Alex was lying on her bed again—not by accident or invitation, but because Jenny had guided him there like she had everything else: quiet, confident, certain. His shirt lay forgotten on the floor, his trousers halfway undone, and still, he looked like he wasn’t sure if he’d earned his place.

Jenny stood at the foot of the bed, wine glass in hand, silhouetted by the soft amber light. She wasn’t naked — not yet. That was too easy. Too expected. Instead, she let her blouse hang loose, two buttons undone, just enough to hint. Her skirt hugged her hips in that slow, deliberate way that made movement part of the seduction.

“Still overthinking it, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice low and amused.

Alex gave a half-smile. “Hard not to.”

She took a slow sip, then placed the glass down. “That’s all right. I’ll think for both of us.”

She moved towards him, unhurried, letting him watch her every step. Then, without a word, she straddled him — not in a rush, not forcefully, but like it was her natural place. Her hands settled on his chest, warm and certain.

“Let me guess,” she whispered, leaning close. “You’re the type who always plays it safe. Even in bed.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a kiss — deep, commanding, tasting of wine and hunger. When she pulled back, her hands were already at his belt, undoing it with maddening care.

“I’m not,” he breathed.

“Good,” she murmured, “then you won’t mind if I take what I want.”

She sat back, fingers tugging at the zip, and dragged his trousers down just enough to expose skin. Warm, flushed, vulnerable. Her hands slid up his thighs, firm and slow, like she was claiming territory.

Alex’s breath caught.

Jenny smiled.

“Relax, boss,” she said, tone teasing but darkened by heat. “You’ve handed over control for the night. Let me do my job.”

She peeled off her blouse next, letting it fall behind her. No hesitation. No performance. She wasn’t doing this for effect — she was doing it because she wanted him and wanted him aware of just how badly.

Her bra followed one smooth motion, and then she leaned back down, letting the heat of her skin press into his.

Alex reached for her hips, but she caught his hands and pinned them to the sheets.

“Ah,” she whispered. “Not yet.”

Her mouth found his neck, his collarbone, and his chest. Every kiss was measured. Every bite was purposeful. He groaned — low, surprised — and she felt it echo in her own body.

“You feel that?” she whispered against his skin. “That’s what it’s like when a woman stops pretending she wants less.”

He nodded, barely able to speak.

And then she moved lower.

Alex's fingers curled into the sheets. His mind tried to stay ahead of her, to predict what came next — but Jenny was already past him. She was in control now, and no script was left to follow.

Just sensation.

Just her.

And the quiet, electric truth that if he wasn’t careful…

She might just devour him whole.

She moved like water — fluid, deliberate, unstoppable. Her hands slid down his chest, every inch claimed, every breath drawn with purpose. She undressed him fully, pulling the fabric away like she was unveiling something she already knew was hers.

Alex’s head tipped back against the pillows, chest rising and falling in slow, unsteady waves. He wasn’t saying much now. He couldn’t. His body was doing all the talking.

Jenny slipped out of her skirt, standing at the edge of the bed in nothing but soft lace and skin. The light kissed every curve, every shadow, every inch that made her woman, not a girl — no hesitation, no pretending. This wasn't about seduction. This was about possession.

And he was hers.

She climbed back onto him, one knee at either side of his hips, her nails dragging gently along his ribcage, down to his hips, her breath warm on his neck.

“You’re thinking again,” she murmured.

Alex opened his eyes, dazed. “Can you blame me?”

Her laugh was low, wicked. “Stop.”

Then she sank onto him, slow and deep, her eyes locked on his. The breath left his lungs in one long exhale, half-curse, half-prayer.

Jenny didn't rush. She rode him like she was setting the pace of the entire night — hips rolling, thighs tightening, her head tilting back as her rhythm deepened. Her hands roamed his chest, her mouth brushing his throat, ear, and lips.

Every sound he made fuelled her. Every grasp at her hips, every twitch beneath her touch, every whispered “God, Jenny,” only made her more certain.

She leaned down again, lips barely touching his. “You’re doing better now.”

His response was lost somewhere between a groan and her name.

She shifted, adjusting her angle, and felt him stiffen under her, closer now. She rode him harder, breathless now herself but still in control — always in control.

And then it hit — the rush, the surrender, the glorious fall as his hands finally gripped her properly, pulling her closer without hesitation. She allowed it now. Let him match her rhythm. Let him lose himself.

Their bodies moved together, breath, sweat, and heat rising in a tide too strong to stop. The crescendo came not in a burst but a long, rolling, all-consuming wave. Jenny's nails dug into his shoulders as she came, her mouth open against his throat, a low cry catching in her chest.

He followed seconds later, hips thrusting up into her with desperate finality, hands gripping her like he was afraid she'd vanish once it ended.

But she didn’t move.

Not right away.

She stayed there, straddling him, breathing heavily, hair sticking to her neck and collarbone, skin glowing, heart racing.

And then, softly, almost too tender for the moment they'd just shared, she stroked his face.

