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I lower it agonizingly slow, savoring every second, every sharp inhale she takes, and with every inch I reveal, her skin erupts in goosebumps beneath my fingers, her body responding before her mind can catch up.

“You were made especially for me,” I whisper, my lips finding her neck, kissing, biting lightly, marking. “You were made to be mine, Thalia.”

She tilts her head back instantly, giving me more access, her throat exposed, her moans slipping free—full of need—as her body arches forward against mine.

When the zipper finally gives way, her dress slides down her body, clinging for a moment before falling, leaving her breasts only half-covered, flushed, heavy, already aching for attention.

“Ethan, please,” she pleads, her eyes falling shut, her voice trembling.

“What do you need, kitten?” I ask quietly, watching the way her thighs press together, how hard she’s fighting herself.

“I need to come,” she breathes, letting the dress fall completely, standing in front of me utterly naked—no panties, nothing to hide behind.

“Fuck,” I growl, low and rough. “I thought you said your panties were soaked?” I ask, remembering her words from earlier, the memory only making this worse.

Laughing, she steps closer, finishing unbuttoning my shirt and yanking it off me, her lips brushing mine again before she answers, “I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.” Her tone is teasing, playful—dangerously so.

I fist a hand in her hair and pull her back into me, kissing her with consuming hunger, our tongues clashing in a heated fight for control.

“You drive me insane just by looking at you, Thalia,” I confess against her lips .

I help her undo my belt, then my pants, my voice strained with restraint. “It’s going to be a problem if you don’t let me fuck you at the office from now on.”

The second my pants are open, she hooks her fingers in the waistband of my boxers and drags them down. My cock springs free immediately, hard and aching between us.

Without hesitation, Thalia wraps her hand around it and starts stroking me slowly, confidently—like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

Groaning, I guide her back toward the bed, and the moment she reaches it, I push her down, her hand never stopping, moving with precision, with practiced intent.

“Get up against the headboard,” I tell her, breaking the kiss. “Hands behind your back.”

She looks at me, surprised for a second, one eyebrow lifting, but she obeys immediately.

“Have I been bad, that I need to keep my hands behind my back?” she asks, teasing. “Do I need to be punished?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I turn toward the middle of the room where our clothes are scattered and pick up the scarf from her dress. When she sees it, she gasps, her eyes filling with curiosity—and anticipation.

I climb onto the bed over her, my knees on either side of her hips as I lean down and bind her wrists, taking my time, enjoying every shiver, every uneven inhale.

“You don't get to touch me unless I untie you,” I tell her, tightening the knot before pushing her back, trapping her hands between her body and the headboard. “And if you move them—or manage to free yourself,” I continue calmly, satisfaction thick in my voice, “I’ll bring you right to the edge over and over again, just to stop a second before you come.”

She pouts like a child, making me chuckle, and I lean down to kiss her again, slow and deep, before dragging my mouth toward her chest.

“But I didn’t do anything bad,” she protests softly.

Her nipples are already hard, her arousal impossible to miss. I take one between my teeth, biting just enough to make her tremble and cry out, balancing perfectly on that edge between pain and pleasure, before soothing it immediately with my tongue—slow, possessive—never breaking eye contact.

“You teased me even before we went down to the party,” I murmur as I move to the other breast, “and then made me go hours without touching you.”

She’s trembling beneath me now.

My cock is painfully hard between us, pressing against her, and she feels it, instinctively rolling her hips, searching for friction. The sensation tightens my jaw as I force myself not to give in—not yet.

“But you could have touched me anytime,” she pants, her head falling back.

I trail my tongue down her stomach, leaving a wet path, stopping exactly where she needs me most. With both hands, I spread her legs wider, taking my time to look at her—slick, flushed, glistening with arousal.

My mouth waters. My cock throbs against the mattress.