Really excited to show this off - Wagatha AU I commissioned from @rosenkranz-does-things ! I absolutely love how it turned out and I can't stop looking at it.
CEO Agatha Harkness x Reader Rich Boss x Submissive Assistant AU
Other parts & Tip jar & ao3
Word count: just under 12k
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, power dynamics, toxic relationship, d/s dynamics, absurd mean sugar mommy behavior, Agatha is emotionally constipated but trying, degradation, panic attack, corruption, murder confession, crimes confessed during sex, bootlicking, pleading. spanking with a ruler and a crop, walking on leashes and collars, fucking machines, ejaculating dildo, face slapping, crying, anal sex mentioned, vomiting mentioned briefly right at the end but as a joke, she's not nice but she's also nice, fluff and cuddles.
For a second the sinful thought that you may exist soley to be both hurt and cared for by Agatha Harkness crosses your mind.
It was gravel, the surface of the island. Vast amounts of thin grey gravel. Almost like a rocky beach around the entire surface, or the surface you've seen so far.
You still haven't had the chance to explore, but the day is young.
When Agatha asked if you wanted to go for a walk with her, you being ten paces behind her while she talks on her phone was somehow not what you had expected.
You're patient of course. Maybe too patient. Looking around as you follow her. A small dock sits next to a boathouse, the helipad you arrived on just a stones throw away from it. It's easier to navigate with context.
The breeze is fresh and salty as you balance on some large rocks, every beat of the water sending a chill over your legs, only a little covered by your underwear and the company branded t-shirt.
At least the sun is out.
As much as you miss the softness of the towel robe, the employee shirt feels almost as good. Her name printed on your chest in the same way. Maybe everything you wear should have her name on it. Maybe it should be carved into your skin forever.
Despite everything, the chaos and the cuddles, Agatha seems unusually calm. Her beige robe snug to her body as she talks quietly into her phone. Quietly. Not Agatha quietly. Really genuinely quietly.
It's almost more terrifying than the yelling. She's resolving this, and today you're going to get your answers. You aren't sure how yet, but she cannot run from you. Not here. Not after last night and not when you're both this isolated, you haven't even spotted a single staff member despite knowing they must be around here somewhere.
There's no way Agatha is taking care of herself entirely, and there's certainly no way she doesn't have security here.
Your eyes catch the horizon, watching the water calm down a little, hitting the shore. The cloudless sky burns your eyes a little as you squint to spot a boat in the distance. Perhaps the security have those massive photography lenses to keep you safe. Or maybe they have some kind of tiny security hut somewhere.
You could look for it later, but as you move across the rocks and onto the grass, you're more interested in finding Agatha's other rooms.
The lawn is vast, with trees dotted around large concrete sculptures. A woman. A cube. What looks like a candle. It's hard to see the theme here. The large house situated in the centre, and a couple of smaller cobblestone style buildings around the outside of it. Shrouded amongst the trees.
Agatha stops and turns for a moment to see how far away you are, smirking as you follow her aimlessly. Pretending this is some kind of romantic walk. If you'd decided to date one of your co-workers, would you be in central park with a hotdog right now?
Would you still be thinking about Agatha?
She holds the phone in front of her face and back to her ear before she continues at the same pace, hair trailing down her back as she turns away from you.
"Well we have to do something."
Her tone is still hushed, and you're surprised she can even get signal out here because you certainly can not. She probably owns the satellites. Asking for the wifi or a charger seems borderline stupid under the circumstances, but at least there's nobody you need to contact.
Everything you need is a few feet away from you scoffing into her iPhone.
The strain of trying to eavesdrop almost hurts, but although you're determined to fully trust Agatha, you're not entirely sure she'd tell you the truth right now. Unsure after last night whether it's because she's secretive, or she's worried she'll scare you off.
Her hands flex as she walks, resolving the issue in a way that sounds methodical. Your eyes fall to them as they so often do, the way the veins under her skin move as she cracks each knuckle with her thumb. The hands that have caused incomprehensible amounts of damage you don't yet understand.
The hands that held you softly last night.
Falling asleep in her arms felt like a vibrant dream despite it being too warm. Despite her snores and her hair tangling under you. Feeling the way her chest moved as her breathing became deeper, the small twitches in her hands as she began falling into a sleep you wish you could follow her into. Dreams you'd want to explore to understand her further. Waiting patiently for when you'd wake up next to her again.
But Agatha wasn't there when you opened your eyes, leading you to wonder whether she was already busy working or had taken her own interview lies seriously and had began morning podcasts.
When she came back a few minutes later with a cup of coffee, she explained she doesn't have any syrups or sugar so she had melted part of a candy bar into the liquid.
Feeling a surge of cute aggression when she stumbled over her words trying to explain to you how she had tried to flavor it for you, you decided not to tell her that the coffee was mostly lumpy and left a weird trail on your tongue.
You would have a million more lumpy coffees.
Your feet stop when hers do, remaining a little further behind her as to not throw her off. You can't hear what she's saying. You shouldn't snoop, you really shouldn't. But you do want those answers. This is the perfect opportunity to really understand who you're sleeping next to at night. Maybe you'd be more naive not to.
She begins the walk again before you can flex your ears enough to convince yourself you can hear better.
The boat house sits in view with the doors closed. Almost too quiet as the water gently hits the side of the dock. There must usually be staff here. Surely somebody would work in this building, at Wanda's island there was, what was there again...?
You try and picture the island, the boats, the firepit—
Suddenly your chest pangs with an unusual pain, coldness seeping in your throat, hands shaking as you freeze in place.
It dawns on you, you can't breathe.
Wanda's island, the games, the conversation. The pressure. The manipulation you'd been blind to until it was too late and you'd been used for entertainment by somebody you thought you could trust. And now you're trapped here with the very same person. Nobody around to save you. No boat to retreat to.
Agatha Harkness could do anything she wanted to you here.
You think back to her words last night, when you told her you didn't care. You don't care. Not really. You know her, even if she thinks you don't. Even if there's much more to learn. You know she's good to you.
You know she wouldn't hurt you. You don't know what she's running from.
It's the unknown. It's the fact that no matter what she tells you, it's never what you need to hear. Agatha is an excellent manipulator, an even better liar and could be spinning a gigantic web of tricks to trap you alone here with her.
Is that an awful thought to have?
"Everything they say about me is true, you know that, right?"
Clarity hits you like a train, feelings you'd been ignoring. Pushing down because of the money, the security, the adventures and the curve of her lips.
Are you really safe here?
But she apologized. She got on her knees and begged for forgiveness.
And you'd bet begging isn't something she's done before.
Your heartbeat thuds in your chest as Agatha turns to look at you, significantly further away from her. You'd stopped moving entirely you suppose.
Your eyes have glazed over, she notices immediately as you stare off at the water. The burn of the phantom fire pit in your lungs.
"Didn't realize you were into astronomy. You know with the spacing out."
You say nothing. Are you going to pass out?
Agatha is hanging up the phone without another word as she rushes for you.
"Woah. Hon you okay?"
When she reaches for you, the flinch that happens is entirely accidental. The tips of her fingers grazing your arm, the blues of her eyes dripping with concern, squinting a little from the sun.
"What's happening? Hey. Talk to me."
For a second all you crave is the comfort of her arms, but your body is fighting your brain. The same ruminating thought. Is this the person who melted a KitKat in your coffee this morning or the person talking down to you in front of her friends with whiskey on her breath?
Her hands are on your shoulders before you can decide.
“Sweetheart look at me.”
The phone is nowhere to be seen, shoved away so she can focus on you in your entirety. Her face free of makeup, the frown lines between her eyebrows deep as she studies your face with intention.
The warmth of her fingers settles across your skin, grounding you as your eyes get lost inside of hers. She looks different than you picture her when she's sitting at her desk. Her hair a little longer, a little more frazzled. Grays where her parting sits. Dark stray eyebrow hairs out of place.
Agatha’s been so focused on you, on this, she hasn’t been making enough time for herself.
“I’m sorry I–" you wobble as you try to take a step forward, her hands trying to keep you still.
“You’re alright. You’re okay.” The softness in the voice you’ve heard in a hundred different tones. “Do you need a glass of water?”
“No. I’m okay.”
Are you? You shake your head like you're trying to throw the thoughts away.
"Breathe."
You breathe, it feels weak.
"Again, come on spacegirl, breathe." You follow her instructions, a deep breath. She isn't great at breathing exercises, but the reminder to breathe is always nice and your body finally starts to function normally, besides the pressing question that falls too fast out of your throat...
“Agatha what are we doing here?”
Her hands fly off of you, clenching by her sides as she processes your question, the pale blue of her eyes hide her emotions as best as she’s able to. “Well we’re on a walk, silly.” Her head shakes, but her voice does a little too.
Not what you meant.
“Although…” she starts up again, checking you over to make sure you’re present “…I should really be making you do some paperwork.”
Your lip quivers as it forms a pout you didn’t intend to make. “Why?” But the work distraction does what it needs to do, and you’re able to take another step forward, and another as Agatha follows you slowly, phone still in the pocket of the robe. It flows slightly in the breeze as you look back at her. "Let me follow you around."
She cackles as the discomfort settles and you're back to feeling yourself. Thank god.
“You have some nerve. I’m your boss.”
You blink. “I work really hard.”
"I just need—" she's cut off when a particularly chilly gust of wind throws her hair all over her face, grabbing at it seems harder than it should be and on the third attempt at moving it away she's finally able to see you again. "—well I need to go inside first of all."
You stifle your laughter when even after you stop it happens again, sticking a little to her lip. "Oh my god I hate being outdoors."
Agatha takes a quick turn, heading towards the buildings making up the island. With a small jog, you're able to catch up to her as she power walks away from her sworn enemy, nature.
She marches towards beautiful lawns and beaches and away from the rocky shore. Of all the picturesque places you can spot it's odd she'd come over here for a morning walk. Unless it's the only place with signal.
"If you get some work done, you'll get a reward. How does that sound, hm?"
Your ears perk up at the promise of a reward, scrubbing the past reservations clean entirely.
"Really?"
"Really."
"What's the reward?"
The building you're being guided towards is glass with floor to ceiling windows. It doesn't really match the rest of the buildings, to be honest it looks a little out of place. It seems like it's been added much more recently. Fountains surrounding it on freshly cut grass and a soft, winding path.
Agatha stands in front of the transparent doors, adjusting the belt on the robe. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure you're sure? You moved away when I touched you." Her hand reaches out to stroke your cheek with the back of her hand almost like a test, harsh knuckles on soft skin. You relax into it without another thought.
"I'm sure. I was just in my head...."
"You tell me if something is wrong, okay?"
You nod and despite her annoyance at wordless answers, she allows it.
For a second it's easy to forget you're on a private island. Tilting your head in confusion when Agatha swings the door open without a key and stepping inside to what is essentially a smaller version of her office at the headquarters.
A large and unusually tidy wooden desk, with a plush wheeled chair, an antique globe mini-bar and an armchair that looks untouched.
"I have the Samson papers ready to be signed, I need you to make copies of the statistics so we can compare them to the previous year. Understand?"
Do you understand? You feel like you're on the verge of a tantrum. A private island all alone and you're writing data?
But you nod your head anyway. This isn't a real vacation, it's not a business trip. It's basically a remote workday, and Agatha has already taken so many liberties with allowing you to slack off. You're basically being paid to sleep in her bed at this point.
Should that thought scare you instead of arouse you? Aren't you smart and competent?
Agatha's sifting through the desk to grab two stacks of papers and her MacBook. Heavy-handedly slamming everything onto the table with an eyebrow raised.
Your hands loose by your sides as you stand a little awkwardly in the entryway.
"Now..." she starts, hips swaying as she meets you where you're lingering. "...I'm going to get dressed into something more appropriate for work."
Your eyes scan the robe clinging to her body. She looks soft and you're lost in the domesticity of seeing her like this you hardly notice when she grabs your chin firm between her fingers, tilting your head to the side so she can whisper into your ear. Breath warm and words slow, the sound of her throat as she swallows.
"And when I get back—" a chuckle, and maybe this isn't about the work anymore, your heart fights with your ribs under the employee shirt "—you'll be wearing nothing at all."
Saliva bobs in your throat as you swallow.
You are certainly okay now.
"Yes, Ms Harkne—" You catch yourself immediately, this office space clouding your brain. "—I mean..."
"See you in five, hon." A quick wink.
She doesn't look back and you try not to think about the mess of this situation, running your hands across your face where her own fingers just were.
You don't strip. Not right away. Taking in the room a little more, and more importantly what's outside of the room. The grass, the trees, the fountain and just further down the path, the water. This is private, but there must be security or staff. Couldn't anybody just wander onto the shore? Truthfully you have no real idea on how any of this works, but Agatha's entirely missing from your view and it's only a matter of time before she returns.
And you should be getting undressed, but your eyes dart to the desk and the secrets it contains.
Agatha has been alone here for a few days, she consistently has everything open on her laptop home screen. The thing sounds like a jet taking off despite being the most expensive model.
Just a peek wouldn't hurt, right?
You could take one look, see if she has an email open. Or a text from security. Just to know who that man is. Why you're here. How much trouble she's really in. Just something. Anything. To know the woman who kisses you at night.
Should you be snooping though? What if she catches you?
Hm. Agatha wears things with buttons. She might be at least a few minutes. And it wouldn't change anything, would it? You said you didn't care. How bad could it be?
It's worse to not know. Then it could be anything.
With a breath not deep enough to make you feel better, you pull open the lid of the laptop. The screensaver of New York at night runs on a loop as you stare at the password box.
This was a stupid idea. This is a stupid idea. Her profile photo taunts you, a headshot from a newspaper maybe ten years ago. Fuck. What would her password be?
You should just get up and do what you're told.
"H4RKN3SS" shot in the dark, license plate. Error message.
"Bordeaux" more personal. Error message.
How many tries do you have left? Agatha is probably putting on slacks, it's fine. Would she make it something personal or professional? Would it have any meaning whatsoever?
You should just strip now before it's too late. Maybe she'll tell you when she's ready.
But what if it's something insane, like the mob?
If Agatha was in the mob you'd know.
Oh my god would you still be with her if she were in the mob?
Well now you need to know.
Then it occurs to you, Agatha Harkness is fifty years old and uses her iPhone with one aggressive pointer finger.
You pull the drawer open, a black notebook sits on top. A slight moment of hesitation for a second before you're already too deep into this. You have to know something, anything.
Turning over the first page:
"ADMIN PASSWORDS:"
Bingo.
Subscription services. Banks with the passwords crossed out, likely from her exhausted security team. Apps.
Then midway through the page: "LAPTOP - SCR4TCHY"
You don't register what it means as you're typing it into the computer.
It unlocks on the first try which feels objectively worse than if it had failed and you'd given up. The windows all open at once. The internet open in so many tabs none of them are readable. Her text messages in the left hand corner and fuck you forgot this syncs to her phone.
You're in too deep, what are you doing?
What are you doing if not glancing just a little at the open phone conversations..?
What look like a bunch of unread notifications for parking tickets sit right under a sent message from SEC 1, whoever that is. “Call you back.” Must have been who she was on the phone with. Security 1?
Your hand hovering over the track pad as you prepare to open the conversation, only to halt when you notice the chat that’s already open. RIO V.
Curiosity and fear turn to outrage and jealousy. You were under the impression they weren’t friends anymore.
RIO V: Okay. Well let me know if u need anything.
Outgoing: I have it under control. Thank you though.
Outgoing: And keep quiet, for God's sake.
RIO V: I'm always quiet.
RIO V: Unless u don't want me to be quiet ;)
Your hands tremble.
Outgoing: Stop it.
RIO V: Seriously tho I can fly in if u need me to ...... or i can see you at the gala thing. when is that?
Outgoing: Don't. And I don't remember without my assistant. Will you be donating?
RIO V: Still the same one? ya can donate. u pmo but im still a good person
Outgoing: Are you?
Outgoing: And yes. The very same one despite your efforts to poach.
RIO V: Just trying to keep you safe u know that
Outgoing: I highly doubt that's what was happening. But OK.
RIO V: Champagne is not my friend. and u r getting too attached again. I am trying to be civil with u
Outgoing: I am not.
RIO V: Just be careful what u tell her ok
RIO V: and tell me gala date
You slam the lid shut as soon as your eyes scan the last line. Gurgling in your stomach, a nasty cocktail of regret and disgust. As if you thought you could compete with this woman.
The woman who knows all of Agatha's secrets, who accepts her and protects her no matter what. Despite Agatha seemingly pushing her away. The dynamic is complicated, and you're too involved with something you don't understand yet again.
This doesn't tell you anything. It only makes things worse. What were you even hoping for? A long list of the reasons you're on the island? A step by step on her life?
"Fuck." The word mumbles under your breath as your trembling hands run across your face. A nausea running under your skin and up your throat.
Okay. You don't have long.
You've wasted this time.
You can either tell Agatha you went through her computer while she was getting dressed and that's why you're so tense.
Or you can get naked and pretend that everything is fine and the jealous monster in your chest is all too happy to oblige.
The shirt slips off easily over your head, exposing your skin to the cool air and glass walls. The feeling both freeing and mildly terrifying, still feeling so oddly public.
Breathe.
Out the corner of your eye, thick brown hair suddenly swings into view. A relaxed white blouse and you should be excited but you're suddenly hit with a new wave of anxiety. Is this your fault? Really? If she wasn't so secretive, you wouldn't have tried to find answers. It's not like she doesn't track your every move or apparently watch you on her security cameras.
Her...security cameras.
Agatha's eyes are down at her phone as she walks towards the glass office through the shade of the trees near her. Your eyes dart around the room quickly.
Of course there's a camera in the corner of the room. Of course there is
Maybe she's looking at you snooping right now. Or maybe that security camera is linked to her team. Maybe she doesn't even have access.
The door handle creaks when she turns it, finally looking up at you as she pushes the door open.
You're still.
"Well this isn't what I asked you to be wearing." She gestures to the remaining clothes on your body. Okay. So she didn't see anything and as much as you enjoyed her cute sleepwear this is absolutely even better.
She places a black purse to the side of the desk.
"I'm sorry." You remark before you can even process what exactly you're sorry for, pulling off the rest of the fabric until you're bare before her.
"Atta girl." Agatha's eyes take in your form as she heads to her desk, scanning your body like she's committing you to memory. "You ready to get some work done for me?"
Act natural.
"Yes. Ready to work. Of course. Always am."
Blew it.
"...Okay?"
The chair rolls back as Agatha plops down onto it, spreading her legs, placing her glasses over her eyes and opening the laptop. Is it obvious you were on there? She scans her fingerprint and clicks around. Everything seems...normal?
"Nice shoes." You remark, looking down at a pair of leather boots. You aren't joking either, they give her work outfit a bit of an edge and it's exciting to see something different. "Hm. I don't like heels on the gravel."
You nod. It doesn't seem like she knows. Maybe you're in the clear.
"Right. Here's the last set of reports. Crosscheck with the current ones—" she places a stack of papers neatly on the ground next to her chair "—write everything fresh. As soon as you're done i'll sign off and we'll send it over to the team."
You don't need the hand signal, you know where you're supposed to be. Knees soft on the wood as you settle next to her.
The papers aren't that thick, her hands gentle and lingering as she hands you a black pen. Can she tell you're tense?
"You really don't want to work, huh?" Her fingers are soft against your hair as she calms you. The answer is yes.
"Just want to spend time with you."
"Soon." She types. The noise feels like it's lasting forever. "I told you there'd be a reward. You tell me if you need to stop."
Your exhale is shaky as you flick through the papers. This is fine.
Why did things feel so perfect last night and so imperfect today? You hate that your body had finally caught up.
The notes scribble on the papers as you work through everything. Silence except for the typing, and an occasional noise from Agatha as she thinks out loud. Alternating between a hum, a chew of a pen and tapping her nails on the wood.
The worry you’d caused yourself dissolving as you sit where you’re supposed to be.
--
After an incomprehensible amount of time in the silence, it's already done. You might have rushed it, but it's probably fine.
You click the pen, handing the documents back towards Agatha. Her eyes dragging slowly from the screen as she decides whether or not she’s ready to look at you.
“Done?”
“Yes.”
Grabbing with her right hand and flicking through with her left. Eyes bright but narrow as they tear over your work.
You blink.
She’s quiet.
Too quiet.
“Hm.”
You swallow.
“Hmm.”
Is it better or worse if you say something?
You shuffle on the ground just a little. Readjusting.
“Stand up.”
“What?”
“Stand. Up.”
You do as your told as she also stands, rising to her feet as you fold your hands in front of you.
“Okay hon. Bend over the desk. Palms on the wood.”
The way the words calmly drip from her lips send a feeling of warmth through your body despite not understanding the context.
Being on the ground for her must have gotten her all worked up. Your back arches, heat under your skin as you try to breathe. The sun on your naked skin through the glass walls.
Agatha fishes around for something in her drawer. Eyes closed and lip between your teeth you try to focus on grounding yourself. Already becoming desperate for her and she'd hardly said two words to you.
"My poor baby." She tickles the curve of your back as her fingernails walk down your spine. "I'm going to punish you now...you already know what you've done wrong, don't you?"
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. "I—yes."
You thought you'd gotten away with it. The drawer closes with a soft noise.
Agatha's hand is warm as she places it on the small of your back, pressing you further into the wood.
"I thought you were a smart girl." She purrs, taking a handful of your ass.
The breath she releases is heavy. You can't tell if that cold feeling on your skin is from your panic or from whatever she's holding.
"Are you not enjoying mommy's hospitality?" Agatha speaks too slowly and much too calmly for someone clearly trying to prove a point. Is this how she talks to everybody who has wronged her, or is this reserved especially for you?
"Silly girl." She tuts."You're already shaking. Brace for me."
The sound of wood on flesh comes before the cry that leaves you, one that is loud and trembling, a hot pain radiating through your ass. Instinctively your hand rushes to your mouth.
"Hands on the table!"
Her tone is entirely different and fuck she's serious. Torn between looking down and looking back at her you catch a glimpse of the wooden ruler in her hands.
"Don't you want to be a good girl for me?" The wood is cool on your skin as she traces the outline of the red on your skin.
"Yes."
It's weak. But it's better than nodding. Another hit in the same spot, the pain much worse than her hand.
Another.
Tears prick in your eyes at the third impact, Agatha coos at the noise as you hold them back. How could you be so dumb?
She knows you went through her computer.
"Fuck! I'm sorry!" You attempt to spill through garbled noises and maybe if she'd move from the same spot this wouldn't be so bad. Tears and saliva spill onto the wooden desk below your face as you try to regulate your breathing. The wet skin on your cheek sticks a little to the desk as you talk.
In trying to find out how dangerous Agatha Harkness is, you seem to have forgotten how you're on a private island with her.
But you'd be lying if you said you weren't soaking wet. What a privilege it is to be at the recieving end of her discipline.
"Nice and red, so pretty like this." Another slap. The stinging has somehow numbed the area a little."How many are we on, baby?"
"I—"
Another.
You jolt forward, pressing into your palms.
"How many?"
You can't tell.
"Six?"
"Five? Oh well that's not very many. I think you can take ten. Don't you think?"
She's taunting you, but you can feel your arousal dripping down your thigh.
"Mayb—"
Another. The sound in your throat is raw and real.
"You will take it. These are the consequences of your actions, see?" Her hand soothes over your skin, fiery and on edge. Goosebumps over the surface as she soothes the hurt with the warmth of her palm. "It'll bruise. So you remember how to behave for me."
She hums as she flicks the ruler in her wrist again. Six or seven?
"I didn't mean to see them. They were open when I—" You sob at the sting. At the overwhelm and the pressing guilt of acting like a jealous teenager.
The ruler leaves your skin as Agatha takes a step back.
You're so focused trying to hold it together you don't realize she's placed it gently back on the desk.
You don't notice the way she looks at your body with her arms crossed and shoulders tense.
"I wasn't even looking for messages I promise I was looking for..."
You trail off. What exactly are you supposed to say next? As if what you were planning on saying made anything better after you searched for her passwords.
The silence is heavy.
"Oh."
You turn your head as she slowly opens her purse. The passion has turned to something new, the air feels different. Worse somehow. A heavy swallow bobs her throat.
And for a second, you don't even know what you've done.
The next few seconds happen too fast to fully process.
Grabbing the contents of her purse, Agatha's fingers tangle viciously in your hair, pulling you up to your feet before you can comprehend what she wants you to do, skin wet and sore and messy.
Her eyes are completely fucking blown, they're so dark and distracting you take a second to register the beautiful black and diamond collar in her hands, a leash in the other.
"This—" she grabs your neck too viciously to be satisfied with your punishment, you wince as she manhandles you "—was supposed to be your reward."
But the collar is around your neck anyway and you're not sure how you're supposed to react while this is happening.
As quick as she pulled you up, you're pushed down to your knees as your increasingly blank brain tries to solve the situation.
Legs firm on the floor and she's already clipping on the leash, pushing you down forcefully like she never has before.
No hand signals. No gentle coo behind harsh words.
Just the hardwood.
"You do not deserve this. Do you understand?" She's dragging you outside before you can protest. You scramble onto your hands and knees to try and match the pace of her already walking, leash in hand as she drags you outside like a disobedient dog.
"Agatha I didn't—"
She stops at your words before you're even down the path, pulling her free hand back and landing a sharp slap across your cheek with the back of her hand. The gasp that leaves your throat almost hurts.
Making her this upset feels worse.
"Do not call me that right now."
With your hands and knees on the gravel, she leads you quickly towards the house.
---
You try to get a good look around as she leads you down a new corridor, it proves to be difficult as she periodically pulls the leash tighter around her hand to keep you close behind her. Hands imprinted thanks to the rocks under your body.
The black door opens silently as she shoves you into the room by the collar, slamming the door behind her.
The lights are dim and red as you try to take in the space. Cages. Benches. Whips. Equipment you don't fully understand. Like the room she first shared with you in her penthouse, but with significantly more budget and privacy.
Your fingers touch the collar as you sit in a puddle of arousal. Agatha says nothing, walking towards the features of the room like she can't quite decide what to do with you, unbuttoning the first few buttons of her shirt, tossing her glasses and rolling up her sleeves.
You should be scared of her right now.
But you're desperate and she is everything.
"I didn't mean to—"
"Quiet!" She yells, yells like she does on the phone or to people she deems unworthy of her time. You flinch at the reaction, such a contrast to last night and the comfort she provided you after she snapped. Her hand raised to silence you.
You nod.
A press of a button. Classical music filling the heavy silence as she slowly wanders back over to you on the ground. The sound of her shoes heavy on the wood.
"I was punishing you..." she laughs in disbelief "...because you made a sloppy, sloppy error on your work."
Oh.
Oh no.
"Now, I did wonder why those notifications didn't come through." The control that's back in her words is impressive given the anger inside of her. "But I suppose that's because you got them."
"Agatha I really didn't mean—"
"I said do NOT call me that right now." Fuck. The word just slipped from your lips. "Now come here."
She points to the ground in front of her and for a second you're almost grateful she isn't shoving you around despite the tenderness in your palms as you crawl across the floor. She didn't specify to, but you suspect if you were to walk normally now she'd lose her shit even more than she already has.
And ultimately, you do deserve it.
"I don't even know where to begin with you." Your head is low when you finally reach her, the leash scraping along the floor as you move until she's able to reach it with her left hand. Her manicured nail points down to the point of her boots. "But you can start with apologizing."
This isn't italian leather and champagne. This is humiliation and punishment. Your tongue meets the boot before she can tell you what to do. Agatha's jaw tightens as she wraps her hand around the leash, her eyes have that unrecognizable look in them she gets sometimes.
You thought maybe you were past that look. That you knew all her looks. But in spite of the heavy exhale that leaves her nostrils you ultimately trust Agatha Harkness. Even if she explicitly told you not to.
You whimper when she pulls your collar so you're forced to look at her.
"Say sorry."
"I'm sorry. Really I—"
Another slap, and fuck this one hurts. Your hand reaching your face in shock. Something falters behind Agatha's expression. You can't tell if it's pity, power or disappointment.
You hope it's not the last one because it is delicious and it is just for you. Nobody else. Not anymore.
"You are on your knees, aren't you? Beg."
"What?" You heard her loud and clear but the words don't register in your head, cloudy as you're still focused on the sting.
"Put your goddamn hands together and beg for my forgiveness."
