"He’s done, Boss," Kieran says, wiping his hands on a rag. "Should I take the arm?"
I walk over to the kid. He’s shivering, blood leaking from a split lip. I reach down and grab his hair, yanking his head back so he’s forced to look into my eyes.
"I told you," I say, my voice a flat, dead calm. "No drugs. Not in my city."
"Please," the kid rasps. "My sister—she needed the money—"
"Your sister is not my problem," I growl.
I lift my boot, hovering it over his wrist. I can break it with a twitch of my thigh. The kid whimpers, closing his eyes. I stare at him, feeling nothing but a cold, heavy irritation. I don't enjoy the violence. I just enjoy the order.
I drop his head and step back.
"Get him out of here," I tell Kieran. "Tell him if I smell a whiff of anything chemical on his clothes one more time, he’s not a man I’m disciplining. He’s just a piece of scum that doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as my family. Give him enough money to take care of his sister and then some:"
Kieran nods and drags the kid toward the exit. I turn and head upstairs, my boots echoing on the concrete. I’m exhausted. The ledgers Atara is working on are showing patterns, little red flags of embezzlement, I haven't had the time to verify. She’s smarter than I thought.
I head to my office and pull up the feed on my secondary monitor.
Atara is in the common room. She’s sitting on the floor with Maeve, a mountain of puzzle pieces spread out between them. She’s wearing a pair of leggings and a loose tank top that keeps slipping off one shoulder. Every five minutes, they stop the puzzle to tickle each other or chase one another around the chairs. I watch the screen, my hands gripping the edge of my desk.
I haven't touched her in three days. I’ve watched her process the anger, the calculation, the pride. I know exactly what I'm doing, and I'm not apologetic about it.
She marches into my office an hour later, her eyes bright with a rehearsed kind of indignation. "We need to talk about the kitchen staff's schedule. You’ve restricted their movement so much that the deliveries are getting delayed. It’s inefficient, and quite frankly, it’s annoying."
"The schedule stands."
"It doesn't make sense!" she snaps. "You’re micromanaging them into a bottleneck."
I stand up. I walk around the desk, closing the distance until I’m looming over her. She takes a step back, hitting the closed door.
"You didn't come here to talk about the kitchen staff, Atara," I whisper, my voice a low, gravelly vibration.
"I came here because the rules are arbitrary!" she insists, though her voice wavers.
I step into her space. "Say what you actually came to say."
The standoff lasts three full minutes. I watch her swallow hard, her eyes darting to my mouth, then my neck, then the heavy bulge in my trousers. She’s trembling.
"I..." She stops, closes her eyes, and takes a shuddering breath. "I want you to fuck me. I want you to make me scream with pleasure. I don't care about the rules. I just want you to fuck me until I can't breathe."
I smile.
I grab her waist, hoist her into the air, and pin her against the door. I kiss her so hard that it leaves her breathless. I don't give her a second to catch her balance. I drag her to the desk and shove the files aside with one arm, sweeping them to the floor.
I lift her onto the mahogany surface and tear the thin straps of her tank top. Her breasts spill out, flushed and already aching, her nipples tight points of dark pink against her pale skin. I run my tongue slowly from the base of her throat down to her cleavage, swirling around one nipple until she’s gasping, then I take it into my mouth, suckling hard, alternating with sharp nips of my teeth.
I don't use my hands to be gentle. I grab her hair and pull her head back, exposing her throat, and I sink my teeth intothe junction of her shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. She moans, a sound of raw, unrefined want, as I move my hands down to the waistband of her leggings. I rip the fabric downward, tearing the seam, until she’s bare and shaking on the wood.
I begin a slow, calculated exploration. My fingers trace the length of her inner thighs, moving higher, teasingly brushing against the heat radiating from her core, but never quite settling. I watch her eyes dilate, her breathing ragged, as I torture her with the promise of touch. Then, I dive in. I use two fingers to find her center, already slick and weeping for me. I circle the sensitive nub of her clit, then slide two deep inside, feeling her inner walls pulse around my skin. I pull out just to tease her, then thrust back in, deeper, adding a third finger, creating a wet, rhythmic slide that has her whimpering my name.
"Lorcan, please," she begs, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer.
"Tell me who you belong to," I growl, my mouth hovering inches from hers.
"Yours," she moans. "I’m yours. Fuck me. Please, I can’t—"
I pull my fingers out, her juices coating my palm, and I unzip my trousers. I don't bother with anything else. I hoist her legs onto my shoulders, exposing her completely to the harsh light of the office, and I thrust inside her in one long, devastating movement.
