to draw out.
You: hi, is this zara?it’s me from the bar
Your finger hovers over “send” far longer than necessary.
Then you press it.
The bubble appears. Delivered.
And instantly, your chest tightens.
You toss your phone onto the nightstand like it’s burning you and wrench the blanket up over your shoulders. The ceiling swims with every thought you don’t want to acknowledge.
A part of you feels like you did something wrong. A part of you feels like you didn’t do anything at all. You curl onto your side, pulling your knees in, trying to breathe past it.
Sleep pulls you under slowly, tugging at your thoughts until the edges blur. But the last thing you feel before drifting off isn’t guilt.
It’s the phantom pressure of Sevika’s hand at your waist. The way she’d said see you tomorrow, babe like a promise.
And the terrifying part?
You want tomorrow. You want her.
Even if you shouldn’t.
✎ᝰ.
Light spills through the blinds in thin, unforgiving stripes. You blink against it, trying to piece yourself back together.
You move through your morning routine on autopilot—shower, clothes, hair, a rushed swipe of mascara. Everything feels strangely muted, your thoughts moving too fast while your body moves too slow.
The executive floor greets you with its usual cool quiet, all polished surfaces and soft footfalls, the distant hum of early-morning emails being typed.
Your footsteps fall clean and measured as you walk the length of the corridor toward your office—
—and see her.
Sevika stands outside her own glass-partitioned office, shoulder-to-shoulder with Tom as they review something on a tablet. Her posture is the same as always—unshakeable. But something in you shifts anyway.
You slow without meaning to. And just like that—she looks up.
Her eyes find you instantly, like she’d been waiting for you.
Tom glances up, following her line of sight. “Morning,” he says.
“Morning,” you reply.
“Come here,” she says quietly.
Your steps carry closer to them, your heels clicking against the floor.
She hands Tom the tablet.
“That’ll be all,” she murmurs.
He nods and heads off, loafers echoing down the corridor.
Sevika turns fully toward you.
Her eyes sweep over you once, slow and assessing. “Did you sleep?” she asks.
“Enough,” you answer softly. “You?”
“I’m fine.” A faint twitch touches her mouth—almost a smile.
Her gaze flickers down your frame, slow, thoughtful. Not savoring—observing. Noticing the steadiness in your breath, the way your hands don’t fidget as much anymore.
Something warm glimmers in her eyes.
“You look different today,” she says, voice low.
Your heart thuds once, hard. “Different how?”
Sevika doesn’t answer immediately.
Instead, she steps just slightly closer.
“More sure of yourself,” she finally says. “It suits you.”
The compliment lands deeper than it should. It settles somewhere beneath your ribs, warm and grounding.
You draw in a breath. Then she opens her office door.
“Come in.”
You step into her office, and she closes the door behind you, the glass panels muting the rest of the world into a distant, blurred reflection.
Sevika crosses the room and stops behind her desk, fingers brushing over a set of neatly stacked documents, then looks up at you again.
“You got everything you need for Kareshi?” she asks.
You nod. “I think so. I bought the formal dress and a swimsuit.”
Something flickers in her eyes — amusement, or maybe satisfaction.
“I still can’t believe you just… handed your card over to me like that.”
Her mouth curves. "Why?”
“It’s your black card,” you reply. “It feels like— I don’t know. A big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” she replies softly, not denying it, not pretending otherwise. “But if I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t have given it.”
Your breath stutters for a second.
She leans back against her desk, arms folding comfortably.
“What did you end up choosing?” she asks.
You shrug lightly. “Something elegant. Amanda helped.”
“Oh?” A faint brow lifts. “Did she approve?”
“She whistled,” you admit grinning.
That earns a low huff of laughter from her.
“I suppose that means it’ll be appropriate for the gala,” she says.
You roll your eyes a little. “Technically, you didn’t give me criteria.”
“You didn’t need them.” Her gaze drags over your face. “You know what works on you.”
Your cheeks warm despite your best efforts.
“The schedule’s tight,” she says. “Panels in the morning. Meetings in the afternoons. The gala on the second night.”
