Chapter 18
Lorenzo
E ven now, her head is held high. I watch her chest rise and fall in une ven bursts, my cum trickling down her lips like a promise I have no intention of breaking.
When I reach for her, it’s slow and deliberate—a brush of two fingers against her jaw.
She’s so fucking beautiful it makes my heart hurt.
“Are you ready to get up?” I ask.
“Y-yes,” she croaks, her voice hoarse from not being used.
My tie stays across her eyes as I help her out from under my desk. One hand at her nape, the other tracing the line of her shoulder, testing the fragility of the fabric beneath my grip. She wobbles a little when she’s standing, but I’m there to catch her, pulling her closer, setting the pace.
“Thank you.” Her voice cracks at the edges, and I have to bite back the satisfaction that swells inside me. That tremor, like everything else about her, is so fucking addictive.
I settle her into my chair, arranging her limbs like she’s breakable, which earns me a huff. Pressing a kiss to the top of her hair, I whisper, “I’ll be right back, Toy.”
Tilting her head, she wordlessly follows my movements as I walk into my private bathroom. I’m only gone for a couple of minutes, returning with a cloth. I wordlessly begin to clean her, swiping the wet fabric across her face almost reverently.
She shivers when I wipe a dollop of cum from the corner of her mouth with my finger. “Open up,” I command. Obeying, she parts her lips, and I don’t hesitate to move my finger into her mouth. “You shouldn’t waste what I’ve given you.” My tone is low and filled with gravel.
A groan is torn from my throat when my naughty little toy snakes her tongue around my finger, licking my cum away.
Pul ling my finger back out of her warm, wet mouth, I trace her bottom lip with my thumb before slipping my hand back to her jaw. “You’re perfect like this.” My voice is threaded with quiet praise.
She lets out a soft, shaky breath. It ghosts over my wrist, warming the skin. I press the damp cloth to her cheek again, slower this time, watching the way her body responds to every pass—shoulders curving in, her chest heaving.
“Would you like to join me for dinner tonight?” I ask, folding the cloth and throwing it aside. “I’ve had food prepared, and the wine has probably already been opened.”
She tenses, and I run my knuckles down her throat in response, grounding her.
“Tell me, Toy, do you want to go home?”
No matter her answer, I’m not taking her anywhere. I have this entire evening planned, and I wasn’t lying when I said the food was already prepared. But I want her to want to stay. Coerced volition always tastes better than being forced.
She hesitates—just long enough for me to taste it. “Can I take the blindfold off?” she asks hesitantly.
“No.”
Sighing, she nods. “Fine. I want to stay.” There’s a hint of a bite in her tone, letting me know she’s not too happy about continuing to be robbed of her ability to see.
I text Maria, letting her know we’re ready to eat, and it takes less than ten minutes before she knocks on the door. Piper gasps, tensing. I feel her surprise the way I feel everything else—hungrily.
Leaning closer to my toy, I let my breath fill her ear. “It’s okay. It’s just the food.”
I cross the room, calm and unhurried, and let Maria in. Her steely gaze sweeps the office with its usual efficiency, noting every detail. She says nothing, but I see the slight quirk of her brow as her eyes land on my toy.
“On the table,” I instruct, gesturing with a slow nod. “Then you’re free to go.”
I watch as Piper flinches at the sound of another woman in the room, and the thrill it sends through me is exquisite. Maria moves quickly, setting out the food in neat, perfect rows.
Duck breast, Szechuan eggplant, jasmine rice. She finishes with the bottle of Pinot Noir that I know from experience is beyond excellent, and two crystal glasses. When she’s done, she slips out as quietly as she came.
Piper’s nostrils flare slightly as she audibly sniffs the air. “Something smells delicious,” she comments.
Chuckling, I close the distance between us and lift her from the chair and onto the glass table. Her thighs tremble when they hit the cool glass.
I move m y chair between her spread legs, pushing her skirt up. Her hand darts out, grasping my shoulder as she steadies herself, obediently widening her legs more, and I can’t stop the groan that escapes me when I see the navy colored lace hiding what’s mine.
