I spun her around with a rough, sudden movement, pinning her chest and face against the cold glass. The contrast was stark: the freezing window on her skin and the furnace of my body pressing into her from behind. I didn't give her a second to breathe. I brought my hand down in a sharp, stinging spank against her thigh, the sound echoing through the silent suite.

​She let out a sharp gasp that quickly turned into a low, needy moan. "Yes... please," she whimpered, her professional dignity having long since shattered against the floor.

​I kept one hand firmly on the back of her neck, controlling her gaze so she was forced to look at her own reflection against the backdrop of the waking city. My free hand reached down, my fingers finding her slick, swollen heat.

I began to rub her, circling her clit with a punishing rhythm while she devolved into the filthiest talk I'd ever heard from a woman of her status—confessing exactly how much she needed to be mastered, how much she hated the husband who couldn't handle her, and how much she belonged to me.

​I pulled my hand back for a second, spat into my palm, and slathered the moisture back over her pussy, making the friction even more intense. She was trembling so violently the glass was rattling in its frame.

​"Please, Druski," she begged, her voice a broken, raspy mess. "Put it back in. I can't... I need you inside me. Please. I'll give you anything. Just put it back in."

​I leaned in, my mouth inches from her ear, watching her eyes through the glass. "Anything, Monet? The studio? The contracts? Your loyalty?"

​"Everything," she sobbed. "It's yours. Just fuck me."

I hooked my arm under her leg, hoisting it high over my shoulder so she was braced entirely against the glass. I drove into her from behind with a raw, primal force that sent a shockwave through her entire body.

Every thrust was a statement of ownership, the glass fogging up from her frantic breathing as the sun finally crested the Hollywood Hills, bathing the room in a sharp, golden light.

​She was incoherent, her head lolling against the window, her body a map of sweat and surrender. But I wasn't done breaking the boundaries.

​As I felt the final surge building, I pulled out of her slick, overworked heat and shifted my aim. With a firm grip on her hip, I guided the head of my cock to the tight, puckered entrance of her asshole.

I simply pushed, sliding home into the final, most private territory she had left to give.

​Monet let out a muffled, strangled scream against the glass—a sound of pure, unadulterated shock that quickly melted into a desperate, rhythmic sobbing. It was the ultimate violation of her "Big Mom" persona.

I moved with a heavy, punishing friction, claiming the one place no one in the industry could ever reach.

​"Your boy is mine," I growled in her ear, my voice a dark threat. "And so is this."

​I felt the world tilt as I reached my limit, erupting deep inside her with a force that left me lightheaded. I pinned her there for a long minute, both of our bodies shaking, the only sound in the room the frantic thud of our hearts and the distant hum of the city below.

I pulled out slowly, watching the evidence of my conquest drip down her thighs in the harsh, golden light of the morning. Monet was slumped against the glass, her breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches. The fearsome architect of the Valley, the woman who made and broke careers with a single phone call, was gone. In this room, stripped of her suits and her secrets, she was just mine.

​I felt a strange surge of something close to affection. I pulled her into my arms, her body limp and heavy against me, and pressed a firm, lingering kiss to her forehead.

​"I have to go, baby," I whispered. "The sun is out. The world is waking up."

​She reached out, her fingers curling weakly into my shirt as if she could anchor me there. "You can't leave yet," she murmured, her voice stripped of its usual iron. "Stay. Stay the whole day. Just the two of us. We can shut the world out."

​I shook my head, my eyes locking onto hers. "I came to LA to be with Sasha, Monet. I'm not abandoning her. We have the whole day booked."

​A flash of the old Monet flickered in her eyes—jealousy. "Her? Come on, Druski. Stay with me. I'll take you shopping... Rodeo Drive, whatever you want. I'll take care of you."

​I let out a low, dry chuckle. "And what? Turn me into your bitch? Not a chance."

​She managed a weak, playful smirk, her hand trailing down my chest. "No... think of it as Mommy spoiling Daddy."

​I stared at her for a moment, stunned. Mommy spoiling Daddy? We had moved from a cold business war to this in less than two hours. The power dynamic hadn't just shifted; it had evolved into something much more dangerous—and much more useful.

​"Not today," I said, my voice firm. "But we'll make our own time soon. I promise."

​She nodded, the disappointment visible in the curve of her shoulders. She reached for her silk robe, wrapping it around her shivering frame as she stepped back into her role as the boss, though the facade was cracked.

​"Fine," she said, smoothing her hair. "I'm flying back to New York tomorrow evening. I've got the private jet. Fly back with me. You can even bring your girl... if you must."

​"I'm not sure we're heading back that soon," I replied, thinking of the moves I still had to make. "I've got a shoot to lock down here first."

​She leaned against the mahogany desk, watching me with a look of newfound hunger. "Well," she whispered, "I can wait. I've learned tonight that you're definitely worth the wait."

I adjusted my collar, smoothed my shirt, and walked out of the suite like I owned the entire floor.

​Volkov was still there, leaning against the far wall like a gargoyle. As the door clicked shut behind me, his eyes snapped to mine, instantly scanning my disheveled hair and the distinct, triumphant energy radiating off me. He looked at the closed door of the suite, then back at me, his jaw tightening so hard I thought his teeth might crack.

​As I reached him, I slowed down just enough to look him dead in the eye. I gave him a slow, mocking wink—a silent confirmation that everything he feared had just happened.

​"Keep a good watch, Ginger Boy," I rumbled, my voice still raspy from the night. "She's going to need her rest."

​I didn't wait for a reaction. I stepped into the elevator, the doors sliding shut on his simmering fury

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