“We leave tomorrow night after work,” she says quietly. “Pack light. The weather there is warm.”
You nod.
✎ᝰ.
The break room is quiet, the coffee machine gurgling as you fill a cup. You carry it back upstairs, the warmth of it grounding you in the moment. But when you look up as you reach Sevika’s office, you freeze at the door.
Leaning casually over Sevika’s desk is another woman—tall, confident, and blatantly flirting. Her hand brushes against Sevika’s arm as she laughs, low and intimate. A small, sharp twist of annoyance flares in your chest. Jealous? Maybe. You try to swallow it down.
“Oh, my coffee,” Sevika says, glancing up. “Thank you.”
The other woman huffs, crossing her arms in obvious irritation at your intrusion. You nod, carefully setting the coffee down on Sevika’s desk, trying to keep your hands steady and your expression neutral.
“You can work in my office with me if you want,” Sevika offers, glancing at you from the corner of her eyes.
You shake your head quickly. “It’s okay… I’ll work alone,” you murmur, turning on your heel.
Crossing to your own office, you sit down at your desk and let your head drop into your hands for a moment. You know you have no right to be annoyed. You scold yourself internally. Chest tightening, the unfamiliar pang of jealousy gnawing at you, and you don’t even fully understand why you’re reacting this way.
Your eyes drift, almost against your will, back toward Sevika’s office through the glass partitions. The woman is now perched on the edge of Sevika’s desk, legs crossed, and Sevika is sitting back in her chair, one brow arched and her expression faintly annoyed. You scoff, muttering under your breath, and force yourself to turn back to your work.
✎ᝰ.
Time drifts forward, and soon it’s around lunch. A soft knock at your office door makes you glance up.
“Hey… want to grab lunch?” Sevika asks, her tone casual.
You hesitate, then shake your head. “I’m going to eat by myself today,” you reply, voice tighter than intended.
The moment they left your lips, your mind immediately lashed out in quiet self-reproach.
Why did you say that?!
You grab your bag and wallet, moving toward the door, when a sudden slap sounds against the privacy panel of the glass partitions. You jump, heart thudding, and look up to find Sevika standing there, hand on the glass, leaning slightly in, her gaze locking on yours. Her expression is sharp. It’s that subtle mix of authority, intrigue, and a hint of… challenge.
“Hmm,” she murmurs. “Someone’s got a little attitude today, don’t they?”
You freeze, caught off-guard, heat rising to your cheeks.
Sevika leans there, her hand still resting lightly on the glass partition, her eyes locked on yours. The quiet between you stretches, charged. Finally, she tilts her head, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, voice low, teasing—but genuine curiosity hiding behind that polished exterior.
You shift your weight awkwardly, heat creeping up your neck. “I… um… who was that woman?” you ask, your voice small, almost shy.
Sevika’s eyebrow arches slightly. “That’s what’s bothering you? She’s a new receptionist,” she says lightly, as if the simplicity of the answer should immediately douse your frustration— but instead, it only made your cheeks burn hotter, a fresh wave of mortification washing over you.
You open your mouth, ready to apologize for acting like a brat, then clamp it shut.
Sevika tilts her head again, closer now, her gaze sharp but playful. “Were you… jealous?” she asks, voice soft but teasing, as if she already knows the answer.
You want to protest, to say no—but your throat goes dry, and your fingers twitch at your side. You’re not going to lie, but you’re also not going to admit it.
Her eyes soften slightly, just for a second, and then she smirks again, that same knowing look that makes your stomach twist. “Mmm,” she hums, clearly entertained by your silent reaction.
You flush hotter, convinced that every tell-tale sign of your inner turmoil was emblazoned across your face, making you feel utterly exposed. You glance away.
Sevika steps back, still holding your gaze, and the tension hangs in the air, thick and intimate. You take a shaky breath, trying to focus on anything else, but her presence is overwhelming.
"Go back to your desk," she says, her voice firm, as she closes the door.