Leaning back on your knees you do exactly as you're told, pleas of sorry through a cracking voice as your mouth gets wetter and you both know you're trying not to cry more. "Please forgive me. I'm really sorry."
"Please forgive me." She mocks.
"Please. Please. I'm sorry."
"Say please mistress."
"Please mistress."
Your palms press into each hother and you are desperate.
"No."
She's already unclipping the leash and patting the plush bench behind her, retreating to a deep wooden dresser as you climb up onto the soft surface. Legs shaking already as they threaten to betray you.
A beat of anticipation as Agatha returns, one hand loosley grabbing the flared base of a black dildo, the other cracking her knuckles.
"Get on all fours like the dumb little animal you are." She commands as she struts back over to you, the shirt falling slightly off of her shoulder. You try not to gawk at the sight of collarbone when you're so exposed in comparison.
Body reaching you, her fingernails trace your spine gently. Scraping down from your tailbone towards the base of your neck.
You drip onto the bench.
"Let's get this wet, shall we?" Her words are a question but you know it's a demand as she holds the silicone inches from your mouth. The hint of a smirk on her lips as you open your lips to take it in, her eyes on yours. It's thinner than what she wears, and a little shorter.
Your tongue swirls around the toy obediently. You'd be thinking about why this particular size if you weren't so focused on pleasing her.
So when she removes it from your mouth and brings it behind you, the noise of something mechanical starting up alarms you for a second. Closing your eyes to steady your breath as the cool material presses against your entrance. "Disobeying me behind my back, and now look at you."
Agatha's hands hot as she opens you up and you are clearly not very good at being punished because it appears you need no warm up.
"You're this wet from me hurting you? Such a fucking slut for me." Her laugh at the ease it slides into you is masked by your own gasp, filling you slowly, much too slowly and to your disappointment Agatha is unusually silent. She always moans when she first fucks you. Did you mess up that bad?
"You are nothing without me, and you will learn how to behave."
Her hands are off you, her bodyweight away from you and her footsteps coming closer until she's stood directly in front of you. Holding a remote. If you had rational brain, this would be obvious.
"Do you like my toy, pet?" The speed is agonizingly slow and it is not enough.
Punishment.
"Yes."
Your hands are pushing through the leather.
"You broke my trust. Do you know how that feels?"
Guilt and sex is a weird combination and you want to grind back against the toy but you know that'll only make things much, much worse.
"I'm sorry. I'm so—"
One click of a button and the pace increases, not by much but by enough.
"Are you with her? She set you up to this?"
Who? Rio? Zara?
"Nobody...I wouldn't..." You can't speak properly despite her interrogation. Another button click and the speed is finally, finally enough for your mouth to fall open.
"What were you looking at on my computer?"
"Nothing!"
Another click as you clench around the toy. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
"I will ruin you and you will break. Do you understand?"
Another click. Ohmygod.
"You said you didn't care about anything I've done."
"I don't!" You cry but the pace is relentless as it works you open.
"Then why were you snooping through my fucking computer?!"
Back to yelling and back to turningupthemachine—fuck
"Were you going to the board? You want to report me?"
"OhmygodAgatha"
Your fingers are going to tear through this fucking leather as the machine fucks you too fast to have a clear thought.
"If I have to correct you a third time I won't hesitate to shove my cock in your ass right now."
The thought alone is too much to bear as your body goes limp, rocking with the motions of the machine. "I wouldnever...Ineed....Ineed you." Slurs out.
"Then what were you looking for?"
Your response is one long groan and reluctantly, she reduces the speed, it's easier but it's still not quite enough.
"Anything! Answers to anything!" You spit, hair sticking to your face.
Slower now as it slips in and out.
"I saw your...messages with Rio...that's all...about...the gala."
Slower.
"Which is on...the eighth."
Any opportunity to be her best assistant.
"You are a stupid, reckless girl for messing with my things like that."
She stops the toy altogether and although it wasn't reaching quite the right spot for you the feeling of nothing is far much worse. Legs shaking as she returns behind you and slips it off of the machine.
You could collapse, body aching. Staying still until she tells you to move.
"You said you didn't care."
"I don't."
You don't.
"Then why were you looking?"
"I just want to know."
Your tongue is too dry for a real swallow.
"So you're nosy."
She's wandering back over to that damned dresser, hands in the air, her fingers wiggling in anticipation of what she'll choose next.
"Yes." You admit, it comes out empty. Weaker when you see her eyes fall to a short riding crop mounted on the wall. Jesus christ.
"I think—" she's reaching for it under the red lights "—we should make the rest of that pretty ass just as red. To match the other side."
The "no" that leaves you is pleading and shallow.
Agatha halts.
"Are you safewording?"
The next "no" is stronger, because it has to be.
She looks like she was born to hold that leather and stand over you with it in her hands.
You need it. You need her.
"Then you'll do what I fucking want you to do, won't you? Turn around. Clean up the mess you've made on my bench."
That sentence shouldn't be so hot and it takes a moment for your body to listen to you until you're face to face with the puddle on the bench, lapping up your own mess as Agatha dips the end of the crop against your neglected clit. A full body shiver up your spine as it finally gets some attention.
"Let me see your thighs tremble." The leather brushes softly where she didn't touch earlier as she taunts the curve of your ass.
WIth the flick of her wrist, she's already claiming the rest of you and fuck it hurts much more than the ruler. For a second the sinful thought that you may exist soley to be both hurt and cared for by Agatha Harkness crosses your mind.
"So curious aren't you?" Her tone is dark and depraved, watching the marks appear on your skin. Your body covered in goosebumps and shaking for her. It's almost too much, leather on skin all controlled in one area.
“Hurts" is all you can muster up, arms too weak to keep you on all fours as your chest sinks to the plush material under you.
Agatha gives a patronizing "aw" before she's tracing the tip of the leather against your back. "It's supposed to hurt. Why do you need to know everything. Doesn't it get boring?" She offers, her voice languid and she is really enjoying dragging this out.
Why do you need to know everything?
Because your thoughts are consumed with this woman? Because you're undoubtably having deep and unthinkable feelings for someone you don't fully know? Because her laugh is perfect and her nose crinkles and she's the only person you want to pray to?
The soft thoughts contrast your fingernails digging into the leather like some kind of perverted fantasy, your boss punishing you for snooping of all things.
"I just want to."
Is easier than a confession of obsession and it is the wrong answer, the crop coming down but you moan instead of sob and Agatha likes that far too much.
"...What if I don't want to ruin your little romantic fantasy?"
Those words feel much too sincere for this. This isn't just a fantasy. Agatha holds you and gives you her t-shirts and talks about taking you to her family home. She can't ruin it.
"You can't. I don't...I don't care..."
She barks a laugh.
The energy shifts, just a little but the silence that follows is noticeable, like the moment right before a break up or an argument you know you can't come back from.
The second when you and your ex are in bed, staring at the ceiling knowing you just said the exact thing she didn't want to hear.
And you couldn't take it back.
Agatha knows she won't be able to take her next words back.
"Okay...fine."
You brace, mentally and physically as the crop teases your clit again, your body easing into the feeling. Trust. Breathing heavy, steady.
Agatha swallows.
"Some of the money that paid for this island, I took from the company pension fund. Under the radar of course. Cut the budget. Took it for myself."
You should hate that. You would hate that. You would have hated that? Just recently. God who are you? You should hate that but the sensation against your body, the sound of her boots on the wooden floor and the sweet sound of classical music provokes only one thought.
"I don't care."
The crop comes down hard on your ass, like she's trying to get you to care.
"You should care. That was very bad of mommy, wasn't it? I always take a little extra than I say I do. I love buying shit too much to let anyone else have anything." Her words are a mixture of arrogance and anger. "Except for you of course, my special girl."
And Agatha truly has her claws in you, because all you can think is—
"I don't care."
You swallow, a hoarse cry leaving your lips when the blow comes down, thinking of the marks this will leave.
You want them. You want all of them.
"That stupid man, he's looking everywhere for me. Ha. My people are finding him right now...or they're trying to. Who knew a man so big and ugly could hide so easily..." the crop drops to the floor. Her hands are soothing over your bruises as they form. "...mommy sold him a building she knew wasn't safe. Polished it up so she could charge four times the price."
Her fingers find your desperate clit, slowly and agonizingly as she talks. "No reason really. More money. More entertainment. Turns out he has some verrrrry angry business partners." Her words are stretched out as she toys with you and this doesn't feel real.
This doesn't feel real.
"Whoopsie! Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"'I don't...I don't care..." You moan against her precise and familiar fingers and you aren't even aware of what you're saying, you just know you need her and there's nothing she could say that would scare you away from her.
"Luckily the police are in my pocket, so there's nothing really he can do." She dips a finger into you to collect your wetness. It's unnecessary. You can feel it down your thighs.
"Bought this poor kid's business a few years ago, just to kill it—" the sound of her belt unbuckling causes your cunt to throb like a conditioned animal "—was a good idea too. But it might affect business. What's a gal to do?"
The belt drops to the ground.
"It wasn't a good look. Luckily all my lovely little charities wiped that slate squeaky clean. Which was needed between the assistants I fucked and the staff I laid off and the lawsuits I was drowning in..." her words are too casual and she's suddenly too comfortable. Your ears focus on the sound of her boots dropping empty on the floor. "...the tax shelter is a nice little bonus too."
"You care about the charities. I know you do." The last of your energy lets you look over your shoulder just as she's securing herself into a new strap. The toy in the harness sits heavy on her hips larger than what she usually wears and attached to a—
She grabs a bottle of fluid from the dresser before returning to your already exhausted and trembling skin that's still starving for her touch. Her actual touch.
"I never force people into these situations you know. That's what's so silly." Her tone feels almost playful as the bench rocks, the feeling of her body leaning over yours, you're too easy to maneuver as she grabs and positions you. Pinning your legs between hers as you lay face down boneless and exhausted. "They basically put themselves in these positions."
The soft skin of your ass is tender as she lines her cock up with her prize. You didn't try to run. You didn't even use your safeword. You just lay there and did nothing.
The thick tip presses against you as she positions her entire body over yours, the fabric of her shirt pressed flat against your back as she slips inside of you with one fim thrust. The familiar groan you'd do anything for slipping from her lips.
No resistance despite it being much thicker, and of course Agatha notices, laughing as you're willingly trapped face-down beneath her.
As if you'd want to be anywhere else. Even after this.
"Is this turning you on? That's disgusting. I didn't think you'd take this so easily."
Her body flush against yours as your moans get lost in hers, whimpers hot in your ear as she rolls her hips, helpless under her. Despite the words she's confessed to you, all you feel is immense relief. Intimacy as her hips slap against the sweat on your skin.
"You feel so fucking good baby. You always feel so—still so tight for me all worn out like this." A kiss on your neck becomes a lick until your earlobe is between her teeth.
"I want all of you." You confess, her breath warm as you turn as much as you can to see her. "I want everything."
"You don't want everything."
This is not the time for her to deny you, but you should know this is not the time for you to get all your answers. Not when she's fucking you deeper than she ever has, passion and force and pinning you down with her bodyweight as the bench rocks.
But you know there is no other time. It's now or never.
"Agatha—fuck— did you—"
She doesn't correct you, not anymore. Blissed out as she kisses the back of your neck with wet lips. Her hips are at the perfect angle as she moans, her sweat on yours, shirt sticking against your shoulder blades. Lost in her. Lost in you. Your depraved question comes out as moan.
"Is it—ah— true...?"
Would you a year ago would run from you now?
Fuck. There's that spot, her grunts are shallow and they are perfect.
"About—about what they—fuck—said you did—"
Her slack jaw purses into a sly smile, unsure whether to tell you what you want to hear or whether she'll finally scare you off.
But she's already inside of you. In every place.
"My team offered to do it for me..." a tentative roll of her hips. You stutter as you try to stay silent. "But men can be so clumsy..."
Fuck.
"...Poison is very delicate."
You swallow as she halts movement entirely. Waiting for your response. Waiting for you to run. Deep down, you already knew it was true. And your words don't surprise you anymore.
"I don't care."
You know she deserved it but you do not want to think about Agatha's mother right now all you want to think about is the woman on top of you. The woman who trusts you enough to tell you what you want to know.
Instead of being repulsed you feel unfathomably close to her. In response, Agatha grabs your hands, pinning you down by them, pressing onto you until you're completely flat under her weight. Something plastic in her left hand as it merges with your own.
"That's for you, if you want it." She rolls her hips as you gasp, hips stuttering as she's already losing composure "fuck you take me so well".
"I want it." Your own tone is violent, desperate and unrecognizable.
"You still want my come baby? Even after everything?"
Fuck. Fuck of course you fucking do.
"I want it" You beg, right at the edge.. "I'm sorry for snooping I want it. I— I want you. Please."
Her groans are raw and animalistic in your ear as she sets a faster pace, the push of her hips slapping against the raw skin of your ass. "You're mine, you know that? This pretty body is mine. Every part of it."
"Yours." The thought is enough to push you over the edge. "Please—fuck—please."
"Let me feel it baby, gonna come so deep in you. Fuckfuck—"
Her body jerks as she cries out, stuttering her hips inside of you as your vision blurs, her hand wrapped around yours as she presses down, pumping her come into you. Clenching and throbbing as she forces a few deep thrusts to make sure it doesn't spill out.
"Jesus christ sweetheart."
Agatha's body collapses onto yours, twitching and panting. Hands wrapped around your own as your breathing struggles to return to normal. If you were trapped under her forever, you'd live.
"I forgive you." She whispers, letting you settle before she pulls out dangerously slowly. You muster a croaky "thank you".
Agatha's legs tremble as she stands off of the bench, dropping the harness to the ground and eventually grabs some lotion and a towel robe. She had these the whole time? Did she just want to see you in her t-shirt?
Her feet are slow on the walk back, taking a while to reach you. It gives you enough time to breathe, at least. You lay still a little longer, her skin on yours when she returns. Letting your body finally relax as her fingers spread you open to watch the come trickle onto the table.
"Hm look at that. I should do that before a meeting. Have you cross your pretty legs in front of the board."
The thought would be enough to set you off if you weren't already limp.
"You're trembling, honey." Her hands are soft on your waist as she helps you sit up, pulling the towel robe around your body, the rough material grounding and comforting, hair sticking to your forehead.
Agatha's cheeks are flushed and her shirt creased as she takes you in, she is beautiful but your brain is dizzy and distant like you can't quite process anything.
The tears start before you can stop them.
"I'm sorry, about snooping I really am."
Like that's the worst thing that was said today.
"Hey, you're alright. You're okay. I—" standing before you, she wraps her hands around you, shuffling you to the edge of the bench so you're flush against her chest. Her heartbeat comforting in your ear. "—I forgive you. You took your punishment so well, you're such a perfect girl."
You nuzzle against her chest as she runs one hand through her hair. "I can't believe I just told you that. Fuck."
Her body stiffens. A swallow.
"…Don't run from me...please don't run from me."
You pull her in tighter, closer as she soothes your back with the palm of her hand.
"I'm not running."
"I want to be good."
Her own eyes are glassy.
"I know."
Agatha holds you for so long, you almost sleep pressed up against her.
--
A phenomenal shower, a lotion and a plain white t-shirt later you're lured to the kitchen at the promise of a hot meal. The food would go down a treat, especially with the staff Agatha has. The food is always amazing.
The conversation after the comedown died, feeling both fictional and inevitable. You should feel sick processing it, but you strangely feel...nothing at all.
Perhaps it'll hit later. Perhaps you really, truly don't care. Slipping Agatha's t-shirt over your head and boxers around your waist, knowing the iceberg of things she'd been keeping from you makes you feel special of all things.
Maybe you should unpack that tomorrow.
The floor is warm with underfloor heat as you make your way from her bedroom to the kitchen. Your cortisol spikes when you see Agatha stood over the burner, a sweater and shorts on her frame.
She's cooking.
"There you are." She processes how you struggle to get comfortable on the barstool. "I'm making spaghetti."
"You're cooking?"
"Well there's nobody else here and i'm certainly not going to get you do it. You're bearly awake and its just gone five."
"Long day."
Understatement of the century.
She takes a beat to read a recipe book she has balanced next to the stovetop, a carnage of seasonings crammed next to it. Red stuff spilled on the counter.
"I can make it, pasta sauce is just a few ingredients."
She snaps the pasta in half. You wince.
"No. I'm making it..." She clears her throat like the words are caught in it" ... I—uh...I want to take care of you." She says it like she hasn't been practising saying that in her head, but the delivery of the sentence has some weight to it.
The sweater sits too loose around her neck as she grabs a wooden spoon and goes to town on the sauce. The heat is way too high. You don't want to backseat cook. Is the water even boiling properly? Oh god.
"Christ I miss the chef. I don't know why I thought I could be here on my own..." Suddenly the book is slammed shut and shoved against the wall with a loud THUD that makes you jump out of your skin.
"Bug. Bug on the wall. Got him. Weird freak looking thing." In her bug-killing zone she hasn't noticed the sauce spitting hot liquid all over the wall. "Agatha the fucking—" you're on your feet before you can stop yourself, turning off the heat. The red liquid half on the backsplash and the other burnt to the bottom of the pan.
"We can just have the pasta." She offers with a quiet voice. Is she embarrassed?
"Sure. Did you salt the water?"
The water isn't boiling. It's a gentle simmer and is too small for the spaghetti.
"That wasn't in the book."
Upon closer inspection, the book covered in dead bug is for gourmet cooking and old as fuck. Her groan is long and heavy like a petulant teenager, stamping her foot on the ground.
You go into fixing mode instantly. "I was going to say we could order something but you know, island."
"I have some pre-made stuff in the freezer. For when I'm alone."
Oh? Then why is she bothering at all?
"There's probably a pizza. Nothing super fancy, last time I was here it was only for a day or so, it'll be with whatever we had leftover. They're easy to freeze."
"That's perfect."
Pulling open the massive freezer, Agatha pulls out the fanciest frozen pizza you've ever seen. Turning on the oven, you make sure she isn't blasting it at 500 degrees top shelf.
"Do you want a soda? I have stuff in the fridge." Cherry Coke seems to be the only thing she has in her fridge, aside from half a block of cheese and a bottle of vodka. She eyes it. "Or a martini."
"Soda is good." The cool condensation in your hands while grabs herself one. "I didn't know if you'd like this, it's not as sweet as the other stuff."
"It's exactly what I need, to be honest." A satisfying pop as you pull the tap. She's putting a glass in front of you before you can drink from the can.
"Don't drink from those, you don't know where they've been." You nod, letting her help you as she takes it from your hands and begins pouring. The glass shallow for whiskey, not quite big enough for the whole soda.
"So..." She starts, pouring her own soda into a glass. "...I have a big couch in the other room. TV. Maybe like, seven DVDs."
What the fuck is happening right now? You seem to have unlocked dating bonus features.
"Are you suggesting a movie and a pizza? Are you okay?"
"Yeah that's what I'm suggesting. But if you make it a big deal i'll throw all the dvds into the sea. Maybe they’ll meet your jeans.”
She's already out of the room assuming that you'll follow her. No timer set for the food which means you'll inevitably have to keep an eye on the time.
You scramble off the stool and following her into the den.
--
The couch is enormous, essentially a bed you can both lay on along with two other people if they were here. Thankfully they aren’t.
Soft lights and a television disguised as a painting. The fur rug is soft on your feet, and the blankets she has neatly rolled up near the arm don't stay so organized as you pull one over yourself.
Pizza and a movie is a date you've done a hundred times. But not like this. Agatha is Agatha, with a pizza covered in balsamic glaze, a blanket made of cashmere and a black and white French movie.
You don't bring any attention to it. This is just her, like everything else is.
Unfortunately, despite wanting this moment since you first showed up at her penthouse, your eyelids feel heavy. You aren't surprised, not really. This has been a very long few days but you're desperate to stay awake. To absorb this with her. What if she doesn't want to do it again? What if she only wants to make you fly in helicopters and go to the opera?
Right now you're able to snuggle into her soft sweater, the cherry perfume on her neck in your nose and her warmth on your own.
You take a risk, but after today it feels less stressful and more undeniable, wrapping your arm over her as you cuddle into her. She tenses for a moment before you can almost hear her brain telling her to relax.
Your eyes close....
No! Wake up. Wake up. Focus. What's happening in the movie? Maybe she didn't notice. You don't want her to think you aren't interested.
Agatha pulls some of the blanket over herself to stop you hogging it like a burrito. "Is it the French? Are the subtitles boring you?" her words feel sincere and no! Not at all!
"No I swear, i'm just so sleepy."
"Oh. It's almost over." Her hand tentatively reaches around you, pulling you in closer and as much as you want this it is not helping your tiredness.
"I can translate. Close your eyes."
"Hm. Translate." You shuffle closer to her.
"Oh, I lie now and then, I suppose. Sometimes I'd tell them the truth and they still wouldn't believe me, so I prefer to lie."
She swallows as she finishes the sentence and that one was maybe a little close to home, you reach the last slice of cold pizza when she makes no attempt to eat it.
"I like that you speak lots of languages." You start, waking yourself up to avoid her thinking too long about today. "We can go anywhere and you can talk for me."
She raises an eyebrow. "You're a smart girl. You can talk for yourself. I can get you lessons."
You roll your eyes.
"Stop that."
"Or what?"
"I'll take you back down the hall." She points towards the doorway.
"Oh noooo. Don'tttt." The cheese threatens to fall off the pizza.
Her tongue pokes her cheek before her face softens, you can tell she's thinking deeply about what she wants to say. "Do you still want to go places with me?" She asks and her voice feels smaller than it usually does.
"I meant what I said. It wasn't just the sex." The French continues in the background, you'll be missing the end of this movie. "You do what you have to do."
You don't mention the things she does clearly for power and entertainment. How do you rationalize them to yourself? To her? Are they really that big of a deal? Are they any worse than firing half the office and manipulating her assistants? Both of which you've dismissed before.
You don't care as much as maybe you should. Maybe it's because of her eyes and the lines around her lips when she smiles. You just know you want to be here.
"You're in this now. You know that, right?"
She shuffles up in the seat, separating herself from you. Wanting to look right at you when she talks. You reach for your glass of soda to wash the pizza down.
"What will happen to him, the man?" You ask as the liquid relaxes the lump threatening to clog your throat.
"We're hoping to pay him off."
You place the empty glass on the coffee table to the side of the couch. Knowing the answer to your next question. Not fully understanding how you feel about it.
"...and what if he doesn't take it."
She smiles like she doesn't know what to tell you.
"He will. It's a big offer."
And if he doesn’t…
The film comes to an end behind you, the credits rolling. The room is darker than you realized with the curtains closed, the lack of movie highlights it. The white of the credits glowing on her skin.
"Is that why..." Um. How do you word this. "Zara..."
"No." She cuts you off before you can figure out how to say it. "She doesn't know about any of that. She just wanted to expose my interactions with my assistants." She shuffles in her seat, adjusting her legs and removing lint from her sweater. "Which may I add were all consensual. I didn't force anyone to do anything they didn't want to do."
"Hey. No baby I know." You reach for her. "We'll figure it out. I can help you now, I mean. if you need it. You can talk to me."
Her lip settles between her teeth. "Where did you come from?" Agatha's hands find your face as she pulls you closer. Her lips on yours softly, a claim and a promise, scooting closer to you when she breaks contact.
"Your millionth job interview." You laugh.
"If I interviewed you myself I wouldn't have made it so long without touching you." You swallow as she pulls you onto her lap. Heat under your clothes. Will you always want her this badly?
"We'll fly back in a day or so. I'll handle it then."
Your eyes widen. "A day? I didn't bring clothes."
"Whaaaat? I totally didn't know that." She slams herself back against the couch cushions, pulling you with her. "There's nobody else here except perimeter security." You wobble on her lap, your hands on her shoulders.
So there is security. Hm. They must be good at hiding. Did they see her dragging you down the path earlier? Your stomach coils.
She purses her lips, sucking her cheeks in.
"You really won't learn French, when we go to France?"
You pull her into a kiss, hands on the sharp curve of her jaw. A shit-eating grin on your face when you pull away.
"You want to take me to France."
Behind the couch it's easy to spot a half-eaten bag of chips and a glass of water. Sleeping pills next to them. Did she sleep here last night?
Her eyes are tired when your gaze finds hers again. It can't be later than seven.
"When this is all over...I'll take you there. Deal?"
"Deal." You agree.
No more secrets.
"Now..." She begins, voice cracking as she eases you off of her and back onto the soft material beneath you. "...How about something in English so if you rest your eyes it doesn't matter."
"I didn't realize you had anything in English." You pull the blanket up to your chin as Agatha rocks the couch, heading over to the TV to remove the disc.
"I have uh..." she pulls open her small collection. Probably the classics. Something elegant. Gone with the Wind. Breakfast At Tiffany's? "...The Craft or The Exorcist."
You sit bolt upright.
"I can't sleep through either of those!"
"Yes you can. I do it all the time."
"You're going to absorb them into your subconscious."
She puts the French disc back in the case. "I already do. You wanna see me spin my head all the way round?"
The giggle that leaves you plants the biggest smile on her face. "I puke up green stuff too, I just have my people clean it. Just all the time puking up green stuff. Can't stop."
"You are gross." But you're smiling. She's smiling.
"I'm getting another soda. You want another?" She still hasn't chosen a DVD but you'll get nightmares if you watch that one before bed. Instead grabbing her empty glass from the arm of the couch.
"Sure. Yeah thank you." You reach for your own, handing it to her.
"You're welcome hon."
Her eyes linger on you a second too long as she leaves the room, not quite knowing where this new chapter leaves the two of you.
@idonutevnno @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @deathbylesbianwitches @angelxblink @sapphicandgraphic @wwwtonikixxes @z3mos @chloeelou02x @peskygremlin @seaoflittlefires @ughidunn0 @three3ofswords @langeskovstg1 @mommy-mommy-mommy-hi @agathaspett @starrgirll05 @wifehahn @angel-kitten-babygirl-u-choose @lowlyjelly @ladyd8
Hello my darlings sorry for the delay of this chapter omg! Life has been crazy recently but I was so excited for this chapter, it changes a lot of things and pushes us into the next act of their relationship. Domestic Harkness anyone?
It's also been 1 year since ER released originally and it's been a fun ride, would love to know what your favorite moment has been so far? Lots of love <3
CEO Agatha Harkness x Reader Rich Boss x Submissive Assistant AU
Other parts & Tip jar
Word count: 10k
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, power dynamics, implied toxic relationship, d/s dynamics, absurd mean sugar mommy behavior, Agatha is emotionally constipated but trying, themes of corruption, jealousy & obsessive thoughts. No smut but references to past sex. Themes of stalking and watching through hidden cameras. Crime.
Broken down day after to day with exhaustion, controlled with sex and expensive gifts, tracked and trained and crawling on your hands and knees to the point of helping her commit a crime. A petty crime, but still a crime and your old-money romance love story may not be as wholesome as you had daydreamed about when you first started watching her through the glass.
No missed calls. No notifications.
Agatha Harkness dropped off the face of the earth approximately seven hours ago. Your message app flooded with outgoings from you.
"What's happening?"
"Where are you?"
"I'm scared."
"Can you tell me where you are????"
"Hello???"
And nothing from her. Not even a read receipt.
The first few hours before sleep were the worst. Stumbling through the front door in some kind of hectic rush you couldn't quite understand. Scrambling to lock it behind you in a state of fear and confusion.
The place empty despite having two roommates now, expecting them to be squished in this apartment that certainly isn't big enough for the three of you.
Your sheets between your fingers as you tried to sink beneath the covers, calling her once. Twice. Calling her fifteen times. Never answering and never replying. Thoughts overcrowding your head about the day, about the night, the club. About Agatha. About her secrets. About the threat she's apparently under for something you don't even understand and can't even ask about.
Insecurity followed shortly after. Whether she's not getting back to you out of choice. Why she dropped you here instead of taking you with her to her mystery location.
Should you even go into work? How would that work when the person you're assisting isn't even in the office? How do you explain this to the people asking for her in your email inbox?
So, you react the same way any other person would react. Googling her In your bed as you face the wall. Trying to find some news that isn't just business or a gala. Nothing. Trying to fall asleep. Imagining some kind of flickering red light coming from your dresser.
Thinking about her room, her view and her lap beneath you as the events of the day slowly force you into sleep.