“I told you,” she whispered. “You just had to let go.”

Alex couldn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

He lay undone, blinking up at her like she'd rewritten every rule he thought he knew.

And somewhere in the silence, as their breath slowed, reality began its slow, creeping return.

Tomorrow… would come.

And it would come with fluorescent lights, awkward glances, and the click of keyboards.

But for now, in her bed, under the weight of her body and the scent of sex and candlewax, he could pretend this night existed on its own.

Unreal.

Unrepeatable.

Jenny barely had time to catch her breath.

Still, astride him, her skin damp, hair tangled, legs trembling slightly from her orgasm, she smiled lazily down at him, completely in control.

Or so she thought.

Alex’s hand moved — not the timid, tentative touch she’d grown used to, but firm, purposeful. He gripped her waist and rolled, flipping her onto her back in one smooth, sudden motion.

Jenny gasped, half-laughing, half-shocked. “Oh?”

Alex didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

He hovered over her, his body still pressed to hers, face close, breath hot. His eyes weren’t wide with hesitation anymore. They were sharp. Hungry. Like he’d been watching and learning this whole time.

“I’ve been polite,” he said, voice lower, rougher now. “You wanted control? You had it.”

His mouth met hers, fierce and messy, all teeth and tongue. Jenny moaned, stunned by the shift in him — her hips moving instinctively, trying to keep up. He broke the kiss and trailed his mouth down her neck, biting just enough to make her writhe beneath him.

“But now,” he growled against her collarbone, “I want to hear what you sound like when you beg.”

Jenny shivered.

He grabbed her thighs and dragged her to the edge of the bed in one solid pull. She let out a gasp, heart pounding. Before she could speak, he flipped her again, fast, hands firm on her hips.

Now she was on all fours, hair falling in front of her face, breath coming hard.

The dominance in his grip was real. No warning. No hesitation.

She felt him behind her, hard again already, pressing against her wet pussy.

She looked back over her shoulder, trying to be smug, trying to control herself. " Are you sure you're ready for this?"

He didn’t answer.

He thrust into her in one solid, deep stroke that knocked the words from her mouth. She gasped, eyes wide, fingers curling into the duvet.

“Jesus, Alex—”

But he wasn’t gentle. Not anymore.

He set a rhythm — hard, fast, relentless — the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room. Jenny’s body jolted with every movement, and soon, all she could do was moan and sob into the mattress, her legs shaking as he drove into her, over and over, like he’d been waiting to do it all night.

“You wanted to play?” he said between thrusts. “Here’s how I play.”

Her back was arched, the pressure and the friction building so fast that she barely recognised her voice.

“Oh my God—don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

He gripped her hair, pulling gently, not cruelly, just enough to make her feel owned. She cried out, head tilted back, mouth open.

“You love this, don’t you?” he growled.

“Yes—” she gasped. “Fuck—yes—”

He slammed into her again, and she screamed — not from pain, but from the orgasm that detonated inside her like a firework.

Her body bucked and convulsed. She collapsed into the sheets, legs useless, breath torn from her lungs.

Alex held her hips, still moving, still chasing his own release. It wasn't long. A few more thrusts and he grunted, deep and guttural, emptying himself deep into her as he buried himself to the hilt.

Then silence.

Heavy. Wet. Glorious.

He stayed there, both of them panting, bodies slick with sweat, the room thick with sex and candlewax and victory.

Finally, he pulled back, gently lying beside her, brushing the hair from her face.

Jenny didn’t speak.

Her eyes were closed, her chest rising and falling like she’d run a marathon.

Then, after a long, long beat, she let out a shaky laugh. “Well. That escalated.”

Alex chuckled, his voice still rough. “You started it.”

Her hand slid across the sheets, fingers brushing his chest. “I think I just created a monster.”

He leaned in and kissed her shoulder. "Told you I wasn't always polite."

Jenny turned her head and met his eyes. Something in her had shifted — from the queen of control to something softer. It wasn't less powerful. Just… impressed.

Shaken.

“I might actually let you stay the night,” she whispered.

He smirked. “Might?”

She smiled. “Don’t push it.”  

Jenny woke to sunlight creeping in around the edges of the blinds. Her body ached in that beautiful, lingering way — reminders in her thighs, back, and throat. But the bed beside her was empty. Still warm, but empty. Her body ached most satisfyingly — thighs sore, lips bruised and swollen, skin still humming from the night before. She rolled over with a sleepy smile, expecting to find Alex beside her.

No note. No sound of the shower. Just the faint hum of traffic outside and the faintest ache in her chest.    

She sat up, blinking, hair a mess, his faint scent lingering on the pillow. His tie was still on the chair, but everything else — trousers, shirt, coat — was gone.

For a moment, she frowned.

He hadn’t fled. He’d just... slipped away.

She let her head fall back against the pillow, exhaling.

She didn’t know what she’d expected. 

---------------------------- End of Part II -------------------------------