You blink, confusion flickering through the haze of embarrassment and lingering jealousy. Why? After all that? But her tone leaves no room for questions. You nod slowly, turning away, your legs feeling unsteady as you walk back to your desk. The office hums around you—colleagues typing, phones buzzing—but it all fades into a distant blur.
Before you can settle, Sevika's voice cuts through again, closer this time. "Hands on the desk. Now."
Your heart stutters. You hesitate, fingers hovering over the edge of your desk, glancing over your shoulder. She's standing there, arms crossed, watching you with that unyielding gaze. The hesitation lasts only a second—long enough to feel the weight of her expectation—before you obey.
You place your palms flat on the cool surface of the desk, leaning forward slightly, your back to her. Vulnerability prickles at your skin, but there's a thrill in it too.
Sevika’s footsteps approach slowly. You hear the faint scrape as she reaches past you, her body heat brushing against your side. She picks up the ruler from your desk—a thin wooden one you hardly ever use.
She steps behind you, and you feel the ruler's edge press lightly against your ass through your skirt. Your breath catches in the back of your throat.
Sevika traces lazy patterns with it—circles, then lines up and down—teasing the fabric, making the anticipation build. "You know," she murmurs, her voice soft but scolding, like velvet over steel, "that little attitude of yours earlier? It was… distracting."
The words send a shiver down your spine, her tone intimate, almost affectionate in its command. Before you can respond, the ruler lifts and comes down with a sharp smack against your ass. The sting blooms instantly, a quick crack that echoes softly in the partitioned space.
Your breath hitches, sharp and involuntary. Heat floods you immediately—not just on your skin, but lower, a warm pool gathering between your thighs. Arousal twisting tight in your core, surprising you with how fast it surges.
Sevika chuckles low behind you, the sound vibrating through the air. "Tsk… tsk."
She traces the ruler again, lighter this time, dragging it along the curve of your cheek.
Another smack lands, firmer than the first, the impact sending a jolt straight to your pussy. You bite back a gasp, but the heat intensifies, your panties growing damp as your body responds against your will—or maybe exactly because of it.
She pauses, letting the silence stretch, the ruler hovering. Then, a third spank, and this time, a soft moan escapes your lips, quiet but undeniable.
Sevika stills behind you, her presence heavy. You feel her shift, and then her hands are on your skirt, bunching the fabric up slowly, exposing your ass to the cool office air. She pulls it higher, folding it at your waist, and lets out a low satisfied hiss.
"Look at that," she breathes, her voice roughening with her own arousal. The red marks from the ruler stand out stark against your skin, and you can sense her eyes devouring the sight, her breath quickening.
The ruler clatters onto the desk, forgotten. Sevika leans over you, her body pressing close from behind. Her metal hand braces next to yours on the desk, fingers splaying wide, anchoring you both. Her other hand, warm and flesh, lands on your ass, squeezing the stinging flesh hard enough to make you arch.
She presses open-mouthed kisses to your neck, lips hot and insistent, teeth grazing just enough to tease. Her hand kneads your ass, then delivers a firm spank with her palm—bare skin on skin, the sound sharper, the burn deeper. You love it, the mix of pain and possession surprising you, drawing soft moans from your throat as your body leans into her touch.
"That's it," she whispers against your skin, her voice a commanding purr. Her hand slides lower, fingers dragging up between your thighs. She traces the seam of your pussy lips through your panties, slowly, then circles over your clit with just enough pressure to make you whimper.
The friction is maddening—close, but not enough. You need more, direct contact, skin on skin. Your hand moves back, fingers hooking into the edge of your panties to pull them aside.
"Stop," Sevika commands, her metal hand snapping to your wrist, holding it in place. Her voice is steel now, teasing but firm. "You don't get that right now. Not after that silly attitude earlier."
You groan, frustration mixing with the building ache, your hips shifting involuntarily. But she doesn't relent. Her fingers keep rubbing your clit through the damp fabric, steady circles that make your thighs tremble, your breath come in short pants.
The pressure builds fast, coiling tight in your belly. You're right on the edge, biting your lip hard to stifle the sounds. But as the orgasm crashes over you, your eyes roll back, and a moan slips out—loud, unrestrained.