--
At seven in the morning you're already awake without an alarm. Heart pounding and dehydration shoving your eyes open before you have the chance to realize where you are. And who you're without.
Back in a place you knew you'd have to return to someday, but not yet. Not now and certainly not like this.
The silence that follows the sound of you chugging water is as deafening as Agatha's helicopter.
Peace and a moment of allowing your brain to actually, really think for once. Without someone swaying you, manipulating you and tracking your phone.
A moment where it's just you and the low count cotton thread under your skin. It's rougher than you remember and the air is mustier. The bleach from the laundromat downstairs makes its way up the building, the smell subtle but present.
Is this what it's like to be one of the rest? Did they get swept up in an almost-romantic whirlwind, wined and dined and restrained only to be discarded on the roadside? Did they Google her afterwards? Did their firing come from her directly or a generic email?
Were they this attached to her too?
Agatha Harkness had come into your life as your boss. Your hot boss yes, who you may have watched a few too many times after bringing her coffee. But your boss nonetheless. Someone who you admired for her business reputation and fantastically crisp shirts.
You'd never expected yourself to get so caught up in her antics so quickly you couldn't even realize what was happening. Broken down day after to day with exhaustion, controlled with sex and expensive gifts, tracked and trained and crawling on your hands and knees to the point of helping her commit a crime. A petty crime, but still a crime and your old-money romance love story may not be as wholesome as you had daydreamed about when you first started watching her through the glass.
But your fingers shake over the phone again, checking for a notification. Checking for the check mark that means she's at least glanced your way. Tapping your finger on the Getty image of her attached to her contact info and god she looks beautiful.
How could you ever question her actions when she looks like that and tells you that you're special?
She must be safe, you know she must be. Surely. With all the security buzzing around her like flies.
Your body aches as you stretch it, stepping out of the bed and trying to pick out a work outfit. Maybe it would look more weird if you didn't show up for work.
You're still not really sure if this is allowed to be public or not. If people would ask questions.
So, you try your best to look normal. To hide the marks on your neck yet again and wear something appropriate, but not too expensive. Taking the subway despite the unlimited credit card in your purse and playing it cool.
Maybe Agatha just got into a misunderstanding with that man and his friends. Maybe she's talking it out with them right now, too busy to get back to you.
But she will.
You know she will.
---
The sun is shining more than it has in weeks, the temperature a little warmer today and the craving for a cherry latte is as strong as ever. The office is empty and anxious as always, probably waiting for her to show up and glare at people.
Those around you use the instant coffee machine in the kitchenette and talk about their weekend plans, checking every now and again to see if their big scary boss is here yet.
You do too, but you know it's not for the same reasons.
The chair beneath you spins as you boot up the computer. It hums a little too loud, meaning it probably needs an update. If it were last year you'd have been all too thankful, letting it waste the workday for you.
But now you need something to take your mind off of everything, it's less fun and more annoying. You should have just stayed home and watched TV.
As you click the update button your eyes fall to the loading bar at the bottom of the screen. Maybe it'll pass quickly.
1%
You spin around on the chair, antsy and trying not to think of last night. How your perfect two-day-hot-billionaire-dating-experience was cut short by a sweaty man you don't recognize.
2%
You check your phone again. Nothing.
3%
You turn your phone off and on, just to be safe.
4%
Still nothing.
5%
People filter through the elevator, heading behind their desks and getting ready to waste their morning with this update and why is the wifi so slow right now?
6%
Your eyes pull to the glass walls of her office. Brightly lit with the sun through the gigantic windows she pushed you up against when you stayed late. How her skin felt against yours for the first time. When you realized this could be something more. When she realized she still couldn't stay away from her assistants because you're somehow too damn special.
7%
The chair the others make fun of against the mahogany desk she'd hit your head on when she bent you over it, so you could help her unwind like any good assistant would. The one you hid under when you found out she wasn't as innocent as you thought she was.
8%
The curtains that hang thick around the glass walls that offer privacy. The ones that shielded you when you first got on your knees for her, finishing your work only for her to destroy it out of jealousy.
9%
How long is this going to take?
10%
The clock ticks on, and the craving for coffee, or the smell of Agatha –you aren't sure which, is still at the back of your throat. Now would be a good time to go get it.
But what if she shows up?
You think back to the panic on her face, the sadness as she apologized to you unprompted.
She's probably handling it right now, and she'll absolutely let you know when she'll be at work.
Won't she?
--
As always, you try not to bump into Zara in the elevator, and as always the problems of having Agatha so intertwined with your life just seem to keep coming and continue to intensify. So much so it's easy to forget that Zara was the enemy to begin with.
Back when your problems were about what time train you'd get home from work and what kind of microwave meal you'd have for dinner.
You haven't had to eat one in too long, and the thought is doing the opposite of making your mouth water.
The elevator ride is smooth, with a soft 'ding' when it reaches the city, the lobby empty and quiet, maybe even too quiet as your shoes echo along the ground.
What if she she never comes back? What if she does come back, but things are different? What if somebody asks where she is, aren't you supposed to know?
You push the thoughts to the back of your head, focused on the well-dressed businessmen forming a line at the coffee store. More new iced specials on the menu as the barista makes four flat whites back to back.
Apple cinnamon iced latte. Sounds delicious, and maybe if you weren't so obsessed with the smell of the crook of her neck you'd order it, but you ask for the cherry without having a second thought.
Another check of the phone just in case she's back and she needs anything.
Nothing.
You reach into your purse to pay when the total is read out, fumbling around for some cash and finding only the solid metal of Agatha's credit card. Remembering her words.
"You do know I get notifications about that card, don't you?"
Maybe this is how you get her to see you, to reply to you. To tell you something, anything.
And you pay with her card.
Still no text. Still no anything. But you know she's seen it, you know she's felt some type of way about it.
Unless the coffee isn't enough. Maybe you need more. More purchases more money, more notifications. Stopping in the street as you suck the cherry coffee up the straw, your eyes scan for a store nearby. There are only a few in this area, mostly places that sell sandwiches bars and soda.
But maybe that'll do for now.
You hold the drink by your side as you cross the street, trying not to drop it as you head into the store, not wanting the cashier to see you holding a coffee. Maybe you should have read if they allow beverages in here. Maybe you don't even care.
Your eyes are on the shelves, stuck between looking down at the phone in your hand and the items on display. Waiting for her to react. Tasting the cherry on your tongue.
You grab a candy bar. You grab three. It's almost too much to carry. A Coke. A hand basket so you can fill it with more Coke. Fuck it. You head to the next section of the store, aware of the time.
It's almost hilarious when your eyes catch it.
There, on the magazine shelf. The latest issue of Forbes, is Agatha Harkness. Stood like she owns the world on the front cover, a crisp black suit and her cheekbones as sharp as ever.
You remember signing her up for this. You didn't think you'd get to see it, not keeping up to date with the releases of these things but jesus christ maybe you could ask her to wear this suit again too.
"Steel and strategy. Inside the Agatha Harkness empire."
Steel and strategy. They forgot the stealing part.
The gloss of the magazine is smooth against your finger tips before you even notice you're touching it. Staring at it like you're in some kind of trance.
Maybe it's how fantastic she looks in that outfit, or maybe it's the whirlwind of waiting and not fully understanding her or her motivations. How she's here on the cover of this magazine like some kind of business enigma and you ate Chinese food in her bed just a few days ago.
So naturally, you buy that too. Taking everything to the cashier and trying to stack it all gently on the counter.
The man doesn't greet or acknowledge you in any way. It's a relief really, giving you time to drown in your own thoughts of her. Of what to do next. Of what happened last night. Of the purple lights of that strange odd place.
Of her face when she let you go out of the car.
She's fine, isn't she? She's safe? The thought feels too big for your head. Of course she is. It's a misunderstanding. You already told yourself that one. It's something she doesn't want you wrapped in for her convenience. She might cheat at poker, but that doesn't mean she'd actually scam that guy, right?
--
You transfer the store haul to your work bag when you're back at the desk, keeping them for later and most importantly check your phone one last time before opening a candy bar. She must have gotten that notification too.
But still no message, and it's still empty in here from the mass-firing she's committed in her of jealous rage.
The chocolate is a little melted from how warm it is in the office today, the AC must not be working correctly and you're not sure who to talk to in order to get that fixed.
Agatha's office is probably cool. It's probably on a different system, you think. Only the best for her. But there's no way you could be in her office without her. Somebody would surely notice, they'd say something. They'd start talking.
So you plop down the melty latte and the magazine and look about as busy as the people chatting next to the coffee machine. Everybody seems relieved Agatha isn't in today. You could at least try to blend in. To pretend you feel the same.
You could at least try to hide that you're looking at an A4 glossy photograph of her stood serious and dominant in a pantsuit with perfectly painted lips that have kissed yours, and a visible inch of the hand that grabs you like she can't keep herself away from you.
Like a little secret. You do want to be public with her, but you'd be lying if you said this wasn't kind of exciting when your co-workers know nothing. They've never seen the sides of her you have.
Everybody else in the magazine is irrelevant to you as you skip through the pages. People you kind of recognize from event lists and most people you don't. Then you find it. The double page spread.
She looks even better here if that's possible. Two large photographs of her and a full interview. It's no wonder almost every woman who's worked for her has ended up under her. She's everything.
There's a variety of questions, from "how do you decide what areas are best to develop?" to "how has technology impacted your industry?" It's almost boring, if it wasn't for your 'only medium evil billionaire' staring back from the photographs as the chocolate melts under your touch.
"At a certain level of wealth, what continues to motivate you?"
Her answer is neat and practiced underneath:
"What motivates me is making a difference. Using my influence to support charities, to build places that people really care about."
The laugh is caught in your throat as you take a poorly timed bite. She fails to mention the properties, island, yacht and inconceivably expensive diamond necklace that's currently on your bedside table. The money she threw at you as you knelt before her, and didn't even bother collecting before leaving.
"You've maintained a low public profile, is that intentional?"
Yes. Because of her awful reputation. Because of the stack of NDAs and rumors surrounding her. Because she hates people.
"I prefer to focus on the work. I show up when needed, to support local events and meet clients. I'm uninterested in being a public figure."
She says from a magazine.
"What does a typical day look like for you?"
Waking up. Working. Fucking her assistant over the desk to calm down from being late again. Yelling at at least four people before three pm. Too much alcohol. Cheating at casino games. Getting all riled up from the power of closing a deal, dramatically flipping her hair over her shoulders, eating with her mouth open and falling asleep face down snoring on the silk sheets.
"I'm an early riser. I like to take some time to focus on the tasks of the day. Reading or walking in the morning. A healthy breakfast. Coffee of course! I make sure i'm productive all day by staying off of my phone, and I like to unwind with a podcast in the evening."
Ha! And lying, it would seem.
You close the magazine. Aside from the images this could be an interview from anybody. She's good at this press thing. It makes you wonder about the words she'd said in the car. About buying a PR company to clean her slate. But damn, from what exactly?
And why is none of this putting you off of her the way it should?
The rest of the day moves past at a reasonable pace. Some emails you forward to her. Googling lunch places nearby out of curiosity, googling her penthouse and gawking at the $250 million price tag which is so far out of reach it doesn't even feel like a real number. Googling what a pangolin is when you hear someone mention one across the room. It's some kind of creature. Nobody is productive, and you still have to RSVP to her gala at the end of the month.
---
Getting home feels like you're back too early, despite this being the time you used to leave the office. Before her asking you to leave late. Before helping you with chopsticks and testing your limits by delivering blackmail money.
The smell of tomato sauce hits you as soon as you open the heavy door. Jazz and giggling from the far end of the room. Your heart jumps for a second. Your poor, dumb little heart. For a split second imagining the same Agatha Harkness from the shallow Forbes interview in your apartment making you a surprise dinner. Spinning you around the kitchen like you're in a rom-com.
But if you felt like this wasn't really your home before, now it certainly doesn't. Jake feeding his pretty girl counterpart with a wooden spoon. She's in pink PJs. And are those throw pillows on your couch?
Maggie has truly already moved in. And it seems she owns the place.
She takes a step back as you close the door behind you, trying to make your presence obvious so they don't start canoodling or something.
Jake's face is nothing short of displeased, but she looks friendly and excited to see you. If you didn't feel like you were haunting your own apartment maybe you wouldn't be so upset having a potential new friend.
After all, the only person you talk to is an avoidant anti-social socialite.
The apartment isn't just prettier, it's clean. She's taken out the trash, cleaned the mug collection and lit a scented candle. You'd be actually excited to cook in it if they weren't hogging the appliances and the tiny space.
"Hi roomie!" Maggie holds out her arms as she walks over to you, pulling you into an awkward hug that must be weird for her too. "Jakie and I were about to watch a movie and have some pasta, you wanna join? There’s extra. I always make way too much food!”
"Babe she doesn't." He's already butting in before you can process her calling him Jakie. Barf. It’s bizarre that she’s with this man. Run, girl. His socks are more holes than fabric.
But you are hungry. And would it be more weird if you ate pizza alone in your room? Probably. If you're gonna live together you might as well just rip the bandaid off. Especially if it takes a while for Agatha to message you. A bit of normality might be good after the whirlwind of the last few days.
She’ll reply any minute. You know she will. Maybe you could message Rio or Wanda to see where she might have gone. Would that be insane? Probably. Last time you were with them you were humiliated beyond measure, but maybe that was just a normal weekend for them.
“Sure. I’d love to.” You fake a smile you’re hoping she can’t see through and it’s unclear whether she’s genuine or not but she does seem friendly.
Jake’s already pulling out another bowl from the cupboard like his mom just asked him for a favor. You hope he didn’t double dip the spoon after tasting the sauce.
He doesn’t want you here. But you’d rather not be here either.
—
The sauce is fantastic, which means Maggie must have made it because you’ve never seen Jake eat something not from a plastic box or a can.
He slurps quietly as Maggie cuddles into his side. The television playing some kind of generic film you’re sure you’ve seen before. Whatever romance is on the Netflix homepage. A boy kisses a girl in the rain. Maggie 'awws' as the score plays on. Would Agatha ever kiss you in the rain? Probably not. She'd probably have someone standing next to the two of you holding an umbrella.
Your legs are crossed on the couch as you try not to stare at them. Sitting next to them enjoying their evening like this is come kind of college house. Like you’re all friends. But if she’s trying to be friendly, you should at least try back.
You check your phone again for your rescue message. For an explanation. The darker it gets, the more you worry about her. The closer it gets to the twenty four hour mark like she's about to pop up missing on a news alert.
She's fine. She's probably ordering takeout right now.
“I have a bunch of soda and snacks and stuff, you guys want any?” You’re pulling your bag onto your lap and dishing the contents onto the coffee table before they can reply, but they both lean forward with the anticipation of snacks.
It feels weird and domestic and mildly uncomfortable.
“Damn you got the goods!” She says reaching forward, grabbing one of each and opening the cola with a small fizz. Her eyes wandering to the magazine that’s fallen face up on the table. You’d almost forgotten how hot your boss looked in the photograph. “Forbes huh. You must be smart.”
Jake looks bored at the interaction, but grabs a Coke anyway.
“Oh. I mean, I’m her assistant. I wanted to...read the article.” You gesture vaguely to the cover trying to seem as normal and relaxed about it as possible. Hoping they can't hear your heartbeat as you lie. You bought it to stare at tonight, maybe with your hand down your pants, and it feels like you're being too obvious about it.
“No way? That’s so cool! So she’s like, famous? What’s she like?”
Agatha would hate her for saying that.
Jake stares at it a little too long and back to you, like the cogs are manually turning in his brain and you’re not sure if you even told him about who you worked for. His hand creeps tighter around Maggie and you’re nothing but jealous all of a sudden in your chest.
Will you ever get a movie night with Agatha?
“She’s intense.” You try to keep it low-key. Taking a big sip of your own drink to try avoid conversation.
“Oh yeah? I bet.” You bet. You bet.
She could never possibly understand.
Understand how overwhelmingly all-consuming she is when she stands above you, treating you like you’re nothing and everything at the same time. How her laugh sounds when you introduce her to your world and how her jaw tightens when she introduces you to hers.
You’re sitting on the couch having snacks and a movie in a normal, real situation. And all you can think about is a corrupt cover star who you’re sure you’d let ruin your life. How badly you want to go back to her bedroom and never be set free.
"Well thats good." Maggie is clutching at straws to be friendly to you. "I hope you're paid well, someone like that could afford it."
The necklace that sat around your neck like a collar while she poured champagne all over your skin is probably worth more than this street.
"Yeah it's not so bad!l." Is all you offer. "So what do you do?" You don't care, but you'd rather Jake not use his last brain cell to figure out you're fucking the woman from Forbes.
"I'm training to be a teacher!" She's enthusiastic. "Love to shape young minds, you know?"
Bless her. She's adorable. You almost feel a little guilty at how wholesome her prospects are compared to yours.
"Oh no way, that's so cool. I bet it's rewarding."
"Yeah it is, I mean i'm still figuring it out, I didn't figure out I wanted to do it until a little while ago."
"Agatha actually does a lot of charity stuff for children, she's really passionate about it." And oh my god why are you talking about Agatha again? Think about something else for a second. She's going to ask follow up questions.
"I would loooooove to do that that's amazing do you think she'd ever—"
Everybody jumps at the sound of the doorbell.
Looking to each other to see who’s expecting a guest or a pizza. Your eyes fall on Jake, the token man one. Maggie’s already forcing him off the couch, checking the time. Already getting dark outside.
“Tell them we don’t want God, or something.” She says as he’s standing.
Please be her. Please be her.
Jake takes a second to try figure out the figure at the door without having to open it. Trying to prevent a salesman or a preacher from interrupting the evening.
“It’s some guy?” He says, craning his neck out to try get a better look.
Maybe it’s paranoia, but your blood runs cold instantly.
“What guy?” You’re already standing, which seems to throw everybody off. No longer a cozy and relaxed movie night but some kind of uncomfortable stand off theyre all a witness to.
Maggie is pausing the tv and standing with you so she’s not the only one still on the couch.
“I don’t know. Some huge bald guy. I’ll just answer it. Probably got the wrong place.”
“Don’t.”
He freezes, hand on the door. Your voice coming out panicked and more hushed than you’d intended.
The doorbell rings again.
“He can probably see me through the glass. What’s the problem?” His voice is also lower, sensing the tension suddenly filling the room.
Maggie’s eyes flick between the two of you like she doesn’t know who’s side to be on.
“Tell him I’m not here.”
“What?”
“Fucking. Please Jake. Just say I’m out right now. Please.”
“Why? What’s happening?”
The door knocks again, he knows he can’t wait much longer, and you’re already scuttling to your room and getting behind the door, ear pressed to it.
Is it the guy from the bar?
Did this guy follow you from work?
The conversation is more muffled than you’d anticipated even pressed flat against the door. But it’s short and sweet. You try not to pull your hair out as your eyes dart around the room trying to figure out what would be important to take in an emergency. Diamond necklace. Pjs. Toothbrush. Who even knows?
Surely this is a mix up, of course it is. But the way the blues of her eyes looked when she dropped you outside makes you hesitant to show your face. Especially if he’s fucking stalked you here.
Once the doors closed you’re back in the living room and cramming the rest of the candy bars back in your bag, along with the rest of the stuff on the table.
“What’s happening? He was asking for you. Who was that?” Jake’s tone is accusatory. This is his building after all. And you’ve just put a target of some kind on it.
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” You’re flailing, tripping over yourself as you try to figure out your plan. It was stupid thinking Agatha and her money could protect you the way it protects her.
She’s off in some fancy mansion while you’re figuring out whether this is a legal problem or a personal one.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Maggie doesn’t seem angry. She seems scared.
“Look I think I might be in trouble maybe like—“
“—wrong crowd? I figured as much.”
You try not to let his words affect you too much. Has he been analyzing all of your actions? It’s certainly not the first time he’s made a comment like that.
Maggie slaps him on the arm.
You steady your breathing. Opening your phone again. Still nothing. Opening the Uber app before even thinking about it. You’re typing in her address before you can stop yourself. “Look. I’m sorry. Fuck I’m sorry. If you promise to keep this quiet I’ll move out like, as soon as I can.”
“You will?”
“Jesus try not to sound too excited.”
He’s already looking at Maggie like he’s excited to fuck her in the kitchen. Gross.
“Okay...So is this like, about drugs?”
Suddenly he seems weirdly cool about the whole thing. The promise of not having you live here. Or maybe he wants drugs.
“No. It’s not about drugs. I uh— I cheated at a casino club thing look just—“ you grab the bag as the Uber Black driver connects. “—I know. I’ll get rid of him pay him or…somehow, I don’t know but he shouldn’t come back.”
“Wait, you did what?” Great. Now he’s laughing like he hoped it was something objectively cooler.
Imagining your spiral with Agatha from his perspective is a wild thought. Boring roommate who stays in her room all day comes home increasingly late, stops showing up overnight and starts wearing Prada.
“Why don’t you just stay here? He’s gone.” Maggie is gentle, reaching for you.
But it’s already too late as the car starts pulling down the street. A lucky quick connection.
And you leave your normality behind for Agatha, again.
—
The streets are dark as the driver takes you to the penthouse. Your heart in your throat as you try to call her, she must have seen the Uber notification too. A journey of your entire day via credit card alerts.
“Central Park Tower huh?” The driver looks into the mirror at you, you try to look as natural as possible.
“Yeah.” You’re double checking everything is in your bag like it’s not just diamonds, a toothbrush, a magazine, chocolate and a Coke.
“They call that Billionaires Row. You know that?” You can’t tell if he’s polite or nosy so you smile with tight lips.
“Yeah I know that.”
“Would love to see inside that place.”
And suddenly you’re on edge again like this isn’t just an Uber and he isn’t just your driver. The stress in your body becoming paranoia that started on that damn island and has escalated between Taco Bell visits and coffee in the bed.
“It’s pretty special.” You keep the response generic. He’s probably just being polite.
“You own the place?”
“Yeah.” You lie.
He nods once, like he’s suddenly not qualified enough to talk to you. Or maybe your bluntness was a big enough hint to stop him poking around in your business.
Luckily the traffic isn’t as bad as it is usually, and you’re there in no time. The air between the cab and the lobby a little chilly now, and as you enter you quickly realize you don’t have any sort of plan.
The security eye you as you wander in, trying to seem focused and like you belong. Hoping they don’t search your bag and think you’re some kind of stalker or thief.
The elevator bank is quiet, and you can tell the men are watching you in a way that’s subtle and relaxed. She’s almost certainly changed the passcode by now, sure that she had expected your first visit to be your last. Resetting the code for the next girl.
Yet, you try it anyway just to avoid explaining the situation to a stranger.
To your surprise, the elevator begins to move.
She’d really not changed it? You could have come here at any point? Although you suppose you’ve been her assistant for quite some time now. It does make sense she'd freely let you in.
When the elevator comes to a stop, you're once again right back where you started. Met with the smell of her and her lifestyle, but without Agatha's hand on your waist.
Instead, you're greeted with a sprawling dark living space, the floor under you warm with under-floor heating and the orange glow of a lamp further down the hallway.
Is she here? She said she wouldn't be here.
Instinct hits you harder than your thoughts do, choosing to move softly, quietly through the building. Feet attempting to be silent as you try and decide your next move. Do you call out to her? What if it's somebody else?
The place is entirely silent. Maybe you could actually explore it. Would that be weird?
Heading over to the giant windows she loves to peer out of, you're met with the tallest view in the city once again. The piano immaculate without a single piece of dust even though it remains unplayed. Her books stacked neatly on her coffee table. And although this place is gigantic, it makes you feel oddly safe.
Much like the touch of Agatha's hands, hands you know may have committed cruel and vicious acts that hold your face softly when she looks at you.
"Hello?" A disembodied voice calls out. Your entire body tenses. Hairs on the back of your neck stand without your control and your entire chest feels green when you recognize it's a woman's voice.
Turning in a startle, your hands covering your arms on an anxious instinct, you're met with a short young woman, round cheeks and adorable large eyes.
You hope you're hiding your anger as well as you're hiding your surprise. Trying to look instantly like you belong. Like you were asked to be here.
"Hi." Your lips form a smile you don't mean, she must be staff. Why else would she be here? Although this thought is logical, it doesn't really ease the jealousy because of course, you're also staff. "Who are you?"
"I'm Alana...the housekeeper?"
If you'd just divert your eyes away from her face and instead to her hand, you'd notice she's carrying a bucket and is dressed in sweatpants. You should relax a little, you can't.
And the thought of that man showing up invited to your house continues to keep your heart rate much too high.
Before Agatha you'd be sitting at home scrolling TikTok edits reposted to Instagram reels. Maybe watching a Netflix show that'll be cancelled inexplicably after two seasons and thinking about re-downloading Bumble. You'd be thinking about rent. About whether you feel ready to date again. About future plans you should probably have and whether re-training as something other than an artist is a good idea. You'd never consider using somebody else's credit card and you'd certainly never condone or participate in anything illegal. Like, properly illegal.
And yet you stand half-corrupted in a penthouse of the third richest woman in the country, in an overpriced outfit deciding where she'd fled to after she'd riled up the sketchiest man in a weird club she owned secretly, trying to figure out whether she's in real trouble, and trying to decide if she's fucked her maid.
Snap out of it. It's too late now.
"Oh. Right. She never mentioned you, sorry."
It's a low fucking blow and you probably shouldn't have said that. This is the woman who cleans and presses your clothes after Agatha rips them off of you.
"That's okay...and you are?"
"Her assistant. Is she here?"
Footsteps boom down the hallway and unless she's wearing loafers a size too big, they aren't Agatha’s. Alana turns a little to see the figure coming down the corridor before he steps into view. A bearded man with a suit.
"You're the assistant?" He stands next to the housekeeper like you're being interrogated. You were kind of just hoping to stay here for a while before Agatha calls you back.
She will call you back, won't she?
"Yeah. You security?" His outfit is exactly the same as the ones who escorted you last night and they really do hide in plain sight.
"Yes ma'am. I'm on shift until midnight, and then it'll be somebody else. We're round the clock inside the apartment until the matter is resolved."
Finally, a dash of context.
"What matter, exactly?" You relax your shoulders. They think you belong here. What are you even saying? You do belong here. You're hers.
"I've been informed you were with her at the location?" He seems confused, Alana looks closer at you like she knows exactly what you're trying to hide. She must get this a lot.
"Well...yes I was. But I mean, I don't know where she is I don't know what's going on we were just—" suddenly it's too much.
Tears start forming in your eyes like you're finally re-processing everything again and how it's been almost twenty four hours with not even a read receipt for a problem she caused. The panic bubble finally bursting in your chest as two strangers watch you fumble over your words in a dark room, the pressure of explaining to them making everything worse "—she didn't tell me what was going on."
You can't keep talking, the words are too wet when you try as the tears begin streaming down your face. Having them ask you questions feels humiliating. You should know what's going on, because she should have told you. It's obvious you're new to this side of her, no matter how much you feel intertwined with her life.
The security guard looks like he's not sure how to proceed. Alana places the cleaning supplies on the ground before she's approaching you with her arms out.
You recoil on instinct of somebody else's touch.
You just want her here.
"How about I make you a nice cup of coffee, and you sit down. I was about to leave, but I can stay if you need some company."
You're shaking your head before you've even noticed. Wanting to be alone with the smell of Agatha's perfume and her firm weird furniture beneath your body as you take a seat on the leather couch.
"Will you be staying here tonight?" The security guard asks you as Alana returns to her supplies, picking them up to take them to presumably a storage room. This place is still so confusing.
"I mean, if that's okay. She hasn't told me anything. The guy...the guy that was yelling at her from the club came to my house."
"He came to your house?" His voice is much more serious than you were hoping for. "Yes you should absolutely stay here. I presume you already have a bedroom here?"
You don't know the half of it.
"Yeah. I'm good." You're wiping your face with the back of your hand and Alana is already brewing you a coffee before you can stop her. The sound vibrating through the floor.
"Well i'll be in the security room if you need me, I can give you some alone time."
You nod at his words before realizing you didn't even know the apartment had a security room. But he's moving down the hallway, so it must be down there. How many rooms does this place have?
A black coffee is placed in front of you before you can explain you aren't Agatha, and you don't drink it like that. And if she really knew Agatha, she'd know she doesn't really like it like that either.