Reaching for the wine, I pour her a glass, bringing it to her lips with one hand wrapped firmly around the base. “Thirsty, Toy?” I coax, lifting the glass to her lips.
Nodding, she opens her mouth, and the flush of wine against her tongue is instant, red like the stain she leaves in my veins. She swallows audibly, eagerly.
“Easy,” I say, pulling the glass back, taking a slow sip myself before letting her have more. “I wouldn’t want to ruin your appetite.”
She scrunches up her nose, all soft edges and irritation. “Is that duck I smell?” she asks, turning her face toward the waiting food.
“It is,” I confirm while I grab the chopsticks and expertly pick up a piece of glazed duck, dripping with chili-plum sauce that I bring to her mouth.
“Oh, my God! That’s so good,” she half-moans while chewing. “This is my—”
“Favorite,” I finish for her with a chuckle. “I know.”
Tilting her head to the side, I can feel her gaze boring into me from beneath my tie wrapped around her eyes. “I don’t think you do,” she taunts. “If you knew my favorites, you’d know I never have duck on its own. It’s always with a side of Szechuan eggplant, ground pork, and steamed jasmine rice.”
I chuckle as she lists off what I know to be her custom order from her local Chinese place. “Is that so?” I inquire while I prepare the next bite for her. This time I feed her rice, eggplant, and a little bit of pork.
While chewing, she holds her hand up, and I wait until she’s done. “What the hell?” she mutters, incredulous. “Wait, can I have some more wine?”
I allow her a few more sips.
“Damn,” she breathes. “I didn’t notice before, but this is… it’s Meiomi Pinot Noir, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
Feeding her is becoming an intimate and decadent ritual—exactly how I want it to be. I know she isn’t as relaxed as she pretends to be. I’m sure she’s biting her tongue, but I can feel the questions coiling behind her lips like steam beneath glass.
She wants to know how I knew. But instead of asking, she opens her mouth for the next bite. I hold the chopsticks steady, watching the way her lips part. The way her tongue flicks against the rice as if tasting me instead of jasmine.
I feed her another piece of duck, dragging it just slightly against her lower lip before placing it between her teeth.
She shivers. I catch a stray drop of glaze from her mouth with my thumb and smear it along the cu rve of her cheek before licking it off, loving the way goosebumps erupt across her skin.
“You want answers, Toy?” I tease. When all she does is nod, I click my tongue in disappointment. “Then earn them by asking the questions.”
Clearing her throat, she rolls her shoulders back and raises her chin slightly. “How did you know this is my favorite food? And my favorite wine?” she questions.
“You think I haven’t watched you long enough to know how you eat? What you crave?” I croon, letting my hand trail down her thigh.
Her breath catches, sharp and unsteady. “Tell me something,” she demands, shifting on the table. “Do you like puzzles?”
My lips curl up in a knowing smile she can’t see. “Puzzles?” I ask, amused. “Do you mean that symbolic, like making campaign slogans and agendas, fit in politics? Or are you being literal and talking about spending a rainy Sunday afternoon completing jigsaw puzzles?”
“But it can’t be,” she mutters quietly to herself as she ponders my question. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
Minutes pass by, but I let her organize her thoughts.
Every now and then, she nods to herself, as though she’s trying to talk herself into believing whatever answer she reaches in her mind.
I stay quiet. I don’t want her hiding from the truth.
What I want is for her to reach out and grab it, twist it in her palm—owning it instead of hiding from it.
But when my toy’s lips split into what I’m sure should be a smile, I know that’s not the path she chose. “Oh, well,” she says breezily, shrugging one shoulder.
If she’s not going to spell out what I’m sure we both know, neither am I. So instead of acknowledging what she just said, I ask, “Are you still hungry?”
“I don’t know how to use chopsticks,” she blurts out, her voice high pitched. “I probably should since Chinese is basically one of my main food groups. But, well, I always use a fork—”
“You don’t need to,” I interrupt, brushing her lip with the rim of the glass. “You’ll always be fed.”