Sevika's metal hand moves in a flash, turning your chin toward her. Her mouth crashes onto yours, swallowing the rest of your cry as your body shudders through the waves. Her tongue invades, tasting your release, deepening the kiss until you're breathless.
She pulls back slowly, her eyes dark with satisfaction. "We should really stop doing this here," she says, voice husky, a hint of reluctance in her tone.
You turn around in her grip, glaring up at her, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. "You're the one who started it," you shoot back, the words breathless but pointed.
Sevika chuckles, low and rumbling, her hand still lingering on your hip. "Fair enough," she concedes, that teasing smirk returning as she straightens your skirt.
For a moment, the office is quiet—just the two of you catching your breath—but then she steps back fully, letting the tension settle.
“Okay,” she says, voice smooth lighter now. “Now… let’s go get some lunch.”
You blink, startled at how effortlessly she can switch from… that, to normal, but a small smile tugs at your lips. “Right,” you murmur, trying to calm the flutter in your chest.
✎ᝰ.
The two of you walk down together, side by side, the soft hum of the office behind you fading as you descend to the café. You grab a fresh acai bowl—while Sevika picks something that looks almost indulgent.
As you both turn to find a place to sit, a familiar voice calls out. “Ms. Sevika!”
You glance up to see Tom waving, and Amanda sitting across from him. Relief and warmth bubble in your chest, and you smile at Amanda before glancing back at Sevika.
“Looks like lunch just got more interesting,” Sevika murmurs, and you can’t help the small laugh that escapes as the two of you walk over to join them.
Plates and bowls in hand, you settle into the table, the earlier tension still humming quietly beneath the surface—but for now, it’s replaced by friendly chatter and the simple pleasure of food and company.
Sevika slides in across from you, while you sit next to Amanda.
Tom grins, holding a sandwich. "So, that receptionist of yours…” he starts, glancing at Sevika with a teasing lilt in his voice. “She’s new, right? Heard she’s making quite the impression around the office.”
You feel your chest tighten slightly, annoyance rising at the casual way he brings her up, but a soft pressure nudges your foot under the table.
Sevika’s subtle reassurance makes you freeze, then relax a little. That tiny, silent gesture—her foot brushing yours—calms you. You take a slow breath, letting the irritation slip.
Tom continues, oblivious to the minor drama unfolding under the table, while Amanda leans slightly toward you, a smile lighting her face.
“So, when are you guys leaving for the trip?” she asks quietly, genuinely curious.
“Oh, tomorrow I think,” you reply softly, stirring your bowl absentmindedly.
Amanda’s eyes widen a little. “Wow… sounds amazing. Are you excited?”
You shrug, smiling faintly. “Yeah… I mean, nervous too, but… excited.”
Amanda chuckles, nodding as she sips her drink. “I get it. First time somewhere new always feels like that.”
You glance at Sevika, who’s quietly observing you, that familiar smirk tugging at her lips—but her eyes are calm, patient, as if she knows exactly what you’re thinking. Your lips twitch into a small smile in return.
The conversation continues quietly between you and Amanda, light and easy, giving your nerves a moment to settle while Sevika and Tom talk softly at the other side of the table.
You notice Sevika occasionally glance at you, a subtle grin or a raised eyebrow, reminding you that whatever tension still lingers between you two… is hers to manage.
✎ᝰ.
The clock ticks closer to five, and you’re finishing the last few emails of the day when there’s a soft knock on your office door. You glance up to see Sevika leaning in.
“Let’s go,” she says, voice smooth, certain.
You freeze mid-pack, glancing at her, confused. “W-what?”
“I’m taking you home,” she says, stepping inside, one hand resting casually on the doorframe. “Pack a bag, then we go back to my place. You can spend the night.”
Your heart does a little flip. Surprise, excitement, nerves… all tangled together. “O-okay,” you manage, a small, thrilled smile tugging at your lips.
You quickly finish gathering your things, and as you head for the door, your phone buzzes.
Zara: Hi… how are you?