Now is not the time to feel like this. Maybe the thoughts wouldn't be so amplified if Agatha hadn't taunted you with jealousy foreplay you never fully got to resolve.
"I'm going to leave now if you’re certain.” You nod at her, clutching the warm drink you don’t want. “I'm going to be back in the morning, so don't let me spook you." Her words are gentle as she heads towards the elevator. You feel bad for even being angry.
When the elevator doors shut behind her, the penthouse is once again entirely silent. The faint buzzing hum of the refrigerator as you walk towards it for some milk. The light of it is much too bright as you pull on the door. Oat milk, a jar of pickles and a 6 pack of cherry soda you know she must keep in there for you.
You know she cares, it's so obvious. You just wish she could be more vocal with it.
The hum resets after you add the milk and close the door. The drink warm and grounding in your hands as you decide whether or not you're brave enough to explore the place.
The ceilings are so stupidly tall you're almost hurting your neck trying to look up. You move around the white and steel empty space, looking for an ounce of personality. You could fit at least twenty of your apartment in this one floor, and from the last time you were upstairs, you know this isn't just a place with stairs, it's a triplex.
Moving away from the enormous living room, you head a different way than you'd been before. Away from the kitchen, the dining room and the bedroom she'd taken you to the first time you visited.
Towards what seems to be, just another sitting room? The furniture seems essentially unused. No scuffs, no personal items. Nothing. You move on almost immediately and it's clear one person cannot inhabit this much space.
The next room seems to be a library and is largely more used, with a dark metallic wallpaper, a deep purple rug and a black leather couch. Books on the wooden shelf appear slightly worn, but not as much as the ones from her yacht. Organized neatly from Alana after Agatha no doubt leaves them around the house.
They're diverse. On myths, legends and languages. Your fingers run across their worn edges. When you're comfortable around her it can be hard to remember just how extraordinary she is.
The woman on the magazine cover, the woman everybody wants to talk to. You’re hers, and you're in her library drinking her coffee.
The stress in your body turns slightly to excitement and it seems clear that when this is all over...you'll have the best sleep of your life.
Back near the stairs, you hear typing coming from a small-looking side room, that must be the security office. Your cheeks flush wondering if this man is always here. He probably isn't. Agatha wouldn't like that.
Trying not to alert the suit, you hold tightly onto the hand-rail of the spiral stairs as you ascend as quietly as you can. You're familiar with what's up here to an extent. Agatha's bedroom, bathroom and all the weird sitting areas she has coming off of that. This is where you intend to sleep tonight, you think. Your face pressed against her cherry pillow waiting for her to come home to you.
But not before some little extra snooping, for good luck.
Peering around the corner you spot what must be her dressing room. At the risk of feeling like a stalker, you flick the light switch on as you approach. It's exactly what you thought it'd be. Like something out of a movie. An enormous room with rails, boxes and shelves.
A large ottoman in the centre. Shoes of unpredictable prices littered about and her clothes organized neatly from suit jackets to shirts to dresses and skirts.
You run your hand along the fabric, it's expensive and extremely Agatha. How she feels pressed close to your body, just without the warmth. Silk and velvet and luxurious cotton. No color organization, but clearly some kind of system.
A million incomprehensible memories inside of this room. Charity balls, different women and different countries. The opera, the casino and the island.
Maybe when she wears the suit she wore yesterday, she’ll think about you.
A large dresser sits in the corner. Dark wood, slightly out of place in the modern room. Should you? You shouldn't. You certainly shouldn't. That would be wrong. You know she doesn't like when you snoop.
But the answers from her are too slow, too disjointed and too hard to get out of her, so you reach for the drawer anyway.
It pulls open with a soft squeak. The wood smooth, the smell a little musty. Expecting to see maybe some old t-shirts or something, you're surprised to find items that look like they'd be better suited to an office.
You take a sip of the coffee as you fish out the items. It's still a bit too bitter, you should have added some syrup. You know she has it.
You wish you'd added some whiskey when the first photograph you flip over is her and Rio. Younger. The two of them smiling, really smiling, taken in some kind of meadow. The sky blue and cloudless. Agatha's cheekbones a little less sharp. You don't notice you're holding your breath as you study the image like it's some kind of ancient relic.
With clammy hands, you drop it back on the side, is this whole thing just a giant memory box? Receipts. Envelopes. The gloss of magazines. You rest the mug on the dresser, selecting another piece of paper with both hands. Newspaper clippings, cover photos and small articles. Of the business, of the success, of the rumors and claims and discussions. Of her family legacy. Of the attention. It's too much, too personal and you throw everything back in there, closing the drawer and trying not to think about it anymore.
It rattles as you shut it, stressing out when you think you’ve broken something, you’re pleasantly surprised to see just some stale loose m&ms rolling around in lint at the bottom of the drawer.
For someone you think you know so well, you still don’t know her at all. Her life has been longer and more interesting than your own, you probably only know a quarter of it.
She had asked on the yacht what you were doing, the two of you. You didn't know then, you don't really know now. Is it a crime to care for someone so different than yourself? Would she ever have photographs of you in a drawer somewhere someday? Would she ever even take a photograph of you?
You take the mug, heading back into the bedroom. The skyline of the city now just a twinkle of lights and silence. For now you're here, you're safe and that's what matters.
The bed is soft as you ease onto it, dropping the coffee mug softly on the nightstand. It's not good, and you can't keep drinking it. Being polite when nobody is even around to judge you.
Almost put off by going through her stuff already, you should probably stop. But there are so many cupboards in this room, and an entire other floor you've yet to look at. She could have anything in here, and will you get the chance again?
You should wait, you think. You should take a relaxing bath in the gigantic tub. Overlook the city in the one time you'll ever be above it all on your own. You should sleep off the stress, the worry and anxiety and fear.
Agatha will probably call you in the morning. The security are downstairs, and they'll be changing shifts soon.
If anywhere is safe to be, it's here. Taking off your shoes, you lay back onto the satin sheets. Now a dark red color, thank you Alana.
It’s even more comfortable than you remember. Maybe it’s because of the busy few days. Maybe the bath could wait.
Finally settling into the bed and despite the interaction in your own apartment being pleasant for the first time, you finally feel home.
Your breathing steady, chest relaxed as you let yourself think logically, about how this situation is temporary. About how it probably isn't anything, and will be handled soon. About how Agatha had only just taken you on a date, she cares for you, and you're in her bed. Soft, warm and safe. The thoughts become distant and as you drift off into sleep...
...your phone buzzes.
For the first time in so long the noise is basically foreign, you sit bolt upright, grabbing for it. Her name on the screen and you forget how to breathe. That Getty photo of her at that conference you sent her to flashes up as your heart pounds in your chest, your head. The emotional intensities returning to your body again, almost missing the 'accept call' button.
"Agatha!" It blurts from your lips before you can hold it in.
"You're in my penthouse." She says flatly, like she's not slept since she left you in that car. Her voice deep and gravely and you can't even take care of her.
"Yeah, yeah I'm at your place...I hope that's okay? Where are you?"
"I can't tell you right now."
She doesn't seem excited to talk to you, and it almost feels like you're fighting for her attention again despite putting yourself in danger for her.
"...He came to my house."
"He what?"
"The guy from the club, he came to my house so I just took a cab here, I wasn't sure where else to go but I just—"
"—Shh. You're alright. You'e okay." Agatha's tone shifts quickly as it relaxes through the phone, settling you again. "I wasn't sure where to take you."
"Why couldn't I come with you?"
Because she means more to you than you mean to her?
"Because I don't want to drag you into this more than I already have. I don’t know, you’ve only ever been honest with me…I’m not good at that."
You swallow, a lump forming in your throat at the implication of her words.
The silence dragging out.
She doesn't fill it, neither do you.
"...Does that mean this is—" You can't even form the word without effort. "—over?"
Silence again, the shuffling of sheets like she's under the covers.
"Don't be stupid. I didn’t say that."
The breath of relief is loud and she must have heard it, you reach for the lukewarm coffee to wash away the raw feeling in your throat.
"I just thought it’d be easier if I dealt with this alone. But evidently not. Some people just love to make things difficult."
Her words are as if someone’s giving her a minor inconvenience rather than her having to flee to an undisclosed location in the middle of the night.
"Dealt with what? I don't really get what's going on. Should we call the police?"
"Don't call the police."
Your breath is too heavy into the phone.
"Okay."
More silence. More shuffling.
"...You look pretty on my bed like that."
Your face flushes with heat instantly, looking around in a panic.
"You can see me?"
"Of course I can see you, I have cameras connected to my phone." Oh shit. Did she see you snooping? "One in every room, plus a couple of extras."
"Extras?"
"Well, I mean…places I might like to see you."
You think back to the flashing light in your bedroom. Surely she wouldn't have?
"If only you were wearing less clothes.”
You clear your throat.
“I met Alana.”
“…uh…who?”
Oh my god.
"The housekeeper."
"Oh of course, you did?"
"She's cute."
"She is. Pretty eyes, don't ya think?"
She wasn't supposed to say that.
"Is that why you hired her?"
Her chuckle is muffled through the phone.
"You want me to say yes? You enjoyed that so much yesterday…huh? You want me to say I hired her so she could help me out between loads of laundry?"
You know she sees you flop back onto her pillows.
"Or do you want to hear the truth...that I hired her because she can iron shirts faster than anyone I've ever hired? It really is fantastic in a pickle.”
You hope she can't see your eye roll on the camera.
"I could probably iron your shirts faster."
Honestly, you probably couldn't.
"Are you asking for a new job? You want to be my maid?"
"Maid? Isn't she a housekeeper?"
"Sure. But then you won't wear the little outfit. I'd quite like the outfit, you know."
Just like that you're smiling, and her charm has disarmed you.
"It would just be another level to my assistant job, I think. I already assist you in so many ways...boss."
"You want me to put her out of a job? Oh my. You really are daring.”
"Well, I would help you out between loads of laundry...in whatever way you need me to."
"Mhm. I bet you would. You're excellent at assisting me, aren't you?"
"And I have pretty eyes too."
"Oh honey I know you do. I watch them panic when I pull your hair."
You bite your lip. "Plus, then I'd be working here all the time, all alone in your lair."
Her tongue clicks through the speaker. "You want mommy to lock you in her tower all day long?"
"Only if you're with me."
"We could arrange that...I liked your little credit card purchases.”
“I was hoping you would see them.”
“You buy anything good?”
“Just food, drinks. An Uber.”
“Good girl…it’s important to take care of yourself.”
“I know. I try to.”
She takes a deep breath.
“I'll be home soon."
The comfort of her words wrap around you like the sheets do as you relax your body. Home.
"I miss you already." Your voice comes out a little croaky. Last time you told her you missed her she ignored you. So you aren't surprised when it happens again, when you're met with silence.
A few seconds go by as you know she's watching you on the camera, despite not knowing where from.
The red flicker seems to come from the corner of the room. You turn your body, looking directly over at it. Hoping she’s looking right back at you.
Imagining her alone somewhere watching you on her iPhone.
"I'll send someone to come and get you."
"What?"
"I'll send a car, and i'll send a helicopter. Bring your toothbrush, or whatever. I don’t know if I have anything spare here.”
"Wait, where?"
"To where I am, I can't watch you all precious in my bed like that and not have you underneath me. It’s quite frankly a bit of an outrage.”
"I can't get in a helicopter on my own." You're sitting up as you try to absorb her words.
"You can and you will."
You swallow. Hearing her tap her phone too loudly through the speaker.
"I'll see you soon."
She hangs up before you get the chance to protest any further. Your hands in your hair and your body filled with exhaustion, you spot the sweater you'd taken off in the office folded neatly on a chair in the corner. Perfect.
It slips on softly over your clothes, the comforting smell of her against your arms as you head back down the stairs.
Leaving the bed makes you realize how tired you really are. Brain and body. Grabbing your bag and trying not to panic about the impending helicopter ride you'll have to face without her.
But she’ll be on the other end of it.
Hopefully the plan isn't to go far. Hopefully it's only a short ride like last time. Surely if it was any further she'd call the jet. If you close your eyes for the duration of the ride, perhaps it'll pass by quickly.
Sitting back on the leather couch is a little stiff, but at least you've heard her voice.
It's cooler down here despite the warmth from the floor, the city doing most of the lighting now, it appears to be on some sort of timer. A soft orange glow coming from down the hall to the security office.
The building hums as the elevator ascends to the penthouse suite. You check your phone, close to midnight. That must be the new guy, or even better, the driver. Your phone is low on charge, you really should have noticed this before.
There's probably still time to charge it, it surely takes a while to organize an entire helicopter.
When the ding sounds and the silver doors open, your entire body freezes.
Not the driver.
The man from the club.
Your legs jump up instinctively, taking a couple of steps back. Hoping the security heard him so you don't have to yell. Don't have to draw any more attention. This guy is clearly serious and his expression is nothing short of absolutely pissed.
“You.” His meaty finger is pointing at you, only a few steps made into the room before the security guard is out of his office and grabbing at the intruder, the struggle loud and uncomfortable in the hallway as you clutch your belongings.
The sound echoing through the high ceilings and uncushioned floors.
"Where the fuck is she?" He yells, struggling against the security guard, he's large but already out of breath, how the hell did he get in here?
"This is the guy from your door?" The security asks, shoving the bald guy to the floor, he's already tired himself out from struggling too much. He seems kind of drunk, exhausted and furious.
"Yeah. Yeah that's him. From the club too. He came to my house." You're pointing, shaking, your body feeling floaty with the panic that travels through your body. Breathing shallower than it should be.
"I just want to talk to her! Fuck! Jesus!"
But he's shaking the guard off like he's angrier than that.
"You have to make an appointment." The security is calm, so calm you understand why he's been employed, and just a second later while your heart is still pulsing behind your ears the elevator dings, another security guard and thank god, the driver.
Perhaps Agatha's life is always this chaotic and they simply don't even notice it anymore.
---
The car is a blur as you repeat the image of the man behind the elevator doors, behind the door of your apartment. His face as you were rushed out of the club. Your confusion hasn't eased, but the fear has.
It's quiet back here, but the familiarity is comforting and knowing she's at the other end of the line eases the shaking in your hands when you're presented with a helicopter again. On your own this time.
You're helped into it, presented the headphones and a bottle of water, you kind of wish it was a glass of wine, your bag on the seat next to you as you're closed into the vehicle.
It's a long few minutes of noises and buttons as you focus on breathing. In and out. Imagining her hand on yours again. She does this all the time, you can too.
She did say you'd have to get used to it.
But she said that about the espresso too.
"Good to go?" The driver asks through the headset, static and loud.
The blades begin spinning, your stomach doing flips as you tense your entire body as it leaves the ground. Don't be sick. Don't be sick.
CEO Agatha Harkness x Reader Rich Boss x Submissive Assistant AU
Other parts & Tip jar
Word count: 8k+
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, power dynamics, implied toxic relationship, d/s dynamics, absurd mean sugar mommy behavior, Agatha is emotionally constipated but trying, degradation and a lil sweetness as always, jealousy, talking about previous sexual encounters, minor blood ( lip bite), gambling, crime, sex, cigar smoking, gum sharing, cliffhanger ( sorry ), corruption
"Don't think of it as cheating, think it's just like giving everything to me on purpose."
It's dangerous, and it's stupid. But she's smiling and you're smiling and maybe you're unsure of who you are now. Maybe changed for the worst. Maybe you were always supposed to be like this.
"I always know what's best for you, don't I?" She adds as she laughs, watching your body relax against her.
Knowing she has you right where she wants you.
Agatha's hand is firm on your wrist as she pulls you into the club. A place you'd never even noticed not too far from the penthouse. The penthouse. Like it’s some kind of shared commodity. Though with the amount of time you’re spending there, it’s starting to feel like it is.
The smell of the place hits you first. Smoke and liquor and something like a fog machine. It's dark outside, the street lit only by the purple neon sign hanging above the door.
It doesn't seem like somewhere she'd suggest. Expecting somewhere quiet and cozy. The warmth of the conversations inside is in your nostrils as she pushes past the line, the security moving out the way to let you in without so much as a second glance.
Air thick as she continues on her course. Lights and laughter. Dancing and flirting. Her grip firm as she guides you between the tables. The room parts instantly as you move past the wandering eyes of the guests. Her body and eyes forward, never looking back like you’re swept away in a movie scene.
You suspect you have a lot more to learn about her.
The place is a playground for the socialites you can't tell if you recognize properly. Classy and trashy and the rules out the window.
Men playing poker around a tiny table, a fully stocked bar, maybe for wine? And skimpy waitresses who must be making a killing on tips. The bass booming in a song you'd never heard before. A mix of seductive and dangerous. The lighting dim, the walls plush.
Is this really someplace she comes? The woman who won't stay outside for too long? The woman who sanitizes her hands after petting a dog? It doesn't seem right.
She hadn't said much before you left, just excused herself to the bathroom and called you into the elevator before you'd finished putting your socks on.
The plush suit is still soft against her skin as she moves under the orange glow, you try to pry your eyes away from it, knowing she's covered in champagne and covered in you.
The diamonds around your neck remain despite being back in your clothes, and maybe you'd be wildly uncomfortable being here if she wasn't here with you.
Suddenly her hand is off your wrist, finally turning to see you when you're pulled into the private booth.
VIP ONLY written on a half-wall, a soft black couch and a small table lit only by a candle. Agatha plops down onto the couch, shrouded in the shadows but not nearly as private as you'd like. Minimalist and unassuming.
Her eyes are bright and wild as you stand in front of her, waiting for some kind of explanation to her sudden desire to come here. It seems out of character. And does she always drink this much?
Closer to the version of her Rio was talking about on the island. Wild and spontaneous and free. You thought those days were long gone. The days of reckless abandon favored by paperwork and espresso.
Your lip between your teeth as she gets settled, a smile creeping across her face as she watches you decide where to sit. Opposite her. Next to her.
You don't have to think for long.
She taps her thigh twice, you look around instinctively, are you allowed to do that here?
"Babygirl I don't have all night."
You swallow, clouded in the darkness of the corner and the half-wall that can't be doing all that much. Surely somebody could look over and see. Is this relationship, or whatever, supposed to be a secret?
Sure you signed an NDA but you'd never had the conversation, not properly. Perhaps it's an unspoken rule of this place.
Perhaps that's why she comes here.
She doesn't back down, raising an eyebrow in confusion and frustration.
She must mean it, she always means it. So you hold back your questions and climb onto her lap.
Her hands are warm and firm when they grasp your waist, settling you so your legs are draped across hers, fingers possessive against your thigh as you settle.
Perhaps she's not as afraid of this as you thought.
Or you're pulling it out of her.
But this is heaven and you could very easily get used to this, fingers tangling in the thick of her hair as the music envelops you. As people walk nearby, but don't quite look over. Public and affectionate and comforting. Claimed and cherished and wined and dined. Waking up in her bed after she begged for you back, sharing a cooked meal and sitting on her lap as the bass booms through the speakers.
This might not be a real relationship, but it sure is starting to feel like one.
Agatha clears her throat, beginning to form a word when she's thrown off by the sound of footsteps approaching, a waitress stopping a few feet away.
So much for privacy.
You play it casual.
Maybe if you don't look at her, she won't see you.
A little embarrassed to be draped across her like this all of a sudden, almost forgetting her reputation for a moment. This woman doesn't know you. She doesn't know Agatha holds your hand. She doesn't know you actually mean something to her.
Don't you?
"The usual, Ms Harkness?" She calls, and the sudden irritation is hard to ignore.
An unwelcome woman.
Causing unwelcome jealousy.
And if you're jealous around every woman who looks at Agatha like that, being in public with her is going to be extremely difficult.
Suddenly you want this woman to see you. To notice you and realize you're important. Pressing further into Agatha's lap as her hand stays firm on your thigh, holding you in place.
She’s tall and blonde, a short skirt and a polite smile.
You shouldn’t hate her.
She’s a woman doing her job.
But maybe the CEO’s possessiveness is rubbing off on you.
"Thank you."
Agatha responds in a calm and professional manner, it's then you notice the waitress placing down one single neat whiskey on a literal silver platter.
You are on her lap, after all. There's no need to be jealous.
She smiles, but it’s clearly not at you. No attention paid to you whatsoever.
No offer of a drink.
No anything.
“One for me too, would you?” You call out to her before she heads out. Your pulse beating a little too hard even though there's no reason to be nervous.
Agatha's chest vibrates with low laughter at your response.
You don’t want the whiskey. You won’t drink the whiskey. This isn’t about that.
The waitress nods at your words, still refusing your gaze until she’s out of earshot.
"At the rate of sounding wildly cheesy–" your fingers toy with the creases on Agatha's now crumpled shirt collar "–you come here often?"
The creases. How you grabbed at her collar less than an hour ago. How she whimpered into your ear when she was inside of you.
Her eyes roll as she tilts her head back to get a better look at you and you almost forget you said something stupid.
"Not in a while."
"Why?"
Her grip is firmer against your thigh. Leaning a little closer to you, the champagne still on her breath. The heat of her skin warming you through the clothes separating you.
"You always ask so many questions, do you ever just enjoy things?"
There's a hint of annoyance in her voice, though it's mostly playful. Still, she's right. She's come here for fun. She doesn't want to be pressed further right now.
Not here. Not in the VIP section of this random club.
Maybe it isn’t that important. Maybe she just didn’t like dancing anymore.
Which reminds you.
"I thought you wanted to dance?"
Agatha's teeth are perfect when she smiles.
"I want you to dance for me." She gestures to the floor before her, covered with minimal privacy and candlelight.
You scoff without another thought.
"You want me to give you a private dance right here? Who do you think I am?"
But the tension between you is gone, not the sexual tension. The kind of tension that came first. Terrifying and uncomfortable and unpredictable.
“What’s wrong with here?” Her tone is accusatory.
“Maybe I just don’t want to.”
She doesn't scare you anymore. Not when she's smiling like this with her body pressed against yours. Not when you're wearing the diamonds she bought you and you brewed her coffee while her hair was still a mess from sleep. It's different now. In a good way.
She can frighten you when she needs to.
But you like that too.
Maybe it's silly, maybe it's dangerous. But she gives your hip a playful squeeze. Her tone dead serious as she talks and all you can think about is how fun it would be to push her buttons.
"I think you do whatever I want you to do. Don't you?"
That look is back in her eyes, hunger and winning.
So you tease her. Leaving her embrace as gracefully as you can.
You miss her lap as soon as you step away from her. Instantly colder despite the heat of the room. The music seems louder even just a few inches away from the cozy corner.
Agatha's arms settle back either side of her head. Relaxing into her personal show.
A perfect day for her.
Deals, money and sex.
Expensive wine and an even more expensive dinner, sealed only by lap dance from her perfect assistant in a dark and somewhat sleazy club you can't quite get the vibe of.
But that's too bad.
You're grabbing at that suit like it's not worth thousands of dollars and this isn't your boss. Your brain too high on the night for the fear of consequence, focused on the fun, on the wealth, on being untouchable and hers.
The look on her face is fury, but her body is loose and she lets you pull her up without too much hesitation, trying to hide her smile.
Maybe this is why she likes you, actually likes you. In a way that makes her drink your espresso when nobody is looking so you aren't embarrassed.
Maybe it's something else entirely.
"Can you not dance?" you tease as she's a little too stiff. Her body flush against yours as you wrap your arms around her neck. Still feeling daring despite everything you already told yourself.
How she doesn't really scare you. But the thrill of someone so powerful wrapping her arms around your waist, like a vampire hunting its prey, and you’re unlocking the fucking door.
"I'm not usually the one dancing." She sinks her teeth into your neck as she leans into you, like she can hear your thoughts. You want to yelp. You gasp instead. "I was asking for a lap dance."
Her mouth hot against your ear as you sway to the music, trying to warm her up.
"I know what you were asking for." You bite your lip. "You said you wanted to take me dancing. So now you're saying you can't dance?"
She rolls her eyes because of course you're already bothering her. Her face is tinted with the purple neon that spreads across the club, lost in the hue of her skin. "Of course I can dance. I'm exceptional. At everything."
The hands on your waist move lower, certain and firm as she pushes away any air between you. It's fiery and intentional when she moves your hips for you, encouraging you to keep moving to the music. It's warm and she's making you sweat just from her body being so close, the cool of her expensive watch contrasting against your body.
"If you wanted a lap dance, I could have done it in your penthouse." You offer, not that you could truly complain about being here. As strange as this feels.
Perhaps it's the sense of normality. Dancing with a woman on a sticky floor.
"You want to be cooped up in my lair all day?" She chuckles, pulling you a little closer.
"Your lair? What are you, the Joker?"
"Don't ever say that to me again." Her voice is firm like she's dead serious. "And maybe…maybe I wanted people to see you with me."
It's hard not to gasp at her words. Or cry. Or fall apart entirely.
"You like the risk of getting caught?" You ask quietly, studying her face under the neon. She swallows. That must be what she means. Surely not showing you off, not going public.
"You looked so pretty between my thighs when I was on the phone earlier." Her words spread warmth straight through your body. "Maybe I just wanted to keep it going."
Luckily you're able to maintain your composure on the outside, despite the intense beating of your heart inside of your chest.
"Just doing my job."
"My pretty assistant. I should keep you under the desk at the office. Maybe I should try it while we're in a meeting next."
"Oh you'd like that." You tease.
"Maybe I should make it a new rule for you, keep you stuffed with mommy's cock while she talks to all her clients."
She raises her eyebrow when you react by slapping her collarbone playfully.
"Ms Harkness, that is extremely unprofessional."
You fail at holding back the laugh inside of you.
"You're being bad." She purrs, Voice low, some of the bass of it getting lost in the music.
"You like it."
"Like you like my money."
And she will not let you forget that, the admittance of your love for the security she brings you, and the unpredictable lifestyle that might come with it.
But you know all the right things to get under her skin.
"Like I love your money."
Her hands are on your face before you can register them, keeping you steady, her grip probably a little too firm for what should be a gently flirtatious interaction.
"How'd you like more?" When you can finally settle your eyes on hers, it's a look you've never seen before.
Similar to the look she gives you when she's looking down upon you, similar to when she's closing an exceptional business deal.
But not quite the same.
Those hands push back your hair. Her head tilting to see your response.
Her voice is low and dangerous, holding you like she wants your full attention.
"You want to help me with something?"
You stop moving entirely, you don't know what she means, but you know it can't be good.
The one time she's suggested a normal date activity and you know already she's plotting something chaotic and almost certainly problematic.
Unless she just means working, which is even worse, so you have to get out with it.
"Help you with what?"
Please be something sexy. Please be something sexy.
Her voice is slow and sly, lips in a smile as she holds you firmly in her arms that are uncharacteristically strong for someone surviving off of whiskey, sugary coffee and pasta. Your heart beats against hers, knowing you couldn't get away even if you wanted to, especially with that tracker on your phone and her name on your rent payments.
It should be terrifying.
When you arrived at her office, you were independent and strong-headed.
Now you’re trapping yourself in the arms of a woman who could do anything she wanted with you.
Why does it feel good?
And why do you laugh when she suggests her plan?
"You help me win that poker game out there."
"Help you win? I don't know how to play poker." You blurt. Why would a woman with everything want to win something as trivial as poker?
Her tongue pokes her cheek as her hands return to your waist, refusing to set you free.
"You don't have to play, you just have to read the cards. Stand at the back over there behind the big bald guy, and–" her voice lowers, eyes looking around just a little bit, certain that nobody can hear. Or doesn't care. "–then you tell me what they are. You see?"
You try to wriggle back instinctively at her suggestion but the look on her face is a mix of desire and pure amusement.
You settle instantly.
"You want me to help you ch–" her hand covers your mouth before you get the chance to say the word.
"Don't you like a little fun?" Her eyebrows raise as she asks releasing you. Her voice dripping with seduction and oh.
This isn't about the money at all.
This is a power play.
"And what, you give me the money?"
The laugh that leaves Agatha's mouth is sharp and hearty. "God no. But I can take you shopping with it, if you're good."
"I'm always good."
She doesn't give you the satisfaction of a response, only pressuring the situation further. Fingertips snaking up your arm.
"Don't think of it as cheating, think it's just like giving everything to me on purpose."
It's dangerous, and it's stupid. But she's smiling and you're smiling and maybe you're unsure of who you are now.
Maybe changed for the worst.
Maybe you were always supposed to be like this.
"I always know what's best for you, don't I?" She adds as she laughs, watching your body relax against her. Knowing she has you right where she wants you.
