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Outside, the grim-faced chauffeur has the car waiting. Lukas opens the door himself and helps me in, walling me off with his body so I don’t accidentally give the world a Britney Spears-esque flash of my upskirt regions.
Once I’m settled, he gets into the backseat with me. The door closes behind him with a softthunk.
He gazes out of the window as we pull away from the curb. Light passes over his face: gold, then shadow, then gold again. His scowl is carved from the same cold granite as always.
Then his hand moves to press a button on the door.
A tinted partition rises between us and the driver, sealing us into our own private world. The sound of it locking into place dies quickly in the sudden silence.
For some reason I don’t understand, my mouth goes dry.
Lukas turns to face me. In the dim glow of passing streetlights, his eyes are almost black. Two voids that swallow everything they touch.
“On your knees,” he says. “On the floor.”
When I hesitate, his head tilts one degree.
“Ms. Everett… don’t make me ask twice.”
48
RAE
LAZAREV GLOBAL — EXECUTIVE CAR SERVICE
Vehicle: Maybach S680 (Plate: LZR-001)
Driver: Dmitri K.
Date: 12 December 2025
00:11 — Departed Le Bernardin. 2 passengers.
00:12 — Privacy partition raised by rear passenger.
00:34 — Partition lowered. Arrived 412 DeKalb Ave, Brooklyn.
00:35 — 1 passenger exited. 1 remained.
VEHICLE CONDITION:Interiorrequiresdetailing.
On your knees. On the floor.
The space between the seats and the partition is maybe two feet wide, if that. I look down at the textured rubber mat, then back up at Lukas.
His face hasn’t changed. Once again, he is not joking.
My heart thumps against my ribs so hard I’m surprised the windows aren’t rattling. Every rational thought I’ve ever had is screaming at me to tell him to go fuck himself. I’m hisemployee, for crying out loud,and this is wildly, spectacularly inappropriate.
But I know better than to disobey by now.
I slide forward off the leather seat, my dress riding up my thighs as I maneuver into the cramped space. The fabric catches, bunches, and exposes far more skin than is decent. I don’t fix it. Why bother? There hasn’t been anything decent between us in a long time now.
My knees hit the mat with a dull thud that I feel all the way up my spine. My shoulders wedge between Lukas’s spread knees as the seat edge digs into my shoulder blades. When the car takes a turn, I have to brace one hand on his thigh just to keep from toppling sideways.
The muscle beneath my palm is solid. I can feel the heat of him through the fine fabric of his trousers. My other hand hovers uselessly in the air, unsure where to go or what to do.
I’m trapped down here in this tiny space with him towering above me, and the power dynamic has never been more literal. The crown of my head barely reaches his chest from this angle. His thighs bracket my shoulders like the walls of a cage.
