Ruby
My phone buzzes beside my laptop. It’s after nine, and I don’t usually get messages on a Saturday night. The Morrison contracts blur in front of me as I reach for my phone.
I can see you.
My lips curve into a smile as I read Athena’s text. We exchanged numbers last night, but I’ve been restraining myself all day from reaching out. I didn’t want to seem too eager after everything that happened between us, but I never expected her to break first.
I glance out my office window, scanning the premises for a glimpse of her.
Where are you? I type back.
After sleeping most of the day—my body finally surrendering to exhaustion after our all-night conversation and mind-blowing make-out session—I’ve only been up for a few hours.
It’s too early for the club, too early for Athena to normally be home from the Olympus.
Perhaps she stayed home and slept as well. My phone buzzes again.
I’m in my car on the drive.
I peer through the darkness and notice her Aston Martin. The roof is up, windows tinted black so I can’t see inside.
What are you doing there? I ask.
Her reply comes quickly: I was about to go for a drive, then saw you. I decided I preferred this view to the desert.
I chuckle and feel my cheeks flush. How long has she been there? I’m wearing a simple black nightdress, comfortable enough for working late but quite revealing.
So you like to watch too, huh? I type, feeling bold. Like what you see?
The three dots appear, disappear, then reappear as she composes her response, and I hold my breath.
I do. Now, take off that dress.
My breath hitches. It’s not a request; it’s a command. Even through the impersonal medium of text, I can feel the authority in her words, the same dominance that had me pinned beneath her at dawn.
My heart pounds against my ribs. The woman who kissed me senseless is sitting in her car, watching me and asking for a show. Everything in me screams that this is madness and so unlike me, and that’s precisely why I stand and reach for the hem of my dress.
In one fluid motion, I pull it over my head and let it drop to the floor. I’m left standing in my black bra and matching panties—not the fancy new lingerie I purchased, just my everyday set. But Athena can’t discern the details from that distance.
Positioning myself directly behind the French doors, I’m silhouetted by the light of my office. I’ve never done anything like this before, never felt this combination of vulnerability and power.
My phone buzzes in my hand. You are exquisite. Then, another message follows: Take off the rest. I want to see you naked.
The directness of her demand catches me off guard and something shifts inside me. The disciplined attorney who calculates every risk dissolves, replaced by the version of myself I’ve only just met. Not the grieving widow. Not the corporate shark. Someone entirely new.
I set my phone down on the desk, face up, and a boldness overtakes me. I’ve never been the type to perform, to put on a show, but something about the anonymity of the distance between us, the darkness hiding her and the light exposing me, makes me want to play.
I turn my back to the window, giving her a view of my behind, my shoulders, the clasp of my bra. I glance over my shoulder, imagining her eyes on me, and slowly reach up to gather my hair, lifting it off my neck as if I’m about to tie it up.
I arch my back and hold this pose for a moment, then let my hair cascade back down. My hips begin to move in a slow, rhythmic sway. I’m channeling every dancer in every music video I’ve ever watched, every fantasy I’ve never acknowledged.
My fingers find the clasp of my bra, but I don’t unhook it immediately. Instead, I trace the edge of the band, running my fingers along my back. I roll my shoulders, continuing the sway of my hips, feeling both ridiculous and incredibly powerful.
When I finally unclasp the bra, I hold it in place, keeping my back to the window. I look over my shoulder again, imagining Athena’s face, the way her pupils would dilate, the way she’d grip the steering wheel tighter.
I let the straps fall from my shoulders but cross my arms in front of me, holding the cups against my breasts as I slowly turn to face the window again.
My phone lights up with another message and I look down to check it while I continue my sensuous dance.
Jesus Christ, Ruby. You’re killing me here.
Finally, I smile as I drop both arms and let the bra fall, catching it before it hits the floor. I dangle it from one finger, twirling it once, twice, before I toss it over my shoulder, where it lands somewhere in a corner of my office.
The cool air makes my nipples harden instantly, and I feel strangely powerful standing here, bared to the night and to her hidden gaze.
You’re beautiful. Don’t forget the rest. I want to imagine my mouth on your pussy.
Fuck. A flash of arousal shoots between my thighs as I read it, and now it’s all I can think of.
She really knows how to push my buttons, and I can almost hear the husky quality her voice would have if she were speaking the words.
There’s something thrilling about knowing she can see me while I can’t see her.
About knowing I’m affecting her, that she’s sitting in her car, watching me, wanting me.
I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and turn to the side, giving her a profile view as I slowly—torturously slowly—ease them down over my hips, past my thighs, letting them drop to my ankles.
I step out of them and kick them away, turning to face the window again, completely naked now. I stand there, allowing her to look.
Good girl, she writes, making me chuckle.
Bring your chair to the French doors and sit down.
I pause, wondering if this is a test. Is she seeing how far I’ll go for her?
How much control I’m willing to surrender?
I’ve spent my entire professional life being in charge, and here I am, naked and following orders.
The strangest part is how much I’m enjoying it.
I wheel my leather office chair across the room and position it directly in front of the French doors, in full view of her car, and lower myself into it. Then I cross my legs, rest my forearms on the chair arms, and lean back with an outward show of composure that belies the chaos inside me.
Another message from her. Spread your legs for me.
I hesitate, my eyes fixed on her car.
Do it, her next message reads.
My heart races as I slowly uncross my legs.
I pause, knees still pressed together, then gradually part them, feeling the cool air of the room against my most intimate places.
This game is both absurdly uncomfortable and incredibly sexy.
I’m wet and throbbing, wondering what she’ll ask of me next.
My phone remains silent for what feels like an eternity, leaving me suspended in this moment of exposure and anticipation.
She’s doing this on purpose; making me wait.
I realize I’m breathing faster now, my chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matches my racing pulse. I’m simultaneously powerless and in complete control, able to end this at any moment but unwilling to break the spell she’s cast over me.
Good girl, she writes again, and the praise feels like a physical caress. I can’t wait to taste that pretty pussy.
My eyes flutter closed for a beat as fantasies flash before me. Her tongue against my sex. Her face between my thighs. Is she even aware of the effect she has on me? How my body responds to her in ways I never imagined possible?
Breathless and in desperate need of release, I lower a hand between my legs, but immediately, my phone buzzes.
Don’t. Don’t touch yourself.
I frown. What the fuck? She can’t bring me to this point then leave me hanging. I pick up my phone and reply. Are you serious?
Yes. Come to the club after midnight. I’ll make it worth your wait.
Her headlights spring on, her gates open, and she drives off, leaving me frustrated and alone.
I stand and stare after her while my body thrums with unresolved tension.
This game of hers—command and denial, promise and retreat—is simultaneously infuriating and intoxicating.
Am I really going to obey? It’s not like she’d know, right?
I glance at my watch: two and a half hours until midnight.
Two and a half hours to decide if I’ll follow her rules or break them.
But even as I consider defiance, I know I’ll obey.
And I’ll be at that club when the clock strikes twelve against every last shred of my better judgment.