And whether it's the high you're on from being this intertwined with her life, or the afterglow of the champagne sex has truly caused derealization, you seem to be doing her dirty work for her anyway.
---
You hold the silver tray the waitress dropped off, cool on the palm of your hand as the single scotch still sits centre. Standing close to the much too small table behind the man she had pointed out.
You never did get that drink from the pretty blonde waitress. Not seeing her again in a way that feels too intentional.
Hopefully you scared her off.
You want to scold yourself, but you don't have time for that. Watching the bald man check his hand.
He's clumsy with his cards, and you pretend to blend in with the other waitresses, despite feeling more out of place than you ever have.
Agatha is sat legs apart in the tiny chair, pompous and obnoxious as she pretends to take the game very seriously.
It's hard to pry your eyes away from her. The pale of her skin in the colored lighting. The way she reaches into her suit packet for some gum and placing it on her tongue. Not drinking. Clear head.
She doesn't look at you, you know she can't blow her cover.
But you can look at her, hair messier than it was this morning from your hands in it.
You had expected to feel guilty, stressed. You'd never have done something like this before her. Not wanting to get in trouble, and never needing to get into such a ridiculous situation.
But Agatha loves a ridiculous situation, it seems, and the rush you get from knowing she can get away with anything is buzzing inside of you. The way she pays and talks her way out of problems, sitting on the too-tiny table with confidence oozing out of her.
Ruminating thoughts in your head. What if you get spotted? What if they kick you out?
But they settle as you watch her.
You know Agatha would be there for you. Of course she would. And with every passing day you feel closer and closer to truly believing it.
The first section of the game went by too slowly, with her winning small subtle amounts to not attract too much attention. It's hard for her to act natural when she's spitting jabs at her opponents to throw them off guard.
It would have been painfully boring if she wasn't so magnificent to look at. If she hadn't taken her jacket off midway through, rolling up her sleeves when it got warmer. The suspenders over her shirt that's still crumpled and unbuttoned at the top from where you clawed at her earlier and in this moment she feels like yours.
The same way your skin is eternally covered in her bruises, you've left your mark. Even subtly. In a way she could have quickly fixed, but actively decided against.
With certainty, you know you'll be back in her bed tonight. Maybe if you're lucky, every night.
Your eyes blink hard as you try to focus on this game and definitely not on the too-early feelings you're trying to push down.
So far, nobody has noticed you standing nearby. Or if they have, they haven't said anything. Lurking and pretending to deliver the same drink to several people in the area without actually talking to anyone.
Agatha's words were simple.
“Touch your pretty necklace if they flash an ace. Touch your pretty lips if it's a pair.”
A few others you're trying not to forget as the game gets longer and the situation gets more heated. Drinks are sloshed around. The cards aren't in the best shape. The poker players are oblivious, but what's even easier is that this isn't a casino and these men are drunk.
And of course, Agatha despite her incessant cockiness is also extremely clever, losing a couple so she doesn't draw suspicion. Not that it's helping her case. The large man in front of you slurring and getting angrier with every passing minute. Her entire demeanor only irritating him more as his ego grows and shrinks in time with her wins.
"Fuckin' Christ. Much better before you came over here. You got an earpiece in or somethin?" He snarls as he points at her. You swear you see steam coming from the bald of his head.
Her touched-up lipstick is still a little smudged at the corner, another claim you haven't mentioned, just in case she hadn't noticed. Lips in a polite smile as he rages. Throwing her arms back at such a bold accusation.
"What a ludicrous remark darling! Don't be a sore loser." She chirps and tuts like she isn't actively cheating literally right now.
He slams his fist down in response.
"Just because you don't know how to play doesn't make me a cheat." She pouts.
That does it.
She's making him angrier on purpose.
He moves his hands erratically, giving you a good look at his cards again. This table is too small for secrets and every time Agatha gets him fired up he forgets he's supposed to be playing it cool.
He peeks carelessly at his whiskey soaked cards again.
Which means you get a nice, long look.
Her eyes don't pass over to you, somehow extremely obvious and intentionally careful at the same time.
You touch your neck to signal to her, as casually as you can. The outrageous diamonds against your skin as you balance this drink that grows dustier every passing second. It smells like her. Like it would burn you.
The man bets big.
Of course he does.
She's jeering at him to go all in before she does the same. Doing what she does best. Asserting her dominance by being difficult.
But surely she can't be this confident. She can't be this lucky. He looks around once, you suppose to double check if there's anyone behind him. Fuck. You turn quickly, grabbing and sipping on the burning liquid in your hand to blend in.
She'd laugh at you if she wasn't at least a little bit trying to act casual.
Deciding on his final move, he calls.
The money is hers before you know it and the man is kicking at the table, scrambling to his feet and marching over to his friends who yell and pat his shoulder.
Agatha remains unbothered, collecting her jacket and the thick envelope of cash, unfazed by the scramble of the men just a few inches away from her.
"Well lovely playing with you gentlemen, have a pleasant evening." She signs off, nodding her head towards the corner of the room. You catch the signal easily, dropping the whiskey tray on the table and following after her in way you hope is reading as natural and not 'i just cheated in poker'.
The men don't seem to notice, the big one being consoled by his friends as security eye him. Another drink placed into his hand already.
Agatha makes a dramatically wide smile as she shakes the envelope like she's luring over a dog with treats. You'd roll your eyes if you weren't so filled with adrenaline.
As you approach her, her hands are on you instantly. Pushing you back into the wall, which turns out to be a door. Your body falling back as she catches you, giggling to yourself as you're able to touch her again. Wrist aching a little from the way you were standing with the tray, even though nobody had instructed you to hold it like that.
Assuming you're sneaking into a restricted area, you try to move back towards where you entered, surprised when Agatha grabs your hand and pulls you up a staircase instead.
She isn't communicating at all. Just directing you with arm pulls and the sound of paper on paper. It's sleek and steel back here, with small orange lights and the smell of smoke in the area.
"Agatha." You whisper as she pulls you up behind her. She ignores you, set on whatever destination she's heading to.
"Hey. Agatha. I don't think we should be back here." You try again, but you're already at the top of stairs in a little corridor. A glass wall that overlooks the entire club, the shape of it makes more sense now. A little stage with drums and a whiskey bar, not a wine bar at all. 
People dancing in the fog. Sweaty bodies and friends doing shots.
More doors up here, all black and all reading PRIVATE, but she's pushing one of them open before you can protest.
The music bounces beneath the floor, muffling the sounds from below. The ground in here a soft cream carpet in contrast with the dark sticky floors outside, the smell of cherry and liquor in the air already as her lips are on your neck without hesitation.
You sigh as her body weight pushes against you.
Alone at last.
Your back against the closed door, eyes trying to adjust to the room before she's pinning your hands above you with one arm, her body trapping you against the door as she clutches the envelope with the other hand. Unable to leave even if you wanted to.
As ever, of course you don’t.
"You did so good out there." She whispers against your neck, "so proud of you."
Breathing heavy from the praise, head turning so she can leave her marks the way she likes to. She's aroused from the power and the money and the cheating and fuck, are you too?
When her mouth leaves your neck, she's impossibly close to your face. Her perfect facial features enhanced by the warm lighting as she looks at you with awe and desperation.
You don't wait or ask for permission, you kiss her deep and hungry, feeling her smile against your lips as her tongue meets yours, releasing your wrists as she pulls you closer at the waist, your chest, your ass. Grabbing and gasping. Hands tangling in her hair as she walks you over to a different part of the room you haven't quite noticed.
"I wanna count it." She catches her breath when she parts from you. Eyes blue and eager. Your fingers toy with the crumple of her collar, drifting a little lower.
Agatha freezes as you slowly unbutton another expensive button on that shirt, tracing the crumple of her collar with your fingertips. She's outrageously beautiful and a sea of red flags, but she's yours. Her skin buzzing with electricity as you touch her softly. Not sure why she's not already attacking you. You want to fuck her in this shirt, and you want to clean and iron it for her the morning after.
"Count it." You tell her, watching her smile grow, the fine lines either side of her mouth are delicious, but she's in her element now, pulling away from you and pulling the cash out. A stack thick with crisp and crumpled bills alike. Only an inch more of her chest exposed, but you did that.
"Why don't you come down here while mommy counts her money, hm?" She points to the ground, your eyes finally taking in the things in the room that aren't just her.
A dimpled leather sofa, a mahogany nightstand and another Persian rug? She's settling onto the leather before you can ask a question, legs spread as she points again to the ground between them.
You don't think about the fact this is a public space, or how dirty the floor probably is, you do as you're told. Resting your head against her knee as she slaps the cash down next to her. This is a private room. Has she hired it for the two of you?
Her delay as she opens the nightstand gives you a second to focus yourself, watching her delicate hands pull out a cigar from the drawer. Engraved into the depth of the wood:
A.H
You laugh immediately as she trims the cigar. No fucking way.
"Agatha, is this your club?"
Isn't she old money? Fancy and classy and raised probably on a french horse? Why on Earth does she own a sleazy socialite club she's never spoken about?
"You're observant." She smiles, reaching for a match and slamming the door shut. "I'm banned from the other clubs nearby so I just bought this one."
You close your eyes so you don't keep laughing, she seems serious right now and you don't want to ruin it. Why would she buy this place? Is this how she likes to party?
You think of the island, of the dainty glasses of champagne on arrival and the immaculate fire pit. Conversations about art and taxes.
This is not that.
Still with so many questions, but she's positioning your head away from her knee and holding you steady in front of her.
Your face in one hand and her cigar in the other as she presses either side of your lips, opening your mouth.
"Open."
You obey in trust as she spits her gum onto your tongue before you can object. "You take everything mommy gives you, don't you? You're welcome, hon." She coos, closing your mouth for you.
With the gum out of the way, she finally takes a draw of the cigar, flicking through the stack with her free fingers. It tastes very faintly of mint, but mostly of her.
"Thank you." You reply instinctively, the taste of her on your tongue as she tastes the smoke. Sat tall above you, exuding power and sex in this suit that smells like the two of you and a four thousand dollar bottle of champagne. The money in a stack in her hand as she takes a long, yearning look at you.
Before throwing the cash all over the room.
Ridiculous, with two hands and the cuban between her lips. Throwing it like you're stripping and not patiently waiting for instruction with a smile that's high on the essence of this life that she hides from everybody.
She's laughing, reaching forward to caress your face and most importantly not yelling, which means all the money must be there.
Or she doesn't care about that at all.
"So good. So damn perfect for me all the time. You did this." She gestures to the piles forming around you as the paper settles on the floor.
"Thank you." You repeat, settling into this headspace as she settles into her own. Tracing your cheekbones with the back of her hand.
Agatha's cherry perfume hits your nose as she leans forward, blowing out the cigar smoke between her lips as she decides what to do with you. How to celebrate her win. Whether this date will ever end or if this is even part of it.
You breathe her in, the perfume and the smoke. You know she's expecting you to cough, or to back away. You don't. You shuffle forward. Wanting more.
Wanting her in whatever form it takes.
It shouldn't be sexy. But it's Agatha, so it is. She's everywhere. Her smoke in your face, between your lips, in your lungs.
Another draw of the cigar.
Another blow onto you.
You breathe.
You don't break eye contact.
She swallows.
Interrupted with a knock on the door that brings you back to reality, almost.
This new reality.
The waitress from earlier, pretty and holding a clipboard is in the room before Agatha even gives her the clear to come in. "Ms Harkness I was just wondering if you'd be needing–"
She stops when her eyes move down to you, not enough time to scramble off the floor, and quite frankly not wanting to. Not when this is her space and you know this woman has signed an NDA. Obviously. Not when you're still a little jealous from earlier. She knows Agatha's drink order and that is your job.
Needing what?
"I can see you're already being taken care of." She smiles, a little forced, actually extremely forced as she shuts the door.
Agatha quickly running a hand over your hair and raising the cigar back to her lips. Slipping right back into it without so much as a second thought.
And you wish you could keep going but seeing that woman has stirred up a new pot of feelings inside of you.
"Taken care of?" You try not to sound so infuriated at the implication. Trying not to seem so curious about the whole thing, she didn't bring a drink here. "Does she think I'm staff?"
"Technically you are staff."
You'd roll your eyes if the slap you received wouldn't derail the conversation. "That's not what I mean."
She laughs in response. Rolling out her neck like she's tense. You can't shake the feeling in your chest from the intrusion.
"What did she mean?"
Her jaw tenses above you just a little as she decides whether or not to tell you.
You spit the gum onto her rug.
"Hey! Do you know how expensive that is?" She clicks in front of your face like she's trying to train you, eyebrow raised still waiting for an answer.
Even with Agatha being easier to read. Even with her emotions and temper being more consistent with you. Even with you being accepting of her mind games. Every day you spend with her it feels like two steps forward and one step back. Too much mess and too many problems.
But she could never be too much for you.
"You can tell me." You encourage, staying in your place. This is resistance, but it's not a fight.
She takes another puff, pondering how to word it. Deciding on blunt but bored.
"She means I don't need another girl in here, because you're in here."
She gestures to you.
Another girl?
"Another girl? Is she—"
She clears her throat like she might be uncomfortable in this situation.
"Well, sometimes. Or...fuck. Sometimes she brings me somebody. You know, when i'm here alone."
You close your eyes to try and process this.
Maybe you should have asked about the women outside of her assistants.
The jealousy feels like lava under your skin.
"Why do you want to hear this?" She adds, stubbing the rest of the smoke out on the nightstand. A delicate silver ash tray waiting for her.
The waitress probably put that there. Fuck. Do not let her into your head again right now.
You aren't sure why you want to hear it. Or even if you do. And you aren't sure how far you want to go, how many questions you want to ask. Whether you should ask any.
But you're special. Aren't you? You're the lipstick smudge she hasn't cleaned up. The crumple on her shirt.
And that feels good.
"How many?"
"What?"
"How many girls do you get up here?"
"Jesus. I don't know. In this room?"
"Yeah."
"I mean...." She takes a second like she might be counting and then grimaces. " I have no idea. It's not like I tally these things."
You swallow. Is not remembering better or worse?
"And that woman?"
"Mhm." She's standing above you before you know it, towering above you as you stay on your knees. "Is that what you want to hear from me? You want to hear about me using pretty girls and forgetting their names? What's wrong with you?"
"What's wrong with you?" You bite back, it's risky, probably the most risky thing you've ever said and you regret it as soon as you do. You didn't mean it like that. You don't get a second to take it back before she's shoving you down and bending you over the couch. Leaning down with her fingers in under your waistband before you can say sorry.
The delicate strokes of her fingers slither down your ass until she feels you undeniably wet against her.
"Oh. I get it. You get off when I hurt you, it's pathetic." And you feel it, trying to press against her, feeling torn between feeling special and wondering if she said that to everyone she had right here on this certainly filthy couch.
"Does it make you feel important when I touch you? Is that why you like it?" You don't know, so you don't respond. She sits herself firmly back down on the couch, her other hand grabbing you by the scalp when you don't respond to her.
"Tell me."
"I— I don't know."
"I fucked them here, you know that?" She pushes, trying to get a reaction out of you. You feel small at her words.
Just another number.
Fighting back tears to prevent her satisfaction as she releases your hair.
"I did exactly this, bent them over this imported furniture, fucked them until I felt better and didn't think about them again. They'd beg me to let them back in here with me."
You whine as her finger grazes your clit much too gently.
"Begging me to fuck them again, begging me to ruin them."
She withdraws her hand at the sound, pressing your face into the couch.
"It's harder to restrain in here, so i'd hold them down like this so I didn't have to look at them. That what you want to hear?"
You gasp heavy when she finally releases the pressure on you. You look up at her through your eyelashes. Watery and uncertain.
She looks back down at you. Jaw tight. Nostrils flared.
Chest heaving as she tries to process, or perhaps the opposite. To push the feelings down.
You blink in the silence of not knowing where you stand.
Then,
She taps her thigh twice. Your body aches already from the ground as you follow your orders again, straddling her as she digs her fingers into your thighs.
Back where you belong.
"Do you think I feel good about that?" She whispers.
You don't know. You can't tell.
You suspect it's complicated.
Her eyes flick down to the diamonds and back up to your eyes, your lips. Swallowing as she takes you in.
“You’re cute when you’re jealous.”
“Cute?”
“Cute.”
Her hands cradle your face, slipping her thumb between your lips. Watching you suck on her. Taste her.
She isn't trying to make you angry.
She's proving a point.
Not one of hers. Not another number. Not a long line of simple stress relief. Dripping with diamonds and desperation and sleeping in her bed.
"You're mine." Her words are firm, hands on your hips as she pulls you closer, as she needs you so physically close to her you can't get away.
"You're mine." You repeat back. You mean it even though it scares you. Even though it isn’t guaranteed.
Not like you being hers. You can’t imagine anything else.
She says nothing in response, grabbing your hand and guiding you to the waistband of her pants. You steady yourself.
Your heart in your throat as she proves your status. Slipping you under her suit and finding the wetness between her thighs without any trouble.
Her breath catches at the first touch.
"Look at what you do to mommy. You think everybody gets that?"
You shake your head as you catch your breath, overcome with too many confusing feelings, collecting her on your fingers before finding her clit. “Come on honey. You know what I want.”
You move slowly, gently. A contrast to the implications of the room, leaning in to kiss her cherry neck, to kiss her perfect lips. To show her your devotion as you slip inside of her. Her mouth drops open, brows furrowed as she gasps.
"Fuck, babygirl. You're doing such a good job."
Trying not to come instantly at the thought, focusing on her, on her pleasure and the way she feels wrapped around your fingers. On the way her hands dig into your skin so hard they might leave marks, and how she can't focus on kissing because the muscles in her face are too tight.
“Slowly. Don’t rush. There’s a good girl.”
You can’t fix her, but her nose crinkles as she tightens around your fingers.
You make me feel alive again, she had said as she pinned you to the desk earlier. You aren’t sure how yet. Whether it’s the stability or the recklessness or the intimacy, but maybe she makes you feel alive too. In a different way. In the opposite way.
Maybe you’re two sides of a radically confusing coin.
"Harder." She instructs, and you obey, holding back your own sounds as her fingernails assault your thighs. Her kiss vicious and overwhelming. “Just like that…so…fuck.”
Body tense as she's silent, before her moans are in your mouth as she comes for you, biting your lip and drawing a little blood to muffle the noise.
You try to breathe properly as she stills your hand.
“I can fire her.” She suggests, catching her breath and gesturing with her head towards the door. “I can fire Heather.”
Heather. The waitress. Or whatever she is.
The way she’d fired everybody near your desk just to have you all to herself.
She’d give you the same privilege? Is that something you’d want? To ruin some girls life over a little jealousy?
You slip out of her waistband, sucking her off of your fingers as she watches you with heavy eyelids. The taste sweet and addictive.
She doesn't need to fire anyone.
Agatha’s hands are easing up your shirt when she licks the blood from your lip, her nails grazing lightly across your back, snaking forward to find your...
She stills at the noise.
An enormous crash from downstairs, followed by yelling. Screaming. Fighting?
You freeze too, her hands gently holding you a little tighter. You doubt she’s even noticed the change in her grip.
What the hell was that?
It’s less than a second later when a security guard opens the door without so much as a knock, bumbling into the room at speed. He’s tall, with wide shoulders and a tie. He doesn’t care what he walks into, his eyes locking onto her as soon as he’s finally able to find her.
“Ms Harkness you have to come with me right away.”
You don’t move, not right away. Clinging to her.
“Right away we don’t have any time.” He gestures to the door with a look in his eyes like any hesitation might destroy his entire operation.
“What’s this about?”
You don't want to leave.
You don't want her to go.
But she’s already tapping her thigh and fixing her shirt. Acting quickly and leaving her winnings on the floor of the out of place room.
“Come.”
You follow, fixing your own clothes, pulse escalating and senses heightened, the man instantly following you as you leave the room. Another large man with a lanyard a little further down the staircase. The two of them either side of Agatha as you finally enter the club again.
It’s him.
The sweaty poker man.
Restrained by two of her security, a third holding back his friend. The others must have already been removed from the building, bottles smashed and a table upside down in the middle of the room. The lights all the way up and it doesn’t look near as shady as it did when you arrived.
His eyes lock onto Agatha instantly, going from red faced to burgundy as he spits his words.
“You! It’s you! I knew I fuckin’ recognized you!”
He’s being pulled back further, fighting with all his strength as they attempt to calm him.
“You sold me that goddamn penthouse! You told me it was safe! You fuckin’ scammed me! I can’t believe I didn’t clock it!”
She doesn’t look at him, head down as she follows her security out of the building, her hand on the small of your back as she guides you out.
“I don’t even know who you are.” She states calmly as she fixes her jacket. It obviously doesn’t help, his fury growing.
“Andy Vilanti. You’ll know me.” His voice is firmer and more certain this time. It takes a second for it to hit her.
You don't recognize the name.
The security do, looking at each other like they're sharing a thought.
Agatha swallows, she's composing herself. But you know her, and the way her jaw twitches when she’s uncomfortable. It’s radiating off of her skin and the intensity of her hold on you.
Suddenly the entire Zara situation feels like it might be the tip of the iceberg.
How much are you going to take?
You don’t have time to think as the security block the area, forcing you onto the leather seats of the car and into the quiet. One of them stepping inside and sitting next to the driver who seems calm and unbothered about the experience.
Your head is on her initials, body trembling at the sudden shock.
“Shit.” Her hands are in her hair before the car can even start. The ride smooth and what should be calming. “Shit shit shit shit shit.”
“Agatha-“
“I should never have dragged you into my life. I’msofucking...” Her hands are flexed and then they’re fists. Like she can’t control how her body is reacting to her thoughts. You can’t even comprehend the severity of the situation.
Surely this is a miscommunication. A nasty man at a club who’s not understood his situation correctly. Who didn’t know who she was.
"I don't care what you've done. I don't care. Tell me where we're going." You try to talk louder than she did, but it comes out weak in your throat. You think you mean it.
You think you’re past the point.
Totally devoted to her, regardless of the problems in her past and who she might really be.
Agatha ignores you.
“Why would you even let them inside?” She asks the security, a sharp tone in her voice and you can tell she’s trying not to lose it. “I specifically requested we keep them out of anywhere I own, do you not remember me buying a fucking PR company?! Does that mean nothing to you? I was past all this!” Her words turn to yelling and it’s already too late.
The security guard seems disappointed, but he wasn’t the guy at the door.
It isn’t his fault and she knows it. She clicks at him anyway to get his attention.
"Agatha—"
You reach for her hand, she flinches away from you in anger and you try not to let it hurt as bad as it does.
“I’m going to have to take you home...I'm...I’m sorry.” She spits her words in one quick sentence before her eyes are already out the window.
“Home? Like to the penthouse?”
“No. To your house. I can’t be there right now it’s a public address and I don’t–“
She cuts herself off.
“Look it’s just better for you if you go back to your apartment and I call you when this is resolved.”
“But what happened? I don’t understand?” It’s hard to hold back the tears as they start to stream down your cheeks.
Her eyes are soft.
“I know. I’m– you have to go home."
She sees you tremble.
She takes your hand.
"It won’t be forever.”
“But where are you going to go? I want to go with you!”
The driver is already pulling up at your door before you’ve even realized where you are.
“I don’t know yet I just. I can’t think right now I need a minute I need you to be safe can you listen to me right now? Can you be good?”
She’s not angry.
She’s scared.
“Okay. Okay I…I can do that.”
“Good girl. You have my credit card for whatever you need I’ll contact you okay I...I–“
She swallows whatever the rest is like it’s heavy.
Reaching over to you as the driver opens your door.
“I need you to be safe.”
Her face is fragile.
And you step out of the car.
—
Damn that was not supposed to take this long, it has been a TOUGH year, but we move. As always let me know your thoughts! Would also like to reference this Early Riser edit created by @wifehahn because I was literally listening to this song when I was doing full outline for this chapter when this edit was dropped! Crazy stuff.
In the same vein, below is the Early Riser Spotify playlist that was heavily requested, so here's all the songs I listen to that inspired different parts of this AU characters and their relationship. So do with that what you will. <3
Also quickly I knowwww we hate a cliffhanger, but i'm already working on the next part so fear not.
you decided to take a break at the beach house and your father told you that Agatha wouldn’t be there, how wrong he was. These next days are more than just a reunion with your stepmother.
Warnings: 18+ Minors & Men DNI! Stepmom!Agatha forbidden relationship(in divorce), age gap (A!50, r!28), alcohol, praise kink, teasing, power imbalance, seduction, feet play, breath play, edging, pet names(precious thing, sweet girl), power play, somatophilia, rough sex, possessiveness, voyeurism, overstimulation, masturbation, knife play, blood kink, marking, underwear kink, smelling kink, degrading, fingering, oral, obsessive behavior
A/N: Beach house Agatha has me rolling in the deep. @hannah-0730 thanks for reading it and your feedback. Appreciate it sm🫶🏻gave me the courage to post this✨
Well that’s that and Happy Valentines day to all of you enjoy reading✨
Rebelsromantic’s Masterlist
⊱ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⊰ ⊱ ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── ⊰
The engine of your car sputters into silence, leaving a ringing in your ears that is quickly replaced by the rhythmic, hypnotic pulse of the Atlantic Ocean. You sit there for a moment, your hands still gripped tight around the steering wheel, knuckles white. The beach house stands before you, a sprawling, glass and cedar monument to a marriage that is dead in spirit but legally undead. You had come here for solitude, for a reprieve from the grind of your new job, and because your father had promised, with a weary sigh, that Agatha was three hundred miles away in the city.
But then you see her.
Agatha is leaning against the porchs railing, a vision of calculated nonchalance. She’s draped in a floor length silk robe the color of a bruised plum, the fabric clinging to her frame as the sea breeze whips around her. She holds a crystal glass with amber liquid, the ice clinking softly, a sound that, to anyone else, would be a warning. To the world, Agatha is a woman whose intellect is a scalpel and whose social standing is a fortress. To your father, she is the legal headache that refuses to sign the final papers.
But to you? She is the woman who used to linger a second too long when she tucked your hair behind your ear. She is the scent of expensive oud and salt that stayed on your sweaters for days after a simple hug.
Your heart isn't just hammering, it’s attempting to break through your ribs. You step out of the car, the ground crunching under your boots, feeling exposed under her gaze.
"My father said you weren't here" you say, your voice betraying a slight tremor. You try to sound normal, but it comes out sounding like a plea.
Agatha doesn’t move at first. She simply watches you, her dark eyes tracing the line of your throat, the fit of your jeans, the way you’re bracing yourself against the car door. Then, she begins to move. She doesn’t walk, she glides down the porch steps with a terrifying grace.
"Your father says a lot of things to keep his world tidy, precious thing" she purrs. The pet name hits you like a physical weight. She doesn't stop until she has completely invaded your personal space. She is so close that the heat radiating from her body took over the cool ocean breeze. The scent of her intoxicating, heavy blend of woodsy oud and sea salt washes over you, making your head dizzy.
She reaches out, her fingers cool and steady, tracing the line of your jaw with her thumb. It’s a possessive gesture, one that makes your breath hitch.
"I’ve missed you" she whispers, her voice dropping low, "The house is far too quiet without my favorite distraction. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me in that big, busy city of yours."
"I should leave" you manage to choke out, even as your body betrays you, leaning toward her touch. "This is awkward, Agatha. He told me you’d be gone. I can find a hotel."
Agatha lets out a low laugh that doesn't reach her eyes that are currently devouring you. She moves her hand from your jaw to the nape of your neck, her fingers tangling slightly in your hair, keeping you in place.
"Don't be absurd” she says, her tone shifting from silk to steel. "You aren't going anywhere. I like having you where I can see you. I like having you within arm's reach." She leans in closer, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear as she breathes out, "Stay. For me."
The air between you is thick, charged with the years of silent glances and accidental touches that have built up like a storm front. You know you should get back in the car. You know staying here with the woman who knows exactly how much power she holds over you is a mistake. But as she looks at you with her arrogant, teasing smirk, you know you’ve already lost.
The days that follow after your arrival are a masterclass in psychological tension, a symphony orchestrated entirely by Agatha. The beach house, once a sanctuary of cedar and glass, begins to feel smaller with every passing hour, the air thickening with the weight of things unsaid. She moves through the rooms like she owns the very oxygen you breathe, a predator who has decided to play with her food before the feast.
