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Chapter Text

The apartment was quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against her chest and made her pulse thud in her ears. Two weeks had passed since the wedding. Two weeks since the vows, the laughter, the champagne. Two weeks since Castle had wrapped his arms around her in that warm, protective way, and she’d felt safe, invincible even. Now, with him two thousand miles away on his book tour, the city felt hollow, sharp edges pressing into her skin.

Kate wandered the apartment like a restless ghost, heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor. She’d tried to bury herself in paperwork, in minor cases, in anything that would distract her from the gnawing sense of emptiness, but nothing filled the void. The city pulsed outside her window, alive and dangerous, but she couldn’t reach it. Not fully. Not without a spark.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. She picked it up, thumb hovering over the screen, and saw the name that made her chest tighten: Ramirez.

“Detective Beckett,” his voice was low, measured, professional. “I’ve got a situation that requires your… particular skill set.”

Kate leaned against the counter, shoulders tense, a flicker of unease running down her spine. “Ramirez, I’m—just getting back into the swing of things. What kind of skill set are we talking about?”

“High-class escorts,” he said bluntly. “Found dead. Cause of death varies, but the signature—red lipstick smeared post-mortem, word ‘Lover’ carved into flesh.” His tone made it clear there was no room for hesitation, no time for squeamishness.

Kate’s stomach clenched. The words echoed in her mind: “red lipstick… carved… Lover.” She pressed a hand over her mouth, trying to swallow the lump that rose, a mixture of revulsion and morbid curiosity. Her fingers trembled slightly, brushing against the warmth of her palms, and for a moment she caught herself shivering—not from fear, but from a strange, unsettling anticipation.

“Why me?” she asked softly, more to herself than him.

“You’ve got poise, presence. You can get close without tipping them off. Vice wants someone who can… blend in.” He paused. “I’m warning you. This is high-risk. The clients expect fully immersive experiences. They’re paying for authenticity, not acting. You’ll need to walk a line most can’t even see.”

Her heart beat faster. Not just from the danger, but from a creeping, electric thrill. A small, traitorous part of her had already begun imagining the scenario: stepping into a world so illicit, so forbidden, that merely entering it would awaken something she’d never admitted to herself. She shook the thought away, but her body betrayed her anyway—a heat blooming low in her belly, a tightening at the base of her spine, pulse fluttering in her veins like trapped wings.

“What do you mean by ‘fully immersive’?” she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral, though her throat felt dry.

Ramirez’s pause was deliberate. “You’ll have to use your judgment. Most won’t take a polite refusal. You might need to… participate. But only as far as required. Don’t get carried away.”

The words hit her like a punch. Participate. The thought made her chest constrict, her nipples tightening under the thin blouse she wore. She swallowed hard, the taste of iron on her tongue as guilt and a flush of something hotter—desire, fear, adrenaline—coiled inside her.

“I see,” she whispered, pressing a palm to her abdomen. Her body was already responding, despite herself. A flush crept across her cheeks as her fingers unconsciously grazed over her thighs, lingering too long, a spark of heat rising that made her pulse skip. This was wrong. It was dangerous. And yet, impossibly, irresistibly, her body remembered pleasure as a living, tangible thing.

“You’ll be given a burner phone, a new identity, a wardrobe to match. Think high-end, think seamless. You’ll be accompanied by me or one of my team for the briefing, but the execution will be on you. Understood?” Ramirez’s voice was sharp, unyielding.

Kate nodded slowly, the knot in her stomach tightening with a cocktail of dread and something darker, more insistent. “Understood.”

After the call ended, she stood in the quiet apartment, her hands trailing over the sleek countertop, over the curve of her hips. The thought of what she was about to do made her tremble, both with anxiety and with a forbidden, delicious anticipation. She imagined the bodies she would encounter, the intimate proximity required, the surrender demanded, and a shiver ran down her spine, her nipples pebbled with involuntary awareness.

She closed her eyes, trying to suppress the stirring between her legs, trying to remind herself that this was for the case. And yet, in the solitude of the apartment, her fingers brushed along her inner thigh, grazing the slick skin she hadn’t admitted existed yet tonight. A soft gasp escaped her, small and shamed, as she pressed her hips against her hand, tasting her own need.

“This is wrong,” she whispered to the empty room, voice trembling, eyes squeezed shut. “So wrong.”

And yet, even as she spoke it, a deeper part of her—hungry, raw, unashamed—ached for it. A thrill, dangerous and intoxicating, pooled in her belly, her legs trembling slightly, and she realized with a shiver that she was already on the edge of something she might never come back from.

She opened her eyes, and the city outside the window glittered, indifferent and alive, a playground for the daring. Her reflection stared back at her: flushed, wide-eyed, and trembling, lips slightly parted. This wasn’t Castle. This wasn’t normal. This was a new world, a test of her limits, and somewhere deep down, her body was eager to find out just how far she could go.

Chapter Text

The penthouse was impossibly pristine, a glass-and-marble showcase of wealth, every surface gleaming under the soft glow of recessed lighting. Kate’s heels clicked against the polished floor as she stepped inside, the sound loud in the silent expanse. Her pulse thrummed violently in her chest, a jittery rhythm that seemed to echo off the walls. Her silk dress clung to every curve, hugging her waist, outlining the swell of her breasts, brushing over the curve of her hips and thighs in a way that made her hyper-aware of herself. She pressed her hands against her stomach, trying to steady the tremor that ran through her body, but the heat already pooling low between her legs made her aware of her traitorous need.

He appeared from behind the desk, tall, commanding, exuding a kind of effortless dominance that made her stomach knot. “You must be Kate,” he said, voice smooth and confident, sliding into her senses like a brush of silk over bare skin.

Kate raised her chin, trying to appear composed. “Yes,” she said, voice even, though it trembled at the edges. She smoothed the fabric over her chest once, twice, hoping it would help her look professional, though her body was betraying her with every pulse of heat, every tight coil of desire in her belly.

He didn’t move immediately, simply watched her, eyes lingering over her curves, over the subtle swell of her breasts beneath the silk, over the sway of her hips. A shiver ran through her spine. “You’re… more than I expected,” he murmured, a slow, deliberate appraisal. His hand brushed hers—lightly, teasingly—and a jolt of heat shot straight to her core.

Kate swallowed hard. “I’m here to… make sure you’re satisfied,” she said, keeping her voice careful, professional. Her hands fluttered over her hips, brushing the fabric of the skirt over her thighs. The heat pooling between them was insistent, wet, pressing upward in a betrayal she couldn’t contain.

He chuckled, low and dark, a sound that made her shiver. “I don’t do half-measures,” he said. “If you want to play… you’ll play fully.”

Her stomach twisted. Fully? Her rational mind screamed at her to resist, to remember this was a job, a case, a mission—but her body rebelled, nipples hard beneath the fabric, pussy slick and alive with need. “I… I can,” she whispered, trying to bluff, her voice quivering despite her effort.

A dark grin curved his lips. “Can you? Or are you just saying what I want to hear?” He closed the distance, and she could feel the heat radiating from him, could feel her own pulse spike in response. Every nerve ending in her body was awake, alive, betraying her as she pressed her thighs together in a feeble attempt to deny the growing slick ache pressing between them.

“I can,” she repeated, voice softer now, less convincing even to herself. Her hips twitched slightly, betraying her need. Heat pooled deep in her belly, spreading to her thighs, her nipples, her entire body, a traitorous ache that made her pulse flutter.

“Good,” he murmured, low and commanding, stepping closer, lips brushing against her ear. “Prove it.”

His hands were on her waist then, sliding downward, thumbs pressing into the small of her back. Kate’s breath hitched. He pressed his chest to hers, strong, insistent, and she felt a shiver of excitement and guilt spiral together, twisting in her stomach. This is wrong. I shouldn’t want this. I’m not… But her body ignored her protests, trembling, hips pressing into his with a desperate rhythm she could not control.

“Undress for me,” he commanded, voice a low growl that made her shiver.

Kate’s hands shook as she reached for the zipper of her dress, slowly easing it down her back, feeling the cool air kiss the skin that had been trapped beneath silk. The dress fell to the floor with a soft whisper, leaving her in a lace bra and matching panties. Her nipples ached beneath the lace, the cool air making them pebble, and she shivered, pressing her thighs together as the wet heat pooled insistently between them.

“Keep your panties on for now,” he said, voice sharp, and she obeyed, pressing herself against him instinctively. His hands roamed over her curves, sliding down her back, over her hips, over the swell of her ass, and she gasped, tilting her head back as desire flared.

He lifted her gently, placing her on the bed. His hands pressed firmly into her thighs, spreading them slowly, deliberately. Heat pooled between her legs as his fingers brushed over her slick folds, teasing, stroking, dragging involuntary moans from her throat. Kate’s nails dug into the sheets, her body trembling, hips arching toward him without conscious thought.

“You taste so good,” he murmured, voice rough. “Beg for me, Kate.”

Her chest heaved, mind a chaotic swirl of shame and need. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t… But the slick heat pooling in her cunt made her gasp, trembling as she whispered, “Please… I need you.”

“Good girl,” he said, and slid her panties aside, brushing a finger over her clit. Heat and slickness coated his hand instantly, and she moaned, hips pressing into his palm, body writhing with desire. Every nerve ending burned, her mind screaming in protest even as her body shivered in betrayal, fully alive to pleasure.

Then he entered her. Hard, deep, unyielding. The first thrust stole her breath, and she gasped, clinging to him, hips lifting to meet him instinctively. Her mind reeled with a mix of shock, guilt, and raw need—this is wrong, so wrong…—as pleasure spread through her, thick and fiery, making her moan loudly. Her nails raked his back, pulling him closer, pressing into every inch of him, soaking him with her desperate, slick heat.

Every thrust was punishing, precise, and her body reacted instantly: nipples pressing to his chest, cunt pulsing around him, legs trembling as waves of pleasure cascaded through her. Heat pooled in her stomach, spreading in a tremor down her spine, into her thighs, her muscles tightening and releasing in a rhythm she could not resist.

“Harder,” she gasped, breathless, shivering under him. “Please… harder…” Her voice was wet, needy, betraying every moral reservation she tried to cling to.

He obeyed, thrusting deep and fast, dragging sharp, urgent moans from her throat. Her body shook, slick, tense, alive in ways that made her chest burn, her cunt pulse, her thighs quiver. Every nerve ending screamed, and she felt herself losing the fragile grip she had on control. Her hands wandered over his chest, shoulders, gripping him, pressing him into herself, desperate for more friction, more heat, more of this impossible pleasure.

Her orgasm hit hard and fast, a shockwave that stole her breath and left her trembling, hips jerking uncontrollably around him as pleasure pulsed through her in relentless, dizzying waves. She clung to him, gasping, tears prickling her eyes from the intensity, from the shame, from the way her body had betrayed her mind so completely.

Afterward, he collapsed atop her, chest heavy against hers, both of them slick with sweat, her cunt still pulsing in sensitive aftershocks. She pressed a trembling hand against her stomach, heart racing, trying to anchor herself to some semblance of reason. This was for the case. Only for the case. But her body still throbbed, still ached, still begged for the touch she had just had.

Later, in the shower, water cascading over her trembling body, she pressed her fingers between her slick folds, gasping, shivering, trying to quell the traitorous heat that still burned low in her belly. “This… was for the case,” she whispered to the empty room, voice weak, cheeks flushed, body slick and trembling. And yet, deep inside, a part of her shivered with want, craving the forbidden thrill she had tasted, aching for more.

Chapter Text

The gallery smelled of turpentine, old wood, and the faint sweetness of expensive wine, a heady, intoxicating mixture that made Kate’s stomach twist and her pulse spike. She stepped inside, heels clicking softly against the polished hardwood, each step pulling her closer to a reality she shouldn’t want but couldn’t resist. Her silk dress clung to her curves—the swell of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the smooth line of her thighs—leaving her painfully aware of the traitorous warmth pooling low in her belly. This is wrong, she told herself, pressing her thighs together instinctively, so completely wrong.

He emerged from the shadows near a massive abstract canvas, tall, lean, and confident, the kind of man whose presence dominated the room without a word. Dark eyes roamed her body like an artist surveying a masterpiece, slow and deliberate, and Kate felt herself tremble under the weight of his gaze. Her fingers fidgeted at her hips, tracing the silk of her dress, as heat spread through her body, threatening to undo the careful control she had tried to maintain.

“You’re Kate,” he said, voice low and smooth, velvet-wrapped authority. “And I’ve been expecting you.”

“Yes,” she whispered, voice trembling. Her chest tightened as his gaze lingered over her, the swell of her breasts beneath the silk, the curve of her hips. Heat pooled in her core, slick and urgent, pressing between her thighs. Her nipples pressed to the fabric, sensitive and hard, betraying her before she could even think. Focus. This is the case. It’s just the job. But her body ignored reason.

He circled her slowly, letting her feel the deliberate, measured attention of him watching, studying, savoring. “You’re exquisite,” he murmured, voice husky, “but that’s just the beginning. You were made for this—born for more than beauty. Born to feel, to be desired, to be worshipped.” His words pressed against her skin, making her shiver and ache.

Kate’s chest rose and fell rapidly. “I… I’m here to perform,” she stammered, trying to anchor herself in rational thought, this is for the case, nothing more. Her hