I leaned back, scanning the office. It was a cathedral of ego—thick rugs, heavy mahogany, and a one-way mirror that looked out over the writhing bodies on the dance floor. It felt like a throne room, and I was about to desecrate it.

​"Do you do this often?" I asked, my voice dropping an octave as I circled her. "Bring guys in here to fuck you in your husband's chair? On his desk?"

​Cami didn't flinch. She stepped into my space, her palms flat against my chest. I could feel the heat radiating through her leather vest, and the scent of her perfume—something dark, floral, and obscenely expensive—hit me like a drug, making my cock strain against my trousers.

​"This is just one of the venues, Druski," she purred, her voice a low vibration. "There are plenty of shadows in this city where I can get my pussy licked while the world watches someone else." She reached up, her pink-nailed fingers tracing the line of my jaw, her touch light but electric. "Would you like to lick my pussy, Druski? Right here while Bruce talks business down the hall?"

​I caught her hand, my grip firm, and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her palm. But my eyes stayed locked on hers, cold and dominant.

​"No," I rasped, my voice cutting through her flirtatious fog. "I don't want to suck your pussy. I want you to get on your knees and suck my cock."

​Cami's breath hitched. She giggled, but it wasn't a laugh of mockery—it was the sound of a woman who had finally met someone who spoke her language. Her eyes shone with a wild, submissive hunger.

​"You've got plenty of experience in that department, don't you?" I continued, stepping closer until our bodies were fused. "All those months in Dubai, kneeling on yacht decks, perfecting your craft on the Sheiks. You're a professional, Cami. Show me why you were the best in the Emirates."

​The mention of her past didn't shame her; it fueled her. She let out a soft moan, her knees visibly weakening. She looked down at my fly, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for my belt.

​"The Sheiks were just practice," she whispered, looking up at me through her lashes. "I've been waiting for a man like you to show me what I'm really capable of."

I reached out, winding her high ponytail around my hand and pulling her head back just enough to look into those electric blue eyes. "You talk a big game, Cami. Let's see if that mouth is as dangerous as your reputation."

​She didn't back down. She leaned in, her lips brushing mine in a slow, teasing kiss that tasted like champagne and expensive sin. It started soft, but quickly turned deep and hungry, her tongue flickering against mine with a practiced urgency. When we finally broke apart, she was breathless, her eyes dark with a heat that Dubai could never have extinguished.

​"Prove it," she whispered.

​She sank to her knees with a predatory grace, her leather-clad thighs settling into the plush carpet of her husband's office. She didn't hesitate. She reached for my fly, her pink-nailed fingers working the zipper with a steady, expert hand. When my cock sprang free, thick and pulsing in the dim office light, she let out a soft, appreciative hum.

​She leaned in, her hot breath hitting my skin before her lips ever did. She started slow, her tongue swirling around the head, teasing me, testing my limits while her eyes stayed locked on mine. Then, she opened wide and slid down, taking me deep into her throat with a skill that could only be forged in the highest tiers of the world's elite playgrounds.

​I let out a low growl, my hands gripping her shoulders as she began to work. She was a master of the craft—the suction, the rhythm, the way she used her hands to stroke the base while her mouth did the heavy lifting. The vibration of the club's bass through the floorboards only added to the intensity.

​Looking down, I watched the Queen of the Vault—the woman who ran one of the most exclusive clubs in LA—submitting completely in the middle of her husband's sanctuary. It was the ultimate power move.

​"That's it," I rasped, my fingers tightening in her hair as she picked up the pace, her throat working rhythmically. "Show me that Dubai excellence, Cami."

I reached down and gripped her shoulders, pulling her up from her knees. She was breathless, her lips slick and her eyes glazed with a desperate, unfocused hunger.

​"Change of plans," I growled. "I want to leave my mark on Bruce's workspace."

​I turned her around, pressing her chest down onto the cold, polished mahogany of the desk. I began unzipping her leather vest and those micro-shorts, moving with an agonizingly slow deliberation that had her whimpering. As the leather fell away, Cami's body was revealed in the dim, neon-streaked light of the office. Her skin was like cream—pale, flawless, and heated to a fever pitch.

​Her breasts were surprisingly heavy for her lean frame, spilling out against the dark wood of the desk, their tips dark and swollen. But it was her ass that stole the show; it was a perfect, high-set shelf, rounded and firm from years of high-end maintenance. It was the kind of ass that looked like it was sculpted specifically for a man to grip, wide enough to fill my hands and shaped with a deep, inviting curve that led straight into her soaking wet heat.

​"Please, Druski," she begged, her voice muffled against the desk. "I don't care about anything right now. I don't care about Bruce. Just fill me up. I need to feel you."

​I raised my hand and brought it down hard across one of those pale, perfect cheeks. **SLAP. **

​The sound cracked through the quiet office like a gunshot. Cami let out a sharp, shocked gasp that quickly turned into a low, needy moan. The pale skin instantly bloomed into a bright, angry red, marking her as mine. I didn't stop, raining down another heavy strike on the other side, watching the muscle quiver under the impact.

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