Every morning begins with the same test. You try to hide away in the breakfast nook with your laptop, burying yourself in spreadsheets and emails to prove that your new life in the city has made you immune to her. But Agatha never lets you be invisible.
She’ll wander in, the silk of her robe whispering against the hardwood floors, a sound you’ve become aware of. One morning, as you reached for the cream, she didn't just pass, she let her slender fingers wrap around yours, holding the small ceramic pitcher together with you.
"You’re working too hard, precious thing” she murmured, her voice a low vibration. She leaned in so close you could feel the her breath against your cheek. "The city has made you forget how to breathe. Or perhaps you're just trying very hard not to look at me. Is my presence that distracting?"
"I have a deadline, Agatha" you replied, your voice betraying you with a slight catch, your eyes glued to a paragraph which meant nothing to you anymore.
"Deadlines are for people who don't have better things to do with their mouths” she purred, her lips grazing the shell of your ear. She didn't pull away. Instead, she stayed there, her scent of expensive oud and sea salt clouding your vision until the numbers on the screen blurred into a meaningless haze.
Later that day the conversation flows as easily as the wine, but Agatha has a way of making even the simplest chat feel tense. She listens with a terrifying level of focus, her chin resting on her hand, her eyes locked onto yours as if every word you say is poetry. It’s a trait of hers you’ve always found intoxicating, she makes you feel like you're the only person in the world.
As you dive into a story about your trip, you realize you've been a bit too enthusiastic with the dressing of the salad. You feel a stray drop of dressing at the corner of your mouth and quickly swipe at it with your napkin.
"Did I get it?" you ask, mid-sentence.
Agatha’s lips twitch into a suppressed smile. "Not quite."
You try again, rubbing a bit harder at the left side of your mouth. "Now?"
"Missed again" she says, her voice dropping into that low, amused hum.
You huff a soft chuckle, wiping a third time with the back of your hand, feeling your face grow even hotter. "I’m hopeless. Is it gone yet?"
Agatha doesn't answer with words. Instead, she sets her wine glass down with a soft clink and leans across the small teak table. She lifts herself off her chair just enough to bridge the distance, her presence suddenly overwhelming as she enters your space.
"Hold still" she breathes. She reaches out, instead of using a napkin, she uses her thumb. Her touch is firm but gentle, her skin smelling of salt and expensive soap. As she swipes away the stray bit of sauce, the edge of her long, perfectly manicured acrylic nail catches against your skin, scratching lightly almost teasingly over the fullness of your lower lip.
The sensation sends a sharp, electric jolt straight down your spine. For a second, your breath hitches in your throat, and you’re certain she can hear the thudding of your heart. You’re frozen, trapped in her gaze, convinced she’s finally going to say something that changes everything.
But then, just as quickly as she leaned in, she pulls back. She looks at her thumb for a fraction of a second, then back at you. She doesn't look away from your stunned expression, instead, she gives you a slow charming wink and lets out a soft, throaty chuckle.
"There" she says, settling back into her seat as if she hadn't just set your entire nervous system on fire. "All clean. Now, don't stop, you were just telling me about the garden you started."
She picks up her wine glass, watching you over the rim with an expression that says she knows exactly what she just did, leaving you to wonder, once again, how she could make you feel this.
You try to swallow the lump in your throat, the sensation of her nail against your lip still humming like a wire. You take a quick sip of wine and launch back into your story, the words tumbling out of you in a rush of nervous energy.
"Right, the garden" you start, your hands gesturing a bit too wildly as you describe the raised beds you built by hand. You find yourself rambling, diving deep into the specifics of the heirloom tomatoes that refused to grow and the lavender that finally took root in the sandy soil. You’re enthusiastic, your eyes bright as you talk about the quiet joy of seeing something grow from nothing in a mirror to how you feel standing there with her.
Agatha doesn't interrupt. She watches you with a look of quiet fascination, her head tilted, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. She seems to savor the way you get lost in your own excitement, the way your voice picks up speed when you talk about the things you love.
The hallways of the house become a game. Agatha has a way of appearing just as you’re turning a corner, forcing you to stop. She never moves out of the way. Instead, she stands her ground, forcing you to squeeze past her in the narrow hallway.
One afternoon, as you tried to head to the veranda to escape the indoor heat, she intercepted you in the corridor leading to the library. As you brushed past, she didn't just lean back, she purposefully arched her body so that the curve of her hip pressed firmly against yours. Her hand accidentally found the small of your back, her palm flat and warm through the thin fabric of your shirt.
"Pardon me, darling" she whispered, her thumb tracing a slow, agonizing circle against your spine "It's a bit tight in here, isn't it? Or are you just getting closer to me on purpose? You always did have a habit of lingering in my shadow."
"There wasn't enough room to pass” you managed to choke out, your heart hammering so loudly against your ribs you were sure she could hear it.
"There's always enough room if you want there to be" her eyes dancing with a cruel, beautiful mischief. She didn't move her hand until you were well past her, and you could feel the imprint of her fingers, a burning, possessive brand on your skin for the rest of the day.
The afternoons are spent by the water, where the tension only thickens. You try to focus on your book, but Agatha is a constant distraction. She treats you with a frightening level of adoration, constantly adjusting your umbrella or offering you a sip of her chilled drink, her fingers touching yours every single time.
"You're burning, darling" she’d say, her voice dropping. She wouldn't wait for an answer before she was pressing cool lotion on your shoulders. Her touch is firm and deliberate, her palms sliding over your skin with a confidence that makes your heart race.
You catch her watching you when she thinks you aren't looking not with kindness, but with a hunger that feels like she could swallow you.
Dinner is the most torture of all. She sits across from you, the flickering candlelight catching the sharp angles of her face, making her look like a goddess carved from marble. The atmosphere is thick with the scent of red wine and the salt air drifting through the open terrace doors. While she speaks of different things she did the last weeks, the quality of the vintage or the local architecture, her actions are a direct contrast to her polite, measured tone.
One night, the heavy silence between your bites is broken. Her phone buzzes on the dark wood of the table, your father’s name flashing on the screen. She answers the speaker without hesitation, her expression shifting instantly from a warm glow to a terrifyingly cold.
"Arthur" she says, her voice a crack that echoes sharply off the floor-to-ceiling glass walls. "If you think for one second that I'm settling for the house in the Hamptons, you’ve finally lost what little remains of your mind. I will bleed you dry before I let you take what’s mine. You’re weak, Arthur. You always have been, and it’s hideous."
To him, she is a monster, the architect of his ruin. But even as she shreds his ego into ribbons with a few choice words, her eyes remain locked onto yours, glowing with a soft, predatory heat.
Under the table, her bare foot finds your calf. It isn't a shy, accidental tap, it is a deliberate, slow slide of her skin up your leg, pressing firmly against your muscle as her toes trace the sensitive line behind your knee. You try to keep your fork from trembling, your face flushing a deep red, while she continues to hiss into the phone.
"Sign the papers, Arthur. Or I'll make sure the board knows exactly where you spent that consulting budget last spring. Don't test my patience." The moment she taps the screen to hang up, the ice vanishes as if it was never there.
She sighs, a sound of genuine, weary exhaustion, and looks at you with such intense, melting sweetness it makes your head dizzy.
"He’s so loud, isn't he, my sweet girl?" she says, her voice dropping into a caress that vibrates in your chest. She reaches across the table, her fingers capturing your hand and pulling it toward her. She rubs her thumb over your knuckles in a slow, possessive rhythm, her gaze never leaving yours. "I'm sorry you had to hear that. He has a way of cluttering the air. I need to remember what something good feels like. Tell me about your day. Tell me everything."
The air in the dining room remains thick, the echo of your father’s defeated silence still hanging in the space like smoke. Agatha doesn't let go of your hand, instead, she increases the pressure, her thumb tracing the sensitive skin between your fingers with a slow deliberateness.
"You’ve gone quiet, precious thing" she murmurs, her head tilting to the side. The candlelight dances in the dark pools of her eyes, making her look soft. "Does it frighten you? Seeing how I speak to him?"
You swallow hard, finding a sudden spark of defiance through the haze of her perfume. "Maybe I’m just wondering if you ever stop performing, Agatha" you say, your voice steadier than you expected. "Is everything a power play with you? Even dinner?"
A slow, delighted smirk spreads across her face. She loves it when you bite back. "Oh, darling, if this were a power play, you’d already be on your knees" she whispers. Under the table, her foot hasn't moved, it has traveled higher, the silkiness of her skin grazing the inside of your thigh now. You try to pull your leg back, but she hooks her heel behind your knee, anchoring you to her. "I'm just enjoying the view. You've grown quite a spine since you moved away."
"I learned from the best, didn't I?" you retort, looking her dead in the eye even as your skin flushes. "Watching you shred people for year. I was bound to pick up a few things."
"Is that so?" she says, her voice dropping to a velvety rasp. She stands up slowly, never breaking eye contact, and begins to walk around the table until she is standing directly behind your chair.
You feel the heat of her body before you feel her touch. She places her hands on your shoulders, her fingers kneading the tense muscles there with a strength that belies her elegant frame. "You’re like a bird ready to fly" she whispers, leaning down until her lips are brushing the shell of your ear. "But we both know you aren't going anywhere. You’ve wanted to be in this house, in this room, with me for a very long time. Don't deny it, precious thing. It's beneath you to lie to me."
"You're arrogant" you breathe out, your head falling back slightly against her.
"I'm right" she corrects. She slides one hand down the front of your shoulder, her palm flat against your chest, right above your heart. She can undoubtedly feel the rhythm of your pulse. Her other hand moves to your chin, tilting your head back so you’re forced to look up at her. From this angle, she looks triumphant.
"I can see it in your eyes" she teases, her thumb dragging across your lower lip, pulling it down just enough to expose the damp of your mouth. "The way you track me when I walk into a room. The way you hold your breath when I get too close. You're so transparent, my precious thing. It’s almost unfair how much I know about you."
She leans further down, her perfume becoming your entire world. Her lips don't quite touch yours, instead, they ghost over your cheek, trailing down to the sensitive skin of your neck. She gives your shoulder one final, heavy squeeze, a bruising and possessive promise, before she pulls back.
"I think I've teased you enough for one dinner" she says with a low, wicked chuckle that sends a shiver straight down your spine. "Go finish your wine. I have things to attend to."
The dining room feels frozen the moment Agatha leaves it. You are left alone with the dying flickers of the candles and the half-empty bottle of expensive red wine, your skin still humming from where she gripped your shoulder. You lean back in the chair, your legs feeling like lead, and bring the crystal glass to your lips. The wine is tart and cold, but it does nothing to douse the fire she lit under your skin. You stare out at the black expanse of the Atlantic through the glass walls, listening to the muffled, distant thud of her bedroom door closing upstairs. You imagine she’s simply checking her emails or perhaps pouring herself another drink, blissfully unaware of the storm she’s left behind in your chest.
Upstairs, the reality is far more frantic.
Agatha leans her back against the heavy oak door of her suite, her chest heaving as if she’s just run a mile. The woman who just dismantled your father with a few cold sentences, is gone. In her place is someone unraveled. The defiance you showed her, the way you looked her in the eye and called her arrogant, has pushed her over the edge she’s been balancing on for years.
She doesn't bother turning in the lights. The room is bathed in the pale, silvery glow of the moon reflecting off the ocean. With trembling fingers, she undoes the silk tie of her robe. It pools at her feet like a shadow. She moves to the edge of the oversized bed, her breath hitching as she remembers the way your pulse beat under her palm just minutes ago.
"You little brat” she whispers into the empty room, her voice a hungry rasp.
She closes her eyes, and she isn't in her room anymore, she’s back in the dining room, but in her mind, she didn't walk away. She imagines staying behind your chair, sliding her hands down from your shoulders to the swell of your breasts, feeling you arch into her. As her hand finds the heat between her own thighs, her fingers moving with a desperate, practiced rhythm, she pictures your face the way your lower lip trembled when she brushed it with her thumb, the way your eyes darkened with a need you were too proud to admit.
A low, guttural moan escapes her throat, vibrating through the silent room. It’s a raw sound. She isn't the stepmother, the legal headache, or the arrogant woman right now. She is a woman obsessed with you.
"Stay" she gasps, her hips bucking instinctively against her hand as she’s near the edge. "Stay right there, precious thing"
She imagines the scent of your damp skin after the pool, the taste of the wine on your lips, and the way you’d look marked by her touch. Her movements become faster, more urgent, her fingernails digging into the silk sheets as she loses the battle with her own restraint. When the climax hits, it’s a violent breathless cry from her lungs that she has to smother against a pillow.
“Darling" she whimpers, the sound of your name, a prayer and a confession. She stays there for a long time, tangled in the sheets, her heart racing as she stares at the ceiling. She’s spent years watching you from a distance, playing a game of cat and mouse, but tonight changed things. The hunger is no longer manageable.
Downstairs, you finally set your glass down. You stand up, smoothing out your clothes, thinking about how you need to keep your distance from her tomorrow. You head toward the stairs, your hand grazing the banister, never realizing that just a few feet above you, the woman you fear and desire is lying in the dark, still whispering your name into the salt air.
The silence in the master bedroom is thick, broken only by the sound of Agatha’s ragged, uneven breathing. She lies back against the pillows, her skin flushed and slick with a fine sheen of sweat that glitters in the moonlight. The adrenaline of the climax begins to fade, leaving behind a heavy, pulsing ache that isn't satisfied, only stoked.
Slowly she brings her hand up to her face. Her fingers are damp, glistening with the evidence of how thoroughly you’ve unraveled her. She stares at them for a long moment, her eyes dark and unfocused, seeing not the room around her, but the memory of your trembling mouth.
Then, with a slow, deliberate grace, she slides her fingers into her mouth. She sucks them clean, her tongue swirling around each one with a rhythmic intensity. She closes her eyes tight, her mind conjuring the taste of you, the sweetness of the wine you were drinking, the salt of the ocean that lingers in your pores, and the hidden, intoxicating musk of the woman she’s watched grow up from a distance.
She imagines it’s your skin she’s tasting, your heat she’s consuming. A low, soft growl vibrates in the back of her throat, a sound of pure hunger. She swallows hard, the muscles of her throat working as she pulls her fingers back, her lips popping softly. The taste, even imagined, is a catalyst. It’s no longer just a game of cat and mouse. It’s no longer just a way to pass the time or to spite your father.
"I have to have you" she whispers into the darkness, the words sounding like a vow. "I'm going to get you, precious thing."
She sits up, her robe hanging open, and looks toward the door. She knows you’re still down there, perhaps washing your glass or staring out at the waves, thinking you’ve survived another round with her. She smiles as she thinks about the way you looked at her with that spark of rebellion in your eyes, and she realizes that the only thing better than seeing you blush is seeing you finally, completely break under her.
She stands, moving to the window to look down at the veranda. She spots the top of your head as you step out into the night air. Her hand clenches at her side, her nails biting into her palm. The time for accidental touches is over.
Tomorrow, she won't just tease you. Tomorrow, she’s going to claim what she’s been patient enough to wait for.
Downstairs, you feel a sudden chill race down your spine, despite the warmth of the summer night. You look up at the dark windows of her bedroom, seeing nothing but your own reflection in the glass, unaware that the woman inside has just decided that you will be hers.
The next afternoon you retreat to the pool, hoping the cold water will numb the constant buzz of nerves beneath your skin. You swim laps until your muscles ache, trying to wash away the feeling of her eyes on you.
You didn't notice her standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows of the upper balcony, a glass of wine in her hand, watching the way your wet skin caught the light as you pulled yourself out of the water. She watched the way you moved, with the confidence in you that wasn't there years ago.
Meanwhile, inside the house, Agatha isn't resting. She moves through the guest wing with quiet confidence. She enters your room, the air still smelling of your shampoo. She tells herself she’s just checking if you need fresh linens, but her hands find your suitcase instead.
She sifts through your neatly folded clothes, her fingers lingering on the fabrics you chose for your new life. Then, she finds it. Tucked at the bottom is a small, silk bag. She pulls out a set of sheer, midnight-blue lace lingerie, something far more daring and expensive than anything she remembers you owning.
She doesn't just look at it. She brings the lace to her face, inhaling the scent of your skin that clings to the fabric. A smirk tugs at her lips. She knows you. She knows this wasn't bought for a boyfriend or a casual fling. This was a rebellion hidden piece of the woman you are becoming.
You walk into the house, dripping wet and wrapped in a towel, heading for your room. You stop dead in the doorway. Agatha is leaning against your dresser, her sharp blazer tailored to perfection, looking like she stepped out of a boardroom.
Dangling from her index finger, spinning slowly, is the blue lace. "Looking for these precious thing?" she asks. Her voice is a low, dangerous purr.
Your face burns a deep, hot red. "Agatha, put those back. You shouldn't be going through my things."
"I was merely checking if you’d brought enough essentials" she teases, her eyes dark with a hunger she’s no longer trying to hide. She lifts the fabric again, letting the light catch the sheer lace "I don’t recall seeing these in your wardrobe before you moved away. Since when does my sweet girl wear things like this? And more importantly, what do you intend to do with them?"
"They're just clothes" you stammer, stepping forward to snatch them from her finger.
As you reach out, she pulls her hand back with lightning reflexes. You're forced to stumble into her space to keep your balance, your damp towel brushing against her expensive blazer. She doesn't move back. Instead, she uses her free hand to catch your waist, pulling you flush against her.
"Careful" she whispers, her breath hot against your forehead. "You're getting me wet."
You try to grab for the lace again, but she holds it high above your head. "Give them to me, Agatha. Please."
"My sweet girl is getting a bit dirty, isn't she? A bit bratty" she says, looking down at you with a look of pure triumph. She loves seeing you like this, small, breathless, and completely at her mercy. "I think they’d look intoxicating on you. But then again, they already smell intoxicating."
She leans down, her nose brushing the crook of your neck, and you feel your knees go weak. She finally lets the lace drop into your hand, her fingers dragging slowly over your palm as she releases you. "Keep them close, precious. I’d hate for them to go to waste."
She chuckles deep, stepping back and walking out of the room leaving you behind flustered and your lace in your hand. You turned around looking into the full-length mirror, opening your towel and letting it fall to the ground, looking at your flustered state. Taking off your bikini you slid the midnight-blue lace over your legs, it hugs your curves like a second, more dangerous skin. The sheer fabric leaves nothing to the imagination, and the contrast against your flushed, damp skin is enough to make your head spin. Your heart is a trapped bird against your ribs, thudding so loudly you almost miss the soft creak of the door.
After some moments Agatha knew that you would put the lace on which was in her hands. She doesn’t step fully into the room. She lingers in the threshold, her reflection appearing in the glass right behind yours. She doesn't say a word. She simply watches you through the silvered surface, her gaze traveling from the dip of your collarbone down to the delicate of your hips. The hunger in her eyes is no longer a suggestion, it’s an anchor, pinning you to the spot. Your breath hitches and you see the corners of her mouth twitch.
She sees the way your chest heaves, the way your fingers are curled into your palms, and the way you’re looking at her through the mirror with a mixture of defiance and desperation. She takes in the sight of your obedience, savoring the fact that despite your protests, you did exactly what she suggested.
She doesn't give you the satisfaction of praise. She doesn't tell you how breathtaking you look, though the slight flare of her nostrils betrays her. Instead, she lets the silence stretch until the tension is a physical weight in the air, thick and suffocating.
One last, lingering look, her eyes locking onto yours in the reflection. There’s a flash of something dark and ancient in her expression, the look of a woman who has already won a game you didn't even know you were playing.
Without a word, she pushes off the doorframe. The predatory stillness breaks as she turns away, her silk blazer catching the light one last time. "Don't catch a cold, precious," she calls out over her shoulder, her voice a rasp "Dinner is in an hour. Do try to be presentable."
The door doesn't click shut, a final taunt. You’re left standing there in the fading afternoon light, the cooling sweat on your skin making the lace feel heavy and damp. Your face is burning and as the adrenaline begins to fade, you’re aware of the heat pooling low in your belly, a lingering ache that Agatha sparked and then left to simmer.
The tension reaches a fever pitch that evening. A thunderstorm is rolling in, the sky turning a bruised purple that matches Agatha’s robe from the first day. You’re in the kitchen when you hear her in the study, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. She’s fighting with your father again, and this time, it’s ugly.
When she slams the door and walks into the kitchen, she looks possessed. Her hair is slightly disheveled, and her eyes are cold.
"Is everything okay?" you ask softly, your heart breaking for the woman behind her sharp mask.
"Don't" she snaps, pacing the length of the kitchen. She picks up a small paring knife from the counter, flipping it over in her hand with a restless angry energy. "Don't ask me that. Your father is a parasite. He thinks he can keep me tied to him forever just to spite me."
"Agatha, calm down" you look at her, seeing how she shakes her head, her back towards you.
"I don't want to be calm" she yells, turning around. She looks at you, really looks at you, and the anger shifts. It turns into something sharper, more physical. She’s wanted you for years. She’s watched you grow up, watched you leave, and she knows you have the same dark, deep desires she does.
She moves toward you, the knife still in her hand. You back up until you hit the cold marble of the island. "You're so innocent, aren't you?" she whispers, her voice shaking with rage and lust "So helpful, so worried about me. But you won't admit it. You won't admit you want me to fuck every thought out of your head."
You try to speak, to test her, to say something that will break the spell, but she growls and pins you against the counter. She brings the side of the knife up to your throat. It’s not a threat of death, it’s a threat of surrender.
The kitchen light flickers as the storm outside slams against the windows, but the real tempest is standing inches from you. Agatha’s grip on the paring knife is white knuckled, her knuckles strong against the dark handle. When she presses the steel into your skin, it’s a sharp point of contact. It’s a slow, deliberate pressure not the quick nick of an accident, but the calculated mark of a woman reclaiming territory.
The sting is sudden. You feel the skin part, breath hitching in your lungs as the warmth begins to spread. It’s a heavy sensation as the blood wells up, escaping the shallow wound, a small path down the pale expanse of your chest. It seeps into the fiber of your T-shirt, a growing bloom of crimson that feels damp against the blue lace hidden beneath.
The air in the kitchen is thick, charged with the outside storm and the heat of her body. Agatha’s eyes are dark, fixed on the pulsing vein in your neck with a predatory focus that makes your pulse skip.
She doesn't stop with the first. Her fingers trail upward to the curve of your shoulder. She picks up the knife again, the edge catching the flickering overhead light. "One wasn't enough" she murmurs, her voice a low "I want you to remember this every time you look in the mirror."
With slowness, she presses the tip into the soft skin just above your collarbone. You flinch, your feet scraping against the floorboards, but she leans her full weight into you, pinning you to the marble. The second sting is deeper. You watch as a fresh bead of blossoms before it begins its slow rhythmic descent to the first. It’s a brand, a beautiful mess that belongs entirely to her.
She drops the knife again, it clatters and slides across the counter. Her hand moves to the back of your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your head back at a punishing angle. She doesn't just lick the wound this time, she claims it. Her lips press against the raw skin, her tongue swirling over the iron-rich heat of you. When she bites, a sharp, proprietary nip right on the edge of the second mark, electricity shoots down your spine, forcing a choked sob from your throat, she moans.
Then, she looks up. Her lower lip is stained, a dark, gleaming smear of you against her skin. Before you can breathe, she crashes her mouth against yours.
The kiss is violent, a collision of teeth and tongue. She forces your mouth open, her tongue sweeping inside to coat yours with the heavy, metallic tang of your own blood. It’s a sensory overload, the scent of her perfume, the salt of your skin, and the undeniable, copper taste of your own blood. You are literally consuming yourself through her, a closed loop of desire and submission. Your hands move instinctively to her blazer, pulling her closer until there isn't space between you. You're swallowing the evidence of her cruelty, you’re chasing the flavor of it.
She breaks the kiss just an inch, her breathing coming in harsh hitches that puff against your wet lips. She doesn't move away, she stays close enough that you can feel the beat of her heart against your ribs. Her thumb reaches down, smearing the blood from your collarbone, making the stain even wider, even more impossible to hide. She watches your pupils dilate, her expression shifting into something satisfied.
"Look at you" she whispers, pulling back just enough for her lips to brush against your swollen ones. Her face is a mask of triumphant beauty, her eyes tracking the way your chest moves "Dripping for me in more than one."
She reaches down, her hand flat against your chest, feeling the rhythm of your heart through the cotton. Her palm slides lower, hooking under your T-shirt and dipping just low enough to graze the edge of the blue lace panties.
"I can feel you shaking“ She laughs deeply. The anger from the phone call with your father hasn't vanished, it's turned into the need to possess the one thing he can take away. She shoves you back slightly, her eyes raking over the blood-stained shirt and your flushed expression.
"Upstairs. Now" she commands, her voice dropping to a tone that you can’t argue against. "Take off that shirt. I want to see the mark I left when I walk through that door. And don't you dare touch that lace. I want to be the one to decide when it comes off."
You stumble toward the stairs, your legs feel shaky, the cooling blood on your skin feeling like a brand. Every step you take, the lace shifts against you, a constant reminder of your surrender. You reach your room and collapse onto the edge of the bed, the silence of the hallway stretching out like a wire.
Five minutes pass. Ten. The house is silent except for the rain. Then, the distinct, rhythmic sound of her heels begins to climb the stairs. It’s slow and deliberate. She’s taking her time, letting your anticipation turn into a physical ache.
The door creaks open. Agatha stands there, her blazer left on the stairs, the sleeves of her silk blouse rolled up, showing her veiny arms. She looks at you, sitting there in the dim light, shoulders bare, the small red lines on your collarbone. "Good girl" she breathes, closing the door behind her with a soft, final click. "You stayed as I told you."
Agatha doesn't rush. She stands by the door, her silhouette framed by the flickering lightning outside, watching the way your breath hitches at the sight of her. She’s unbuttoned the cuffs of her blouse, moving with a grace that makes the air in the room feel thin.
"Look at you" she murmurs, her voice a low, vibrating hum as she walks over to you "The perfect picture of ruined innocence."
She reaches the edge of the bed and stands between your knees, forcing them apart. She doesn't touch your skin yet, instead, she reaches out and brushes her knuckles against the blue lace at your hip, just barely touching the sensitive skin beneath. You gasp, your back arching instinctively, but she tuts softly. "Patience, my precious thing. We haven't even begun to settle the debt your father owes me."
She leans down, her lips tracing the path the blood took earlier. Her tongue flickers out, tasting the dried salt of your skin, circling the small marks she left on your collarbone. Every brush of her warm tongue against the sting makes your toes curl into the carpet. She moves lower, her hands finally sliding under the hem of the lace, her fingers sliding along the line where the fabric meets your skin, teasing the very edge of your sanity but never giving you the friction you’re silently begging for.
"You’re so tight" she whispers, her breath hot against your stomach. "Soaked for the woman who just made you bleed. What would he say if he saw you now? If he knew that his divorce was the best thing that ever happened to you?"
Agatha lingers above you, watching the way your chest heaves in the dim light. Her eyes drop to the blue lace, now damp and clinging to your hips, the physical evidence of how much power she holds over you. "You’ve made such a beautiful mess of these" she purrs, her voice dripping to a dark satisfied pride.
She reaches down, her fingers hooking into the delicate silk at your hips. She doesn't rush, she peels the lace down slowly, the fabric dragging over your sensitized skin with a friction. As she pulls them off, she holds them up to the moonlight filtering through the stormy clouds. The lace is darkened with the proof of your arousal.
Agatha’s eyes turn darker. She doesn't toss them aside. Instead, she brings the lace to her face, closing her eyes as she inhales deeply. She takes in your scent, the very essence of your surrender. A low, primal hum vibrates in her throat, a sound of pure hunger.
"You smell like a girl who’s forgotten everyone but me" she whispers, her gaze snapping back to yours. You’re pinned to the mattress, watching her with wide pupils, trapped between shame and a desperate rising heat.
Then, she does something that makes your heart stop. Keeping her eyes locked onto yours, she runs her tongue slowly across the damp spot of the lace. She licks your arousal off the fabric, savoring the taste with a slow movement of her jaw.
"Sweet" she murmurs, a stray drop of your moisture glistening on her bottom lip. "Sweeter than I ever imagined. And you’re still giving me more, aren't you, precious?"