The air thickens, the energy between us no longer humming—it vibrates. She leans into the next bite, and I let it linger at her mouth, just long enough for her to whimper in impatience. I pour another glass, and another, feeding her and feeding myself in turns.
Her voice catches again, breathless, perfect. “You know, I’m not stupid. Just because I refuse to say it out loud doesn’t mean I don’t know.” She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down.
I tilt her chin, letting my touch linger. “You’re many things, Toy. But not stupid.”
She shudders, and I take a second to memorize the way she looks right now, the way her thighs are spread wide enough to accommodate me between them. I know she isn’t here for me, not indulging my games for anything but her future—for her career.
But she’s still here, and that’s all that matters. It’s the opening I need to make her fall for me like I have for her. I put the food aside, shifting forward to kiss the soft skin of her thighs.
“Tell me something,” I demand, my voice low, consuming.
“What?” she breathes.
“Was it worth it?”
Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead. “Was what worth it?”
Chuckling, I spread her thighs even wider. “Was it worth sitting in on the meeting?”
When she presses her lips together in a firm line, I bite the soft skin on her inner thigh hard enough to make her yelp. “Hey!”
“Answer me, Toy. Was it enough to justify what you endured?” My mouth presses against the crease of her leg, and I feel her shiver.
Her answer is cautious, almost defensive, but I expect nothing less. “Was it a setup?” It sounds more like an accusation than a question. “Am I here to be sacrificed like the intern Senator Jane Slade talked about?”
I get the feeling she’s using Slade’s full name to let me know she’s aware of who the Senator is.
In answer, I bite her harder. Her body jerks, but she doesn’t pull away. “Tell me what you learned from the meeting,” I rasp before blowing cold air on the skin I just bit.
She exhales shakily, then swallows. “The intern scapegoat—they weren’t just hiding a mistake. They were crafting a story. Something palatable. Something marketable.”
“And?”
She draws in a breath, gathering courage. “Senator Slade controlled the tone. James played coward. You…” She falters, but recovers. “You barely spoke and still ran the entire meeting. You knew what the outcome would be before they walked through the door.”
My hand tightens ever so slightly on her thigh, a wordless reward. “Go on.”
“The story was already seeded, so maybe the scapegoat had already been chosen.”
My dick hardens against my thigh as I listen to her give word to her thoughts. She’s so fucking sexy as she lets her mind work it all out.
“Slade’s job was to make it look clean. James’ job was to panic loud enough that no one questions what happens when the smoke clears.”
I make a sound of disapproval. “If that’s right, why would they play those roles in front of me if it’s all for the public?”
Her mouth falls open. “Oh!” she gasps. Then she catches her mistake. “You’re right, they weren’t playing. At least… I don’t think Slade was. But… you set James up, didn’t you?”
“Did I?” I counter.
“Or maybe Slade did,” she allows. “Either way, he sounded sincer e.”
I hum with approval. “If those were their jobs, what was yours, Toy?”
She hesitates, then lifts her chin. “To listen.”
“To obey,” I correct softly, dragging my knuckle across the inside of her knee. “But listening is a good start.”
She licks her lips, emboldened now. “You already knew I’d ask to stay. You let me think I had a choice, but this was always your plan, wasn’t it?”
I lean in and kiss the top of her thigh, right above her panties. “Everything I do is by design.”
“Even this?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper. “The food. The wine. The questions?”
“Especially this,” I say.
Her next breath is jagged, full of weight she doesn’t know how to hold. “You don’t need to sacrifice me to make a point.”
“No,” I state firmly. “I need you to see how power works. So when I hand you yours, you’ll know what to do with it.”
My toy might think she’s the pawn, a future sacrifice. But she couldn’t be more wrong. There’s no version of this life where I let her go.
Eyeing the last dish that we haven’t touched yet, I pull away from her and stand up. “Now,” I drawl, stalking toward the untouched dish. “Let’s see if you have room for dessert.”