The defiance in her eyes didn't just fade; it evaporated, replaced by a raw, predatory hunger. She tilted her head back, exhaling a final, slow plume of smoke directly into my mouth. As the gray mist swirled between us, she surged forward, and our lips crashed together in a collision of silk, tobacco, and desperate power.

​This was the crossroads. I had exactly two hours before the sun fully claimed the sky, and I intended to use every second to break her. This wasn't just about escaping her grip; it was about reversing the roles. I wanted her to crack. I wanted to bend the most powerful woman in the industry until she didn't know where her authority ended and my will began.

​Monet was the ultimate prize—the most sophisticated, intoxicating MILF I'd ever encountered. By the time I walked out of this suite, I was going to hit two birds with one stone: I'd dissolve the chains of her professional control, securing majority ownership of my studio, and I'd make her fall for the man behind the talent.

​I broke the kiss, my breath hitching as I buried my face in the crook of her neck. I trailed hot, deliberate kisses along the sensitive line of her throat, my teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her gasp.

​"You've spent your whole life running people, Monet," I growled against her skin, my hands sliding under the silk of her robe to find the warmth of her waist. "But tonight, you're going to remember what it feels like to be led."

​She let out a low, shaky breath, her fingers knotting into my hair, pulling me closer. The iron-willed manager was gone; in her place was a woman who was finally being mastered.

I moved with the calculated precision of a man dismantling a bomb. I wasn't just touching her; I was rewiring her. I teased her with a barrage of kisses, my lips tracing the path from her jaw down to her collarbone until I reached her breasts. I let my tongue dance over the peaks, licking them slowly until I heard that sharp, ragged intake of breath that told me her professional composure was officially dead.

​I dropped to my knees, my hands sliding down to cup the firm, silk-wrapped curves of her ass. I pulled her toward me, my face level with her waist as I began to worship her chocolate-toned skin. I pressed open-mouthed kisses to the inside of her thighs, the heat radiating off her making the air in the suite feel like a furnace.

​"Druski..." she gasped, her hands trembling as they rested on my shoulders for balance. "You don't know what you're doing to me."

​"I know exactly what I'm doing," I murmured against her skin, my voice vibrating through her. "I'm reminding you who really has the power in this room."

​I looked up at her from below, watching the way her head fell back and her eyes rolled shut. Monet—the woman who dictated terms to CEOs and stars alike—was unraveling under my touch. Every kiss to her thighs was a signature on a new contract; every touch was a stake claimed in her empire. I was breaking her down to her core, making sure that when I finally rose back up, she wouldn't just be my manager—she'd be mine.

I stood up slowly, the height difference between us suddenly feeling like a mountain in the dimly lit suite. The air was charged, thick with the scent of her expensive perfume and the lingering smoke of her cigarette.

​I reached down and freed myself, my cock springing out—thick, heavy, and still pulsing with the residual heat of my night with Sasha. It stood as a blunt, physical demand for her to finally surrender the last of her pride.

​"I'm not interested in licking you right now, Monet," I rumbled, my voice dropping into a low, predatory register. I looked her dead in the eye, my hand guiding myself toward her face. "I want to know if you'd like to feel how I taste."

​Her breath hitched, her eyes widening as she stared at me. The iron-willed woman who ran the streets of New York suddenly looked small, her lips trembling. "I... I've never done that," she whispered, her voice cracking in a way I'd never heard. "Not once. Not even with Thomaso."

​The revelation hit me like a shot of adrenaline. Thomaso—the ex-husband, the man who thought he owned her legacy—had never even touched the heights I was about to take her to. The most powerful woman in the industry was a novice at the feet of the King.

​"Thomaso didn't know what he had," I said, my hand tangling in her hair, not roughly, but with a firm, guiding pressure that let her know there was no retreating. "But I do. I'm going to show you what it's like to actually serve someone you respect."

​I leaned down, my lips grazing her ear. "Open up, baby girl. Give me the one thing you've kept from everyone else. Show me you're ready to be mine."

​She looked up at me, her pupils blown wide, swallowing the hazel of her eyes. The power dynamic hadn't just shifted; it had flipped. The woman who signed my checks was now shivering at my waist, her hands reaching out tentatively to touch the heat of my skin.

​"Druski..." she breathed, a final, soft protest before her lips slowly parted.

I guided her head with a gentle but firm hand, my fingers threading through her hair as she leaned in. This wasn't about force; it was about the slow, methodical dismantling of her ego. As her lips finally made contact with me, I heard a tiny, muffled sound of surprise escape her—a soft vibration of discovery.

​"That's it," I whispered, my voice a soothing rumble. "Just like that, Monet. Slow. Take it all in."

She was hesitant at first, her movements awkward and unsure, but I didn't rush her. I stood there like a statue, letting her explore the heat and the texture she'd spent a lifetime avoiding. I began to praise her, my words acting as a bridge over her fear.

​"You're doing perfectly. You've been the one giving orders for so long... it feels good to just let go, doesn't it? To finally have someone take the lead?"

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