You freeze, your thumb hovering over the screen, but you don’t respond. Not now.
Sevika walks beside you in silence as you descend to the car.
✎ᝰ.
Once at your apartment, you open the door and tell Sevika, “Make yourself at home.” She smirks slightly but doesn’t protest, settling comfortably onto the couch as you duck into your bedroom.
A quick shower washes away the day, and you change into sweats and a hoodie, the comfort of them contrasting sharply with the flutter in your chest. You begin packing your bag, carefully folding clothes, when your fingers brush over a small, delicate lingerie set you bought on that shopping trip with Amanda.
You remember Amanda’s teasing question: What’s that for? You’d ignored it then, but now… a flush creeps across your cheeks. Hesitating, you start to put it back into the dresser.
“Uh-uh,” Sevika’s voice sounds from behind you.
You nearly jump out of your skin. “Sevika! How long have you been standing there?”
“Not long,” she says calmly, stepping closer. “I was just checking in.”
Your eyes dart back to the lingerie in your hands. Heat rises, nerves tingling. “Do… you like it?” you ask.
Her smirk is slow and her gaze lingers on you. “Yes,” she says simply. “Pack that. And pack an outfit for work tomorrow. Then… let’s go.”
Your stomach flips, and you nod quickly, finishing packing with a little more haste and far more attention than usual.
Bag zipped, clothes neatly folded, you head back out, Sevika following you.
The drive is quiet, but not uncomfortable. Sevika has one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily against the console, and you can’t help sneaking glances at her profile—sharp, calm, unreadable.
Until she pulls into a private neighborhood and slows beside a tall black gate.
Your jaw drops a little.
She leans out the window, punches in a code, and the gates glide open with a soft mechanical hum. The driveway is long, lined with perfectly kept shrubs, leading up to what is unmistakably a mansion—sleek lines, dark stone, tall windows, everything modern and intimidating in the most beautiful way.
You exhale. “Uh… this is your house?”
Sevika smirks. “Mmhmm.”
She parks in front of the enormous entryway, steps out like she does this every day—which she does—and walks up the steps. You trail behind, trying not to look like some wide-eyed tourist.
The door opens before she touches it.
A man—mid-fifties, warm brown eyes, silver hair combed neatly back—smiles at you.
“Good evening, Ms. Sevika,” he says, then looks to you. “And you must be her wonderful assistant. My name is Mr. Halden.”
You smile. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”
He nods. “I prepared the vegetable pizza Ms. Sevika requested for you.”
Your eyes flick to her. She’s already shrugging out of her coat.
She requested it… for you?
A little warmth blooms in your chest.
“Thank you,” Sevika says with a small nod.
Mr. Halden steps forward and gently takes your bag. “I’ll place this in Ms. Sevika’s room for you.”
“Oh—thank you,” you say, still trying to process the fact that Sevika has a housekeeper, and that he’s taking your bag to her room.
You follow Sevika deeper inside, and the interior somehow stuns you more than the outside.
Sleek. Minimal. Black, charcoal, white, steel accents. Massive open living room with a plush sectional facing a wall-mounted TV big enough to be in a theater. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A long dining table of dark wood with sculptural lighting above it.
“Your place is… gorgeous,” you breathe.
Sevika glances over her shoulder at you, amused. “Glad you like it.”
She leads you into the kitchen, where a huge marble island stretches across the center, stools tucked underneath like they belong in a magazine photoshoot. Everything gleams—clean, modern, perfect.
On the counter sits the veggie pizza, still warm.
You take a slice, and one bite in, your eyes widen. “Oh my god. This is amazing.”
Mr. Halden returns just in time to hear that, and smiles proudly.
“I’m glad it’s to your liking.” He turns to Sevika, pouring her a glass of whiskey without asking—it’s clearly routine. Then he looks at you. “And for you, miss? Something to drink?”
“Just water, please.”
He nods, fills a crystal glass with water, and sets it in front of you.
You and Sevika eat at the island, the atmosphere oddly… cozy. Normal, even. For once, neither of you is teasing or provoking the other. You’re just… talking.
