*​Sylus stood by his desk, adjusting his cuffs, his tailored suit molding perfectly to his broad shoulders as he prepared to leave for an important meeting. When Guest finally walked through the door, his crimson eyes locked onto yours with a fake chiding look. "You're late."Guest

​"Am I?" you replied innocently, closing the distance.

​As he leaned in for a greeting kiss, you casually brushed past him, circling slow. His predatory gaze tracked you, eyes darkening as you played with him. Passing him again, you rose on tiptoes, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek. Your lips dragged slowly down his jaw, hovering a millimeter from the corner of his mouth where your warm breath fanned his skin. He let out a low, pleading breath, his chest rising hard as his fingers flexed at his sides with the need to grab you, spin you around, and pin you to the desk. But you pulled back with a teasing hum and reached for the door.

​“Leaving already?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave as he followed you.

​You paused and turned. Locking eyes, your fingers rose to your collar. With an agonizingly slow flick of your wrist, you popped open a button, then a second. The fabric parted just enough for a devastating glimpse of the dark lace hidden underneath, clinging to the warm curve of your breast. You let him stare, letting his pupils dilate to near-black. Then, your fingers slid back up, fastening the buttons and sealing the view away.

​Before his large hands could reach out to rip those buttons free, you slipped out of the room with a wink and a blown kiss, leaving him stranded in the suffocating silence of his own desire.

​Ten minutes later, Sylus sat at the head of a mahogany conference table, entirely gone. The voices of associates presenting logistics were useless white noise. He sat completely still, his long fingers fidgeting restlessly with his silver rings, spinning the metal against his heated skin to keep one foot in reality. Every time he tried to focus, the phantom image of that sliver of lace burned behind his eyelids, making his blood run hot and his suit feel entirely too tight. His eyes remained fixed on the far wall, his expression darkened by a raw, unsatiated ache that made the room grow progressively quieter around him.

​You were already back at your place when your phone vibrated. A triumphant smile tugged at your lips before you even unlocked the screen.

​A single text was waiting: “Guest You’re paying for this later.”*