She drops the lace onto your chest, right over the marks, and moves back between your legs. She watches as you react to her gaze, the way your body betrays you, weeping fresh moisture that glistens against your thighs, taking off her blouse to reveal she wasn’t wearing anything under itShe reaches out, her index finger tracing the slick path, then bringing it to her own lips to taste you. Agatha hovers over you, her weight a heavy, grounding heat against your chest. She begins to finger you slowly, a deliberate pace that makes your hips buck instinctively. She watches the desperation in your eyes with a cruel smirk.
"You think this is just about tonight, don't you?" she whispers, her voice a low rasp. "You think I just decided to break you because I’m angry with your father."
She leans closer, her breath hot against your ear, her fingers twisting deep inside you in a way that makes your toes curl. "I have spent months, years, touching myself to the thought of you. To the memory of you walking through this house, oblivious and perfect. More times than I can count, I’ve had my hand between my legs, imagining it was your mouth, your voice, your name on my lips."
A broken moan escapes you, your head thumping back against the pillow. "You-you didn't," you gasp, the thought of losing her mind over you in the dark almost too much to process.
Agatha laughed dark "Oh, I know exactly what you’re thinking, sweet girl. You think I’m too cold, too controlled. You think I’m above such desires." She leaned back, her eyes flashing with honesty. "I know your thoughts better than you do. I’ve lived in your head since the day you arrived. I know the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching. We're the same, you and I. Both starving."
Abruptly, she pulled her fingers out, leaving you empty and aching. You let out a frustrated, guttural groan, your body instinctively arching to follow the heat she had just taken away.
"I’ll show you“ she breathed, her voice shaking with a rare vulnerability. "I’ll show you exactly how I did it."
She shifted her weight, positioning herself on top of your thighs, her knees pinning yours firmly to the mattress. She was a dark silhouette of ruined silk and lace, looking down at you with hunger. She reached down and took your hand, her grip tight and forced your fingers toward her own core.
"I’d lie in my bed, thinking of your defiance" she said, her voice cracking as she guided your hand. But she didn't just let you touch her, she drove her own fingers deep into herself alongside yours, the wet, sliding sound of the friction filling the small space between you. She used her own hand to guide yours, teaching you the rhythm of her own desperation, forcing you to feel the way her muscles clamped and pulsed around you "I’d use my fingers just like this, imagining your eyes on me. Look at me. Don't you dare look away from what you've done."
You stared up at her, captivated and terrified, feeling the frantic pulse of her body against your hand. The power dynamic shifted the second she let go of your wrist, but she kept her fingers buried inside herself with yours, her hips beginning to grind against your knuckles.
"See how you make me feel?" she hissed, her face contorting with a mix of lust and desperation "See how much I want to be ruined by you, precious girl?"
Suddenly, she took her own fingers out of herself, the wet sound echoing in the room. Without a second of hesitation, she plunged those same fingers, dripping with her own heat, back into you. She began to finger you with a violent intensity, mixing her essence with yours. The contact was explosive. You leaned forward, your teeth sinking into the soft skin of her breast. You bit and suckled, leaving damp, dark marks of possession, while Agatha’s head fell back, a loud moan tearing from her throat that drowned out the thunder.
She began to ride your fingers, her hips moving in an uncoordinated rhythm that matched the frantic, drumming beat of your heart. She was no longer the stepmother, no longer the mistress of the house, she was the woman that was filled with desire for you. Her fingers buried deep inside of you mirroring your harsh, desperate pace.
You were a chaotic heap of sweat, and friction. The sound of the storm was nothing compared to the wet, rhythmic sounds of your bodies colliding, the sound of two people destroying each other to feel alive. Agatha reached down with her free hand, her fingers tangling in your hair to wrench your head away from her breast. You looked up at her breathless, a string of saliva glistening on your chin in the dim light.
"What a precious, good girl you are" she gasps, her eyes blown so wide they looked like holes in the universe as she felt the tremors of her own climax beginning to roar through her. "My perfect, filthy girl."
The climax hit like a strike of lightning against the ancient oaks outside. Agatha’s body didn't just tremble, it convulsed in a beautiful bow. Her head was thrown back as she let out a jagged, broken cry, a sound of raw victory and total surrender. You were right there with her, your vision blurry as the world narrowed down to the friction of her damp skin against yours and the relentless rhythm of her fingers.
As the final, rhythmic pulses of her climax began to rush through her, the terrifying strength Agatha had used to hold you captive finally buckled. It wasn't a graceful retreat. Her muscles simply turned to water, and she fell forward, her full weight crashing against your chest. You fell back onto the pillows, the air huffing out of your lungs in a sharp wheeze, your body still humming with the aftershocks of a ruin so complete it felt like death.
The room was suddenly quiet. The only sound was the hitching of your combined breathing. Agatha laid on top of you, her face buried in the crook of your neck, her nose brushing against your pulse point. You could feel the heat radiating off her in waves. Her heart was a frantic drum against your ribs, slowly settling back into a normal tempo.
"My precious broken thing" Agatha whispered, her voice a wrecked, gravelly shadow of its former authority. She didn't lift her head, her lips stroked your skin as she spoke. "you did so good for me"
"Agatha-" you breathed, your voice barely a thread of sound. Your hands, still trembling, came up to rest tentatively on her back, feeling the damp of her skin.
"Don't," she rasped, her fingers, still tangled painfully in your hair, tightening just enough to keep you still. She let out a long sigh against your collarbone. "Don't you dare move. I want to feel the way your heart stutters because of me. I want to feel every ounce of the heat I put there. You’re such a good girl for me, aren't you? Staying so still while I take everything you have."
She finally shifted, propping herself up on her elbows just enough to look down at you. Her hair was a dark, tangled curtain around both your faces, smelling of rain, lavender and the metallic scent of the desire that had just consumed the room. Her eyes were still unfocused, glowing with a terrifying, possessive light.
"You heard what I said" she murmured, her gaze searching for yours "About the nights I spent in the dark, imagining this. Well, the imagining is over. You’re here. And you’re mine now, precious. Do you understand that?“ with her free hand she stroked over your cheek, a soft touch making you smile “There is no one else in this world. Just us. Just this."
You looked up at her, your chest heaving, the reality of the pact settling into your bones. "I'm yours" you whispered, the words feeling like a weight and a release all at once.
"Yes" she said, a tender smile touching her lips. She leaned down, pressing her forehead against yours "And I am yours. You’ve ruined me just as thoroughly as did it to you. We are two halves of the same wreckage now. I am yours to command in the dark, and you are mine to break in the light."
She sank back down, burying her face in your neck once more, her weight a permanent seal on the night. The storm outside had begun to move on, the thunder becoming a low, distant grumble, but the atmosphere in the bed remained thick, a confession of a mutual ruin.
"You're a good girl" she whispered one last time, her voice drifting off into the quiet of the room. "My precious good girl."
CEO Agatha Harkness x Reader Rich Boss x Submissive Assistant AU
Other parts & Tip jar
Word count: 11k
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, power dynamics, implied toxic relationship, d/s dynamics, absurd mean sugar mommy behavior, Agatha is emotionally constipated but trying, mention of past abuse (A) , champagne sex, shoe cleaning, packing, slap, strap on sucking, cock warming in theory, tears, a lil degradation and a lil sweetness as always, fluff and romance!
An all-diamond necklace that must have cost a disgusting amount. A box inside of pink tissue paper. She smiles as you open it, watching it sparkle in the dim light of the car.
"I'd like you to wear that when we get back...."
You swallow.
"Just that."
--
The steel and leather of the barstool is cool under your bare skin. Agatha not allowing you to put your clothes back on for the meal, even after you cooked for her.
The kitchen expansive, the light warm and a little homely now you're both here.
Something about viewing you like this, soft and exposed and serving her in her home makes her eyes wild, and you'd never complain.
And for you, her face as she tastes your cooking is something you'd never want to forget. The look of satisfaction in her eyes as she savors the flavors. As she tastes warm, home cooked food for what must be the first time in forever.
Nobody here with her. Nobody to take care of her in this giant empty house. In just one of several giant empty houses she has. The thought breaks your heart, but you'd never tell her. Never let her know you'd ever even considered pitying her.
She's silent, but her eyes don't lie. And having her here, quiet in her penthouse. After a day of the movie theater and the town, her sleeves rolled up and her hair messy as she eats your cooking.
Your heart just might explode.
Maybe soon she'll let you both eat at the dining table. Maybe she'll show you where the damn dining table is. She must have one. Hell, maybe she'll show you around her penthouse. The place is huge, with confusing corridors and multiple floors. There's no way one woman would need this much space for anything.
But she has to have the very best.
You debate asking her whether you're really allowed to stay, whether she actually will take you on a date tomorrow, but hold back.
If she wanted you gone, she would have said so.
But she didn't. She made you coffee, ate your cooking, and placed the rest in her freezer.
So you crawl into her bed again.
---
Her espresso machine buzzes, this thing probably gets more use than any other appliance in her apartment.
Agatha works in silence, allowing you to serve her coffee while she focuses.
It's almost like working from the office. Almost. Like a soft and comfortable undiscussed side of your arrangement. Exactly the same as the office. Agatha ignoring you for the most part, her hair wild, you watching her from across the room while she does the part of her job you don't fully understand.
Agatha sits on her sofa, legs crossed like she's sat on the floor. It looks wildly uncomfortable, but by the way she's palming her hands through her hair it seems like her last concern. Her glasses at the end of her nose as she looks confused at the screen. You almost want to go over there and push them up.
She hadn't said anything. Hasn't mentioned you going home. Hasn't mentioned going into the office today. Making you feel a little like if you stay still long enough, perhaps she won't notice and make you return to normality.
But you know you can't stay here in this fantasy land forever.
She must know it too.
How can you know if this will work longterm? If she wants to continue this? If she feels about you the way you feel about her.
Two people from different worlds, who mesh perfectly and also so imperfectly you're not sure you'll ever fully understand it. Understand her.
You don't want to be just the next number to her.
Someday you'll have to think about her reputation, status. About your differences. The blackmail. The rumors you heard on the island. It feels stupid. Insane. Reckless to be here with her, but you can't help it.
You like making her coffee too much.
And then there's Zara. Not just her ex, not just her enemy, but the woman who works in the same goddamn building. Knowing outside of these walls the real world awaits. It's disheartening.
The cherry syrup spills from the bottle into the mugs. Her mugs. All black and simple. Does she have more interesting mugs in her other homes? In France? Most of this apartment feels like she bought it with the furniture included.
Her eyebrows are permanently furrowed as she reads through the document she's certainly going to make you read soon.
Was she serious about that date today?
Agatha grunts as you place the coffee on the table in front of her. Pulling out a plain black coaster to put it on top of. She isn't even fully dressed, still in her robe as are you.
The messy version of her work. The kind she is in private.
The sofa is cold under you when you sit. The sun bright in the sky through the gigantic windows. Cars tiny below. You wonder how much talking you can do before she realizes you're really there and you have to go into the office. How annoying you can be before she snaps.
Surprisingly she ignores the work in front of her. Closing her MacBook quietly until her eyes snap up to meet you. Her veined hands reach for the coffee, holding it warmly to her chest.
"You're supposed to be working." She sighs.
"I am working. I made you coffee. That's one of my work duties."
She sips. You know not to. Much too hot.
"Yes well...don't forget we have to close that deal today. It's important."
The deal. You already pushed it back a day. You can't do it again. So, you distract. For her eyes on you, for more time with her.
"Will you ever give me the grand tour?" You pull you knees to your chest, trying to get comfortable on the seat that is much too solid.
"Of what, this place?"
"Yeah of course this place, i've been here like– like a lot recently." The thoughts in your head feel dirty already. You don't have time for that.
Agatha says nothing as she sips, it's impossible to know what she could possibly be thinking about from the little you've said. Unless her thoughts are wandering too.
"I can show you later." She sips again. "I just want to finish these statistics before the deadline."
"How far in the deal are we?" Truthfully you don't really care, but this is your job after all.
"We both just need to sign the contract and then we'll get the payment. Probably a call or two to go over everything. And I need to send these details over so everything is up to date with them."
"That doesn't sound like too much work."
"It isn't, not really, it's just quite precise."
You take a nervous breath.
"So you'll have time for our date then..?"
Agatha smiles at your boldness. Sitting next to her on the couch in your robes. Soft and warm with coffee in your hands. Laptop on her knees. Waking up together again.
You almost don't want to even leave for the date.
"Oh honey, you think I forgot? You think I don't have things arranged?"
It's hard to force away the smile on your lips. "What time? Where are we going?"
"Soon. The deadline for this isn't until midnight." Coffee on her lips again. "And I'd like to have you on your knees for me when I complete the deal."
Your face becomes as hot as the coffee as you finally drink some of your own.
"I uh— how did you manage to arrange everything on such short notice?"
"What, you don't think I have more staff to hand? It takes a lot of people to run my life, you know." You wonder if she notices how you shuffle close to her, so your knee is brushing lightly against hers.
You know that's true, the drivers, pilots, housekeepers. But you'd never seen anybody else help her the way you do. It's a relief, honestly.
"I just haven't seen anyone besides me."
"I have a security guard. Downstairs. He let you in with the building security. I just don't like people following me around all the time. They track my phone, I hate it."
Except you, of course, she doesn't mind you following her around. You don't bring up the irony of her tracking your phone, even though you know it's wrong.
Agatha continues, trying to hold back a sneeze. "Some of my assistants suggested I have the whole team on every flight, how tedious. Can you imagine?"
If all of her team were on every flight, you'd never have been able to touch her for the first time thirty thousand feet in the air.
"If you had more staff on your flights how are you supposed to manipulate your assistants into letting you fuck them?" You chirp. She raises a single eyebrow but you don't back down. Your knee rubbing further against hers.
"Exactly."
Well that isn't what you wanted to hear.
"Are you trying to make me jealous?" You tease.
"Is it working?"
You clear your throat as she pushes the glasses back up her nose.
"You've got me craving that stupid cheese sauce. Do they sell that outside of the taco place?"
A million times you'd imagined being with her. You could never have imagined just how beautiful she'd be in the mornings.
It's hard not to wonder about her life. To know where exactly to draw the line on asking questions. To time things just right, to wait until she's satisfied and relaxed so it doesn't blow up in your face. Thoughts about what her life was like with Zara. Did they often do this? Sit soft in the mornings in their robes. Drink coffee together.
Pretend to care for her.
It makes you sick.
And what about Rio? Of their life before. From what it sounded like on the island, even before Rio was so successful. Agatha being her 'generous' investor. Was their relationship similar to how you're sat right now? How she looks right now? But younger. Hungrier. Fresher.
More fun, Rio had said. You can believe that working for Agatha for the past year. Sitting at her desk all day. Yelling and stressing and exhausting herself.
But recently you've seen that side of her, and maybe she'll let you see more of it soon.
Agatha finishes the coffee, placing the cup on the coffee table a little more heavy-handed than necessary. The laptop is open again before you have the chance to protest.
You take a deep breath before scooching even closer, framing it as trying to look on her screen even though you're far too close for just business.
"Is this the property we're selling today?" You ask, pointing at the hundred tabs running on the laptop. Her window is small, and you can see the many, many documents she has loosely scattered around her desktop. Chaotic woman.
"You know that's the property we're selling today." She lowers her voice, her chest vibrating next to you. "You just want attention, don't you?"
You swallow.
"Maybe."
Her head tilts back away from you, getting a good look at your face. Palpitations as you work up the courage to ask her to kiss you. It feels ridiculous after everything you've done together. Like a relationship working backwards.
"Can I— can you..." you lean in.
She leans back further.
"No."
You freeze.
"Oh."
Your palpitations worsen at her rejection. Is this what a heart attack feels like?
"I haven't brushed my teeth yet."
"That's alright. That doesn't scare me."
She leans forward at your remark...
And pulls back again at the last second.
"Maybe it should."
"Of all the things that scare me about you, that isn't one of them."
Agatha smirks, grabbing your chin firmly between her fingers and places the kiss you desperately craved on your lips.
"I promise i'm only medium evil for a billionaire."
And that sentence is something to unpack another day. That word is something to unpack another day. Your thoughts of Rio. The way the kiss feels on your lips, it's hard to forget the dream you had. The one where you'd simply obeyed instead of defending yourself. How she'd worn the strap underneath that delicious velvet suit you never got to peel off of her.
You shift in your seat as she closes her tabs.
Her eyes on the screen again, but Agatha is far too observant to let you get away with that.
"What was that?"
"What was what?" You play dumb, look shy. Think about something else. About selling this condo building or whatever the hell it is.
"That." She wags her finger up and down your body, observing you entirely as you try to stay as still as you've ever been. Far too still. Definitely overcompensating.
"Nothing. Just getting comfortable."
"I mean the look in your eyes, what are you thinking about?" You clear your throat. She pushes the laptop shut again, placing it on the seat next to her. "I know that look. My morning breath get you going or something?"
You laugh a little as you focus too hard on looking her in the eye.
"No I just..."
"Just?"
"Remembered something."
"Mhm. Was it last night?"
God. Maybe it should have been. Her hands hot on your waist as you stirred up that sauce just aching to see the look on her face when she got to taste it.
"I– yeah."
She squints a little.
"Liar."
"I'm not lying."
"Tell me what you're really thinking about." Her hand flexed as she reaches out to feel your thigh, exposed from the robe.
"I— no it's okay."
"You tell me or we won't go on our date today, you don't want that do you?"
"I'm embarrassed."
"I might like it."
"I just...I had a dream. After I left the yacht...I had a dream about you."
"Oh yeah?" She grips your thigh, making sure you can't leave. "Tell me about it."
"Agatha I–"
"I said tell me about it."
Your face hot as you close your eyes trying to figure out which parts to leave out and which parts to keep in. Not wanting her to get the wrong idea. Not wanting her to focus on the obedience. On Rio. You settle on the basics. The suit. The strap. Her. Just her.
Her face is entirely expressionless as she listens, though you know by now she's having devious thoughts.
After a long, long second of silence where you want to rip your tongue out for even beginning the sentence, she finally speaks.
"I like that suit. It's new. I hadn't worn it before."
That's all she has to say?
But she hadn't worn it before.
Now that's a wonderful thought.
A suit you liked so dearly, worn just for you.
Not for the other girls. The other assistants.
Just you.
"Would you like if I wore that for our date today?"
Your brain malfunctions. She's letting you pick what she wears? This hasn't happened before.
"I would love if you wore the suit today."
"And the other part...you want me to wear that too? Naughty girl."
Trying to grasp a thought when you can't find a single one in your head. She wants to wear it all, for you? The suit crisp and perfect and expensive, with the toy underneath. A promise for you later. Your palms are sweaty.
"You'd do that?"
"Of course...If you let me get this deal done after our little adventure."
"You could have cleared this deal last night if you'd let me cook with clothes on."
Agatha smiles, finally rising from her spot on the couch and smoothing out her hair, flicking it dramatically over her shoulders.
"I'll never let you cook with clothes on."
---
An unexplained shyness washes over you as Agatha guides you back into her bedroom. Perhaps the feeling of being the one to ask for something for the first time. Her robe moves on her body as she wanders over to the box she brought up the other night.
Except now you're not tied to the bed and actually get to see inside.
"Mommy is going to take a shower, why don't you pick one. And then get dressed for me, would you?" She purrs, her hand brushing your lower back as she disappears into her bathroom. You swallow, opening the box up, revealing a wide variety of strap-ons. Organized in no particular way whatsoever. Small ones, purple ones, one with some kind of plunger. Jesus. And she's letting you pick one to wear under that suit? How are you supposed to sit still knowing she's hiding one of these?
The noise of her shower echoes in the enormous room. You wonder when you'll be allowed to shower with her, if ever. Maybe she needs the solitude. Maybe it's too vulnerable, like cuddling you outside of aftercare or letting you face her while she sleeps.
But she holds your hand. She takes care of you. It's enough.
Placing your choice on the bed, you head out to get ready for the date. Her apartment is enormous with plenty of space for privacy. Washing your hair with her shampoo. Her coffee warm inside of you. The clothes on your body belonging to her. Everything.
When she still isn't downstairs by the time you're ready, you take the opportunity to poke your head around. The silence heavy through the home. Solid floors, giant windows and white columns as you descend the spiral stairs. Down to the bedroom she first brought you to. The painting still on the wall is stunning in the light. Next to it a smaller room with little furniture, you're not sure what it would be used for. More bathrooms. More long empty walkways. A space much too big for one person.
The elevator dings. Agatha's arm leaning smug against the side. A long black coat draped over the shoulders of her suit. Leather heels, sunglasses on her head and a pair of black leather gloves.
"You coming or what?"
You shuffle in quickly just as the doors close, her body suddenly firm against yours as she leans over you to enter her code and press the button. And you can feel it through her trousers.
---
Despite the proposed romance of the date, Agatha stays staring out the window as her town car takes you both to your unknown destination. Will it be somewhere you've wanted to go or a surprise? A time to experience her world as her equal, almost the opposite to where you took her.
You doubt there'll be fries.
The car pulls up to the gallery.
The same gallery from the gala.
When she couldn't kiss you out of risk of doing this all again. And here she is. Maybe you're stupid. Maybe she's stupid. Maybe your both stupid and reckless, and her money simply allows you to keep taking risks.
"We're going to the gallery?" You ask with excitement, reaching over a little to try and touch her across the car. If only it wasn't so damn roomy back here.
Real first world problems.
"We are." Agatha's words are flat, but she feels your attempt at trying to reach her, and reaches her arm over so you can touch the sleeve of her suit. It's subtle, like she's hoping you won't realize it's an attempt at affection, but you know better now. The fabric soft under your fingertips.
"Won't people see us, are we allowed to be seeing eachoth—"
She cuts you off with a wave as the car halts on the asphalt and the driver gets out, opening her door first.
"Trust me, nobody will see us."
The door closes behind her before yours is opened too, letting you take in your surroundings. The same building, but not the main entrance. Tucked a little around the back. Of course.
Very discrete. Very private.
By the time you're out of the car, you expect her to have dashed off to the entryway, so you're more than surprised to see her stood waiting for you. Suit crisp, tall in her heels with her oversized sunglasses over her eyes.
Waiting for you.
"Is this a special part of the gallery? I'm so excited...it's really thoughtful that you thought to bring me here. This is my favorite gallery and that night when you brought me here I–"
Your rambling cut off when she takes your hand gently to lead you up the stairs. The leather of her gloves cool on your skin as she helps you. Butterflies like this is your first date. In a way, it almost is. Second date, you suppose. if you don't count all of the random events she's made sure you're apart of.
"Miss Harkness and her guest! It's wonderful to have you both here today." The soft and gentle tone of the gallery worker rings through your ears as she opens the door for the both of you. Wearing all white and holding two tiny espresso cups on a tray. You're offered one instantly when you reach the door.
You take it not to be rude, though you know you'd prefer something sweeter. Maybe Agatha could drink both as you walk around. You're not quite sure how her heart is still functioning normally some days.
As expected, Agatha takes an extra minute to hand the lady her coat, taking off her gloves and placing her sunglasses on her head before she even says hello. The weight of her silence is like currency, people wait desperately for it, showing off her power even without words.
Then, finally "Hello Mariam, I appreciate you for doing this on such short notice."
"Of course! One of our finest patrons! We've gotten the west wing entirely ready for you. Private as requested, just security. It's protocol, you understand."
Agatha replies with a tight lipped smile, leading you the way. And when she said private, she meant private. Agatha ushers you into the gallery room before you can ask any questions, and as soon as the clear door closes behind you you realize you were holding your breath.
Wide walls with portraits of all kinds. The ceilings high. Memories of being here with her last. When you first dared to hold her back, to be bold enough to ask for a kiss.
Every moment leading you back here with her.
"This is...this is a new part of the gallery?!"
"Not a new part. A hidden part. They don't have this wing open anymore. It's been closed for a while, I believe they've sold most of the artwork and are having some issues organizing shipping."
"Then how did you get us here?"
"I rented it out. They say money can't buy happiness, but with the smile you're giving me right now I know it's a lie."
She studies the first painting in front of you, a large portrait. Oil on canvas. Her lips are on the espresso cup, tiny under her fingers. She squints at the art, and then turns to you. "What do you think?"
"I think it's really romantic that you brought me here."
She rolls her eyes with no time to waste.
"Shut up. And drink your espresso, don't be rude."
"I don't uh...I don't—"
"I know, but if you're going to be with me you need to get comfortable doing the things I do, okay?" You didn't hear anything past 'be with me' and your ears are already ringing, despite her telling you to do something you'd really rather not do. But she doesn't even give you a second to try it before she's swapping cups with you and giving you her empty.
You try not to grin too much at the interaction, not wanting to embarrass her for being so soft, even though her exterior is entirely juxtaposing this entire encounter.
So, you look at the painting.
"I love it, the brushstrokes here." You point. "You can tell the artist was being really careful with it. Also the colors in the background, like she wanted the focus to be on the whole painting, and not just the subject."
Agatha hums. "I agree, it feels very intentional. Stylized but still grounded. Perspective works well too, not trying to be too realistic. I'd like to see more of her work."
It's silence for a long second as she finishes off your espresso too. And oddly, despite all the chaos you went through yesterday trying to prove a point to Agatha, this feels right.
Being with here here, in the privacy only her wealth and influence could buy. In a part of the gallery that isn't even open to the public while Agatha's watch face nearly blinds you. Talking about art. Knowing she probably booked out the portraits gallery because she knows you love to draw her.
"Mariam, she's offered to come do a tour if you have any questions or want to be walked through any of the paintings." Agatha starts as she moves to view the second piece of art. "We have it for the hour, but we can stay as long as you like."
"You mean it?"
"I'll just pay the fee. It's not a big deal." She drops her hand, the cup next to her waist, getting closer to the artwork to get a better look.
It's not long of looking at the art and feeling the comfortable sounds of her heels on the solid floor before you can feel her gaze on you instead of the artwork. Just how you looked at her last time you were here together.
You pretend not to notice.
"So..." You drop your cup to your side, mimicking her and holding it loosely with your fingertips. "What kind of paintings do you have in France? Portraits?"
"A little of everything. Portraits. Abstract. I'm not huge into landscapes, I find them rather impersonal."
"When will I see them?" You ask, daring as it is, hoping to get some kind of answer out of her. Some kind of remark that this is working for her the way it is for you.
She hums in response. Maybe it was too far, too personal.
But you were the only girl to go on her yacht, even though it seems like she bought that yacht in an attempt to curb her insatiable appetites. Buying it as some kind of punishment for herself after the stories you heard of the last one. The way her friends talked about it like she had models shipped out to her like Amazon prime.
She stands a little closer to you.
"You want to see them huh?"
"Yes. Your house I mean. All of it."
"Where I grew up?"
"Yeah I want you to show me. I'd like that."
"The one in France though. Not here." She clears her throat.
"That's what I mean. And the art, of course."
She readjusts on her heels, crossing her arms. "We could have tea on the grass. You'd love it. Maybe go for a walk along the riverbank." You try not to look too obsessed at the thought. "Put you on a pretty leash if you try get away from me."
"I'd never try to get away from you."
"I know."
You remember her yelling at the movies yesterday. Going nuts for the cheese sauce. She's a complicated woman, but she's stood right here with you right now. In silence. Blissful silence unlike what you get back at home with your roommate, unlike the office and the noisy streets of the city.
It's peace.
Agatha chooses to live a life of intensity at work, but she doesn't need to.
The silence her money can buy. The intentional moments she curates for you.
Perhaps being shipped around in her private car, with her hand on your thigh, the texture of her suits, the authority she has is something you like after all. Not having to think about what to wear, what you'll have to pay for next, what to eat, what time to sleep. Your phone hers. Your soap hers.
She takes care of it.
Her people take care of her.
And maybe you'll finally admit that you love this.
Because you get it now.
Wealth is ease. Ease is power. Power is running through Agatha's veins.
And you watch the paintings with her for a while longer. Talking about the artists. About your inspiration. About the things she buys at auctions. It doesn't feel like she's your boss, not right now. It doesn't even feel like you're separated by tax brackets. The conversation flows easily about your inspiration, her choice of mediums. It feels entirely natural. Like you were always preparing to talk to her here.
---
Heading back to the car, you notice Agatha handing the driver a small bag, which he discreetly hides in the trunk. You avoid teasing her about it, for now. Especially after the envelope incident. Perhaps it's best you don't know.
The envelope incident. All the times you look at Agatha you're blinded, not by her power but by the softness within. The tenderness. The woman who reads books over and over again and has terrible childhood memories and laughs at horror movies. You forget the warnings of the person she said she was. The person she proved to you she was. God. Is this the kind of person you're becoming?
If it came down to it, would you lie for her? What if Wanda and Rio were right? What if she's a murderer? A scammer? Do the blue of her eyes make up for all of that?
You're distracted when her hand reaches across the car, resting possessively on your thigh.
When the car pulls up to the next destination, you almost expect it to be home. You should have known better, Agatha isn't going to do a one-stop kind of date.
She'll want entirely to show off. To show you how she would woo somebody.
You don't tell her it's working yet.
You're face to face with an unremarkable looking wine bar on the corner of the street. Brick and steel. Wine. Something you're still not 100% on. Agatha seems to enjoy wine, but not as much as her whiskey. Maybe bringing you here is a middle ground for her.
Upon entry you realize the place is closed, probably entirely hired out by Agatha for the afternoon, but you don't ask questions. If you asked her about it now she'd get a hard-on over you prying about her money.
It's quaint. Tiny. Just a few tables and a counter. Classical music that has no room to free itself against the concrete walls and small lamps.
The sommelier introduces himself as Hugo, who seems delighted to see Agatha and leads you both down some rather sketchy looking stairs. Agatha lets you go first, which doesn't fill you with confidence.
"Are you going to kill me?" You ask, looking back at her with a smile on your face.
"Oh no, I have people for that." She whispers.
The cellar is only exposed brick and wine shelves, a small table in the middle with several glasses already on either side.
Hugo is slow to move, he looks to be quite old but seems passionate about his job.
"It's good to see you again Agatha." He exclaims as he pulls the chair out for her, before doing the same to you. "It's been...what...quite a few years now? But I knew you'd be back. Cancelled all our bookings just to seat you and your guest."
Agatha smiles, it seems she's pulling out all her contacts for you today.
"And you know I appreciate it, Hugo. I'm excited to enjoy it again."
The cellar lit with ambient lights of varying kinds. Organic and exposed but warm. Quaint. Not flashy but clearly expensive.
Maybe this is what her home is like.
Then it clicks, the theme of the date.
This is very much a part of Agatha's life she's sharing with you, the same way you did with her. Even if you framed it as punishment.
Hugo scurries over to the wine rack to pick out what you presume is the bottle, Agatha leaning forward on the table to talk to you a little quieter, a little closer.
"You taught me how you live, how to order on the disgusting taco screen, now I show you how to drink wine."
"You liked the taco place."
"Irrelevant." She raises her hands in the air like you're pointing a gun on her. You hold your laugh and feel the glasses laid out on the table for you. Dainty and thin.
"We're wine tasting."
"We are. You don't have to finish anything." You can't tell if she's serious or not. "There's no wrong answers either. It's kind of like playing. We're just seeing what you like."
For someone so strict she seems awfully content with this, letting you explore it at your own pace. Perhaps you should have been as courteous rather than just shoving her on the bus.
"Sit up and stop slouching."
Nevermind.
Hugo returns with several bottles. Explaining how the process is to start light, and gradually move fuller. Your wine knowledge is less than impressive, if you've ever picked one it's middle to bottom shelf, whatever label looks pretty in case you want to squish a candle stick in it later.
You decide to keep that from Agatha who strokes her chin dramatically as he shows you the first bottle. He pops the cork with no flair, just function, and pours a small amount into your glasses, before stepping away to give you some room.
She signals for you to halt before you instantly go to drink it without thinking.
"Smell it first."
"Smells like...champagne."
"Yeah, I mean duh. Okay taste it and tell me what you think."
You take a sip, trying to be delicate in the way you hold the glass, your eyes involuntarily moving to where Hugo is. What if he knows you don't like his wines?
"He doesn't need to know, just focus on me."
You nod, savoring the flavor as Agatha's other hand meets you under the table, resting protectively on your knee.
Her eyebrow raised to ask how you found it.
"Light...fizzy...sharp? I guess?" You smile, hoping not to offend her. Truthfully it just tastes like the champagne you had at the gala.
"Good girl, do you like it?" Your cheeks get hot at the combination of the praise and her hand on your leg, but you nod along.
"This is supposed to wake your palette, it's why they serve it first." She looks at the glass, checking out the bubbles. "I think it's because everywhere I go I get handed a glass of this, and the events are total snoozefests."
She snorts at her own joke before finishing the drink. "Oh that's a good one though, that's one you have to keep in your champagne fridge."
The champagne fridge you first heard about when you were already tied down to her bed. The blues of her eyes are hungry. Either she's thinking about it too, or she really enjoys seeing you here with her.
Agatha drops the glass calmly onto the table and tosses her hair over her shoulder. Hugo returns with the next wine as well as a bowl of crackers and some napkins, pouring a little and hopping out of sight again. Like a wine ghost.
Agatha shoves a whole cracker into her mouth as soon as his back is turned before grabbing a napkin and spitting it right back into the tissue. Scraping the rest of it off her tongue with her teeth and instantly drinking the wine.
"Okay. Jesus. Don't eat those. Anyway, this is a pinot noir. It has a little more weight." She smells the top of the glass, swirling it a little bit. You do the same just to look like you understand what she's doing. "The lower tannins mean it won't dry your mouth. Good if you eat a real salty cracker. It has a reasonably low alcohol content. This is like the jumping off point for wine."
You nod, sipping when she does. "I like this." You say as soon as it touches your tongue. It's inoffensive. "Am I supposed to be learning?" Your voice laden with a little worry when you realize maybe she's training you up for the next event.
Agatha sips calmly. "If it smells good and you want another sip, that's all that matters." She finishes the drink. "Which do you like more?"
You ponder for a moment. "I like this one more I think...actually." You put the glass down and take a second. Agatha is patient with you, relaxed on the opposite side of the table. Her cheekbones stunning in this light. "I think maybe the same. Maybe the first one for a celebration and this for a conversation or a dinner?"
It's obvious Agatha is trying to stay casual, but the grin on her face can't be hidden all the way when she sees you learning about her life. Not mocking or poking fun at her things even though she definitely did that with yours.
It's clear you being here with her means a lot to her.
"Smart girl."
Hugo gives you a few minutes of lazily looking at each other before bringing over the next wine. A Bordeaux Merlot. It's deeper in color as he pours a little into the next glass in the lineup.
"This one is structured. You might taste plums or cherries. It's approachable, soft." Agatha smells the wine, a piece of hair falling in front of her eyes, swirling the wine in the glass again. You don't copy her this time.
"Bordeaux like where your grandma lived?"
"That's the one. Chateau D'Arqueness." She takes a long savoring sip of this, closing her eyes a second like she's reliving a memory. You begin sipping, the flavor certainly more intense than the rest so far. "And if you like it, you'll be happy to know the chateau is part of a large vineyard."
"You own it?"
She smiles as she licks a drop of wine from her bottom lip.
"Honey I own everything." The sound of the glass being placed back on the table is dull, and she sits back on her chair. Her legs spread lazily, retracting her hand from you and crossing her arms like she's defending herself.
"But you don't have to like it, it's just for fun..." Her eyebrows furrow, just for a split second. "...This was always on the table at my grandmothers house, but nobody ever drank it. We used to have a lot of staff working the yard, well working in the house in general"
She tastes it like she's reliving a memory. "Used to get told off all the time for playing in it, or trying to help."
"You weren't allowed to help?"
"My mother was quite strict about not mixing our kind with the help. Powerful people only talk to the rest when they need to be used for something."
"Oh."
"Mhm. I was never taught how to cook, clean, you should have seen the look on her face when I was a teenager and I got caught sneaking out to meet the maid's daughter among the vines."
You giggle at her confession.
"Oh I bet."
"Used to do it every Thursday after dinner, say I was going to clear my head. We always met in the same place."
"Do you think your mother knew?"
"I think she was suspicious. I don't think she knew. I think she wanted evidence, proof."
"For what?"
Her eyes pull from the wine to your face.
"To send me away. Rebelling with banned books, running-away and smoking wasn't enough. But dating a woman? The daughter of the help? That's a scandal if there ever was one." You wait. letting her finish her story. "But do you know what you get when you're at a rebellious lesbian heiress at religious all-girls boarding schools?"
You shake your head.
"Beaten." You swallow. She smiles like she knows her next words will make you laugh. "And laid. Like, all the time."
"I'm sorry. I didn't think they were allowed to do that."
"You don't have to be sorry, it was a long time ago. And they weren't. Punishment for being manipulative was isolation. Not physical."
"Then—"
"That doesn't stop other people trying to be the one to fix me. My mother was paying a lot of money hoping i'd come home good, ready to sell castles and marry a rich man." She draws her back to the wine. "I like it. A lot, the wine."
"I like it too." You decide not to say anything else, not wanting to make her uncomfortable on the date, just extending your arm across the table a little bit. Your hand casually open, just in case she wanted to hold it.
"Next wine Hugo." She says flatly, alerting the man who brings you the final bottle. Or what you presume is the final one, there aren't any more glasses.
"This is a Barolo." He explains, pouring into the untouched glass on the table.
"Ah." Agatha picks it up, smelling it immediately. "Rich and full bodied. This is where it divides people. You could have this with a strong flavored cheese."
You swirl it around when you notice Agatha is paying more attention to the shape of the liquid this time around.
"Is this what people mean by legs?" You ask, genuinely curious. Watching where the wine pools up on the edge of the thin glass.
Agatha makes you wait a second while she tastes the wine. "Mhm. People like to say it means something impressive. I used to be made to count them. It doesn't make the wine any better. It mostly means it's strong."
You count them in your head, out of curiosity more than anything.
"You don't need to impress me by doing that." She states, drinking this one smoothly. You shuffle a little in your seat with embarrassment, finally tasting it when you see she's already made a start on hers. The flavor is very intense, much more than where you started, and you grimace a little in surprise.
"I don't know how I feel about this one." You admit, she doesn't seem bothered in the slightest, thanking Hugo when he comes over to collect the glasses.
"Give the rest to my driver, would you?"
"Don't we have to pay?" You whisper as she stands from her seat.
"I already handled it." She very much does not whisper in return, offering you her hand to lead you back to the car.
---
The last spot on your date that is absolutely as thrilling as Taco Bell and the movies, Les Bernardin.
You know it well. An elite French restaurant you'd made bookings for Agatha at before. Now you're here with her you hope it wasn't for another woman. You also know it's entirely impossible to get a reservation here. Having to drop her name at the first thirty seconds of the phone call just for them to not dismiss you.
The host beams upon seeing her, guiding her to a private booth immediately, with you following close behind. The restaurant buzzes with light ambience. Warm, soft lighting that sits over the two of you as you settle in with her.
"So." Agatha begins as soon as she's at the table "I thought we'd do the truffle tasting menu, have you experience truffle outside of all those weird pastas."
"Sure. Sounds good to me!" You clasp your hands together, excited to just be sat across from her at a real date. Not a taco bell or work. Having her order so you don't have to struggle through the menu. Wondering whether she's the one who likes truffles or whether she orders them because they're safe for you.
"They offer a wine pairing...but I want you to pick the wine."
You hesitate for a second. "Me?"
"Sure. You've figured out what you like now, haven't you?"
"Yeah. Yeah I guess I have."
The wine menu in front of you seems long and complicated, luckily Agatha reaches forward to point out to you wines similar to the ones you enjoyed at the tasting.
"I want you to pick something you like, don't try and think about the food, what it pairs with or any of that nonsense." You nod, perusing the menu. The waiter returning not a minute later to take your order.
You request the one Agatha said she has back at France, because of course you do. Her face a mixture of confusion and contentment.
"I didn't think that one was your favorite." She suggests, taking some of the water placed on your table.
"It's your favorite. Paintings. French wine. Truffles. It's for you."
"I wanted it to be things you'd like too, like i'm introducing you to—"
"—a part of you." You finish for her, hoping she doesn't bite your head off. "I did the same thing."
She seems uncomfortable all of a sudden, like the pressure of actually being on a date is too much for her. Too foreign and unusual. The first assistant since the last disaster.
She spins a ring on her finger, you try to pry your eyes away from it. Back to her crisp white shirt under that suit, but you can feel it.
She's nervous.
"This place is cold. I hate it."
"You don't hate it. You picked it."
She rolls her eyes.
"I have to get that paperwork signed tonight."
You reach for her hand over the table, she looks around like a frightened deer before reciprocating. Accepting your affection. Only a little bit, but it'll do.
"I just—" She looks away, flexing her fingers. Sitting odd in the seat. Crossing her legs and uncrossing them. "I—"
You don't push. Letting her explore in her own time.
"I've signed billion dollar deals, you know that?"
"I know that."
"And I still feel extremely under-qualified to be sat on a date with you."
You laugh. She laughs back with relief. Perhaps unsure of how you would take her words.
As if you could ever take them poorly. Butterflies heavy in your stomach you're not sure how you're supposed to eat eight courses of strange little truffle meals.
The wine is at your table quickly, the waiter pouring a little in Agatha's glass to get confirmation of the taste. She approved with a nod after he pours for the both of you.
"You're doing just fine."
She strokes your thumb. "I have a present, in the car for you."
"I'm sure you do."
"You know I like to."
"I know."
She smiles at your words. Not rejecting her. Letting her order and get you gifts and doing whatever she needs to have control, to show her care for you.
You're sure you can find a way to repay her later.
---
The bag in the car is on the smaller side, with three items each individually laying inside.
The first, a wine from the tasting cellar. Dated to your birthday.
The second, a small art book from the gallery. Portraits and their techniques, their artists.
The third, an all-diamond necklace that must have cost a disgusting amount. A box inside of pink tissue paper.
She smiles as you open it, watching it sparkle in the dim light of the car.
"I'd like you to wear that when we get back...."
You swallow.
"Just that."
---
When the elevator dings, you both walk out onto the top floor of her penthouse, not a moment to space before she's got you pressed against the wall. Her breath hot in your ear as she digs her hands firmly into your hips.
"I have to go sign this deal...why don't you meet me in the office without all of—" she grabs your clothes tightly "—these."
"Okay." The word is breathless as it catches in your throat.
"Mommy might need some help with work."
She releases you suddenly, turning as her heels click onto the floor of the penthouse before she disappears into her office.
Your body hot as you begin stripping on the way through the weird corridors into her bedroom, folding your clothes neatly on the chair when you get there despite noticing that her robe is just awkwardly thrown across the floor.
It's soft in your hands as you reach for it, it's hard to believe the same woman who orders eight courses of truffles is the same person that doesn't know how to explain her feelings to you and dumps all her clothes on the floor.
The diamond necklace shines in your hands when you open the box, placing it on. This thing must have cost a fortune. Sitting like a pretty collar around your neck. You scrunch up the pink paper the box arrived in, looking around to see if she has a trash can in her room. There's a small one in the corner, looking mostly empty.
When you head over to it, you notice her purple sweater smushed inside of it. Nothing else. You reach for it instinctively. The cashmere she wore when she slept next to you for the first time. Laying in the trash like it's nothing. Like it didn't mean anything.
You clutch it against your chest instinctively, before pulling back when you remember where you just found it and how slobbish Agatha can be. There's probably a banana peel in there.
You peek.
Thankfully there's nothing. It's entirely clean.
A quick sniff to make sure, but it's just cherry and the smell of her bed. The smell of how she sleeps under the sheets. Laundry detergent. Faint morning coffee.
Holding it in front of you, you notice a hole in the sleeve. Probably why she tossed it.
Or maybe it's because you said you liked it.
Would that be a stupid thing to think? You try not to. Slipping it on over your bare skin. Soft and enveloped in all of her.
Your feet are gentle on the ground as you reach her office as silently as you can, she's quiet. Spread in the seat, her eyes concentrating as her fingers stroke her face.
The rest of the champagne you drank today on the desk next to her. Perhaps to celebrate?
She spots you out the corner of her eye.
"What did I say about clothes? You're in my house you follow—" she halts when she looks at you, taking you in. Just her sweater and her diamonds. "That's all ruined. You should take that off."
"Please let me keep it." You blurt out without thinking. "I could repair it. Or maybe I could just wear it to sleep or something?"
Agatha looks at the screen, and then back to you. Biting her lip gently as she eyes the necklace.
"Hm. I suppose I do like seeing you in my things." She points to the ground near her heels. "Get on your knees, baby. It's the least you could do after everything I've done for you today."
Taking no time for you to oblige and kneel on the ground.
She beckons you over. You know what she wants. Crawling across the room as she types until you reach those heels.
"I could dress you all pretty in one of my shirts, and then undress you later." She clicks around on the laptop, hopefully closing one of those tabs. "Like a Christmas present."
You hum in approval, as she reaches down to scratch your head gently. "But not right now. Off. Like I said." Her eyes aren't focused on you as you undress, rather continuing to read back the forms on her computer. You toss it nearby, trying to be gentle with it.
"I'm pushing this over to my iPad. Take a look through the deck before I call him to finalize." She hands the iPad over to you as you kneel on the ground next to her. Exposed in your necklace, clutching her tablet gently as you swipe through the presentation.
It's hard to focus, working like this. Late and wildly inappropriate and completely Agatha's. Watching the leather of her heels as she rests them on the ground. Imagine if HR knew what was happening in here. Agatha could lose everything. Or could she? Perhaps she's more powerful than you even know. Those island conversations. You suspect she could do anything at any time. Hide anything she wants.
It feels so wrong, but so so right.
If she's untouchable, and you're hers. Are you untouchable as well?
"It looks good." You admit after a quick flick through, lump in your throat as you hand it back to her. Trying not to focus on how warm your skin feels, how she looked at you today. Her suit and the bulge in her pants. The leather of her shoes. The lipstick as she bites her lip looking down at you.
Her hands take the tablet back gently. Tapping a few times to presumably email it over to Venn.
But she notices how you're looking at her.
Her chair rolls back gently, repositioning, pushing it back again so you're between her thighs rather than to the side.
Just the sound of the chair and your heavy breathing.
Her eyes stay forward as you look up at her. Anticipating your next move.
How long is this deal going to take?
She scrolls.
You tentatively touch the inside of her thigh. Lightly. Just enough to feel the fabric, not so hard she can feel you. Curious about your fantasy. About the limits before she punishes you.
But her body is on high alert, and before you get the chance to retract your hand the blues of her eyes look down on you, pupils wide and intense.
"Watch yourself." Her voice is husky.
"Sorry."
She takes her hand from the computer, touching the side of your face softly. Tracing the outline of your lips.
Sliding two fingers between them.
"You need something to keep you occupied?" You suck on her obediently before she pulls out, wiping the spit on your chin.
You nod.
Her phone rings.
You focus your eyes on the floor, trying not to focus on the aching between your thighs. On the diamonds around your neck.
Focus on work.
Shit, what are you doing?
Agatha picks up the phone.
"Venn! How are you darling? It's so good to hear from you. Are you ready to pull the trigger?"
Reaching for the bottle with her other hand, and gently, gracefully pouring just a little of the fizzy liquid on her expensive heel.
Her eyes look upon you, meeting yours as you look up. Eyebrow raised, she gestures. You swallow. You know what she wants you to do.
Repositioning to all fours so you can get closer to her, the liquid damp on her heel as you reach your tongue out, gliding it across the obnoxious material. Cool and fizzy and leather.
Your mouth cleans her up, her lips pursed in a smile as she watches you obey her without words. As you try to stay quiet while she's on the call.
As you wait for your next command.
She puts the bottle back down.
And unbuttons her pants.
You focus on the movement of her hand as she pulls out the strap you picked. Heavy as she slides down her pants a little bit.
"I trust you've already gotten caught up on everything, you know I like to be prepared."
It's impossible to hear what he's saying on the other end of the phone, but the feeling of Agatha's hand moving from her pants to your head. Pulling you in slowly towards her cock.
You take the hint, taking her softly into your mouth, looking deep into your eyes as she acts casual on the call. Her nostrils flared, jaw tight between sentences as you try your best to do as you're told. The silicone on your tongue, the smell of her cherry perfume. Sucking to hollow out your cheeks, giving her a good performance.
"Yes I think this could be fantastic for both of us, i'm happy to sign whenever you are. You've always been smart with making decisions like this."
You explore her gently as she guides your head down, her hand tight in your hair, not rough, just present. Just testing your limits. You shuffle forward, placing your hands on her thighs.
Agatha doesn't like that.
Pushing your hands off of her and bucking up into your mouth, forcing her cock into your throat, she pulls back when you gag and laughs at the businessman at the end of the call.
You know it's for you.
"Alright, pleasure doing business with you as always." She hangs up, pushing back into your throat. Smiling with teeth when you pull back on instinct.
"Mommy is just so mean, isn't she?" Agatha coos, pulling you off of her entirely by your hair in her fist. "Just had to give your pretty mouth something important to do."
"Thank you." You spit out, swallowing the saliva at the back of your tongue. Squirming on the ground when her eyes are back on that damn screen again. "Did you get it nice and wet?"
"Yes."
She drags her eyes over to you like it's a chore.
Before tapping her thigh twice.
"I can't, you—"
She taps again. Face serious. Your breath catching in your throat when you realize what she means.
She hasn't even signed the paperwork yet. But you do as you're told.
Hovering above her, leaking onto her as she positions her cock below you, palming your flesh roughly between her fingers as she sets you down slowly onto her, a deep moan escaping from your lips as her eyes close in bliss at the stretch.
But holding you down from moving.
"Sit pretty while I finish this work, and maybe you'll get a reward, hm?"
"Okay." You whisper, hardly sure if she even heard you. She pulls you close, you lips against her neck. Whimpering gently when she readjusts to type in her information.
"Aw. I know." Her voice dripping with fake pity. "It's so thick in your cute little pussy. You're doing so well babygirl."
A minute of silence before you're adjusting your own hips, a low groan escaping from her when you do. You hadn't realized this would be hard for her too.
Agatha takes a moment of stillness, of feeling your skin under her palms.
"Fuck it." She whispers. Giving in immediately and thrusting into you once. Delicious noises from the both of you before your hands are on her shoulders, stopping her.
"No." You cry out. "Wait."
She stops, looking up at you with desperation and confusion.
"You can't fuck me until you make your money..." The words feel silly as soon as they leave your mouth, they sounded better in your head. "Until you make a million dollars." You bite your lip. A risky thing to say.
A game you'd like to play.
Agatha scoffs. But you stand your ground.
"I'm serious."
She holds herself close to you as she signs and sends the document and pushes the computer to the edge of the desk, thrusting back into you just once.
"That—fuck—that was fast."
"Should have made it ten."
She pushes her hips up to meet yours, making a mess of her suit pants. You grab her shoulders firmly. The texture of the jacket between your fingers.
"You like the money, don't you? My pretty little assistant." Her pace increases, grabbing your hips like you weigh nothing, pushing up into you to chase her pleasure. "You like the power, huh?. You like what I can do for you. You're leaking onto mommy's cock. That's how much you love it."
You want to fight her.
To push her further like every other time she's asked.
But you can't deny anymore.
So you admit it.
"I like it."
"There's my good girl."
Her smile is wide, her hands from your waist to your neck, forcing you to look at her as your pleasure tightens within you.
She pulls back, the slap you always expect landing quick on your cheek before she soothes it with the palm of her hand.
"But not good enough. Tell me you love it."
Eyes wild as she fucks into you, you move closer, needing to feel her breath against your skin. Her sweat on yours, her body as close as she can possibly get with her clothes in the way.
"Fuck— I love it." You admit, pressing your forehead against hers, your hands in her hair as you grind down onto her in a filthy confession you've been avoiding.
"I'll buy you anything you want, my pretty girl. Anything." Her words out of breath. "You just have to keep being good for me."
Her arms wrapped around you as your lips meet hers in a filthy kiss, tongue and teeth and her lipstick smudging on her face. "I love this gorgeous body." But her hand is off you already. Reaching for something. The champagne.
She takes a sip straight from the bottle as she fucks you. Lipstick spreading further.
Then, moving quickly, you wince in surprise as the cold liquid from the bottle covers your tits, her mouth on your nipples cleaning it up before you even have the chance to register what's happening, your back arched. Enjoying her prize. Enjoying her power. Enjoying you.
"Tastes even better on your skin." She moans as you roll your hips against her. Tipping her head back to watch you ride her, your fingers clawing at her white shirt collar as she admires you wearing just those pretty diamonds and champagne. "You feel fucking perfect."
Agatha rests the bottle against her thigh, the cold shocking against your bare skin as you move, she doesn't care when you take the bottle and raise it to your lips as you chase your pleasure. But she's quick to retrieve the bottle from you, passing it between the two of you as you thrust against each other like sweaty fucked-out desperate messes.
You lean forward, the pressure building just right against you, the material she's wearing creating a devastating friction you can't escape from as her body meets yours. She notices immediately.
"You gonna come on my pretty suit baby?" You can't reply, just chase the pleasure. Grabbing onto her for stability as you ride out your orgasm with a cry.
She slows but doesn't stop.
Legs wobbly as you attempt to lazily climb off of her.
Agatha takes a big swig of the wine before she grabs you further, leaving the bottle on the desk. You're laid back on the desk before you can protest, your legs wrapping around her on instinct, her body flush against you as she pins you against the wood.
It's uncomfortable.
"I— Agatha the—" you gesture to everything, the fire in her eyes is impatient and uncaring of her belongings, pulling you up with one arm and shoving most the contents of the desk onto the ground with the other. "Your iPad!"
"I'll get a fucking new iPad." She climbs entirely onto you, ignoring whatever paperwork is underneath the two of you, the desk creaking beneath your body as she pushes her hips into you. "Have to fuck my pretty little slut." Her hand reaches between you, finding your clit like she's got you all mapped out. It's too fucking much.
"I can't—"
"You can. You take mommy's cock so well don't you?"
Your words incoherent as you squirm against her, the sensation too overwhelming. Tears in your eyes as you can't help but come again for her.
Agatha pulls away for a second, a devilish grin on her face when she sees the tears beginning to pool in your eyes, and falling down the side of your cheek.
"You feel so good for me...let me use you. Stay still."
You nod, but it's weak. She studies your face before pulling out, and slamming back into you without warning. The noises and curses from her lips enough to keep you going. "So pretty when you cry."
Her hair against your bare skin tickling as you reach for it as she pounds into you. The sounds obscene. The night sky through the giant windows clouding you in a privacy that only comes with the luxury of being this high in the sky. Of being Agatha's. Of being so entirely taken care of all you can do is exactly what she asks.
And it feels fucking good.
"Dumb little girl, your makeup is all ruined." Her fingers collecting your tears as your mascara drips down your face, covered in tears and sweat and Agatha's lipstick and champagne. "You're gonna make me—fuck—so fucking tight for mommy" Her face looking down to where your bodies meet. Your fingers tug at her hair, trying to pull her closer to yours as she uses your body. Needing to see her face.
She notices, pulling you impossibly close to her, her breath on your neck as she whimpers, biting down on your shoulder. "Does that feel good mommy? You wanna come in my pussy?" Your voice is shaking, body sweating and clinging to the desk beneath you.
"Fuck hon—fuck—i'm gonna—."
Her lips silent and then very, very loud. Fingernails digging into your flesh like they might rip you open, leaving bruises on your skin.
And then she collapses on top of you, chest heaving trying to come back down to reality as you breathe in sync.
Tongue dry as you try to swallow, hair stuck on the back of your neck. Hands in her hair again, but softer.
Remembering when you weren't sure if you'd be allowed to touch her.
Does she keep water in that fridge or just champagne? Agatha adjusts. The rest of the bottle falls to the floor, spilling everywhere for the housekeeper to tend to. Why is that your first thought?
She groans in annoyance at the thought of moving.
You haven't even told her to yet.
"I don't want to shower." She admits after a long peaceful moment.
"You're sweaty." You laugh, though she still won't face you, face against your neck. Breath against your skin.
"I want to get sweatier." Your eyes roll in a playful annoyance, though you could never mean it. Not with her like this. "I want to take you out again. I don't want to stop. Do you like dancing?"
"You wanna take me dancing?" The thought is bizarre and abrupt. "I thought you were all classy and mysterious."
Expecting her to laugh. Expecting her to tell you off. To say something snarky, to take back the offer. Her face hidden against your shoulder. The room dark. Her chest heavy against yours.
"You make me feel alive again." Is all she whispers.
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