“So,” you ask, swinging your legs gently on the stool, “what’s your favorite color?”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “Red.”
You smile. “That fits you.”
Sevika raises a brow, taking a sip of her whiskey. “So tell me—why’d you tell your mom I was your girlfriend?”
Heat crawls up your neck. You stare into your glass of water.
“I… um… my parents always ask about my love life. A lot. Too much.” You fiddle with the edge of your hoodie. “They mean well, but I hate hearing the disappointment in their voices when I say I’m still single. They try to hide it, but… they don’t do a great job.”
Sevika watches you, expression unreadable but… softer. You can’t tell if she feels sympathy, amusement, or something else entirely.
Before you can spiral, you remember something.
“Oh—uh… speaking of my mom…” you start, clearing your throat.
Sevika takes a slow sip of her whiskey, side-eying you. “Spit it out.”
Your cheeks burn.
“She, um… she wants us to come to a family dinner. In a few weeks.” You swallow. “And she wants you to come. With me.”
Sevika’s face goes completely still.
You instantly regret opening your mouth. You think she’s about to say no.
But then—
“Okay.”
Your head snaps up. “R-really?”
She shrugs one shoulder, completely unbothered. “Sure. I’ll go.”
Relief floods you. Your lips curl into a smile you can’t suppress.
Then she takes another slow sip of whiskey, corners of her mouth lifting.
“Whatever you need… babe.”
You roll your eyes, grinning.
✎ᝰ
After dinner and the quick cleanup that follows, Sevika gathers fresh clothes from the laundry room and motions for you to follow her upstairs. She shows you into her bedroom, tells you to get comfortable, and then disappears into the connected bathroom and turns on the shower.
You sit on her bed, the mattress huge and firm beneath you, the room dim and expensive. You pull off your hoodie, left in a tank top and sweatpants as you flop back against her pillows. You pull out your phone and scroll—messages, a few emails, mindless social media loops to keep yourself from overthinking. The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the AC and the distant rush of water behind the bathroom door.
Ten minutes pass, then the shower cuts off, and the bathroom door opens.
You freeze. Phone forgotten.
Sevika walks back in, towel draped over her shoulders, hair damp, sports bra on, joggers hanging low, water rolling down her toned stomach.
Your eyes rake over her.
Her prosthetic is off, and her V-line is sharp enough to cut you. Her muscular frame on full display, every defined line drawing your gaze deeper, until your heartbeat is thudding in places you’d rather not admit.
The air in the room seemed to thicken, suddenly smelling overwhelmingly of clean soap.
She stops mid-step, lifting one dark brow in lazy inquiry. “You’re staring,” she states, her voice a low, throaty rasp from the shower steam.
You know you should look away. Basic self-preservation demanded it. You’re sitting on Sevika’s bed, caught red-handed eye-fucking her.
A slow, amused huff leaves her—a sound less judgmental and more like pleased acknowledgement. She takes a step closer, then another, closer—closer—until she is right in front of the bed, dominating your space. She towers over you, her skin radiating the heat of the shower, the dampness making the edges of her tattoos look darker, sharper.
Your eyes drop again, following the line of water, the sheer, intoxicating visibility of her strength—her stomach, the line of her hips, the precise point where the fabric gave way to the soft hair of her happy trail disappearing beneath the waistband.
Your body moves before your brain could engage the emergency brake. Your hand lifts, slow and clumsy, almost hesitant. Your fingertip traces the outermost edge of her V-line.
She’s warmer than you expected, the skin slick. You drift down, fingertip tracing the path of the fine hairs, stopping at the soft cotton of the jogger waistband.
You look up, finally meeting her gaze.
She’s looking down at you, her massive silhouette outlined starkly against the dim light, head tilted. Her lip caught lightly between her teeth, eyes dark.
Her brows lift slightly, an infinitesimal gesture that was nonetheless heavy with implication, a lazy command.
“Keep going.”
a/n: I knowwww what a devastatingly rude cliffhanger to leave ya’ll on. consider this my tiny villain moment before I go eat mashed potatoes hehe 😘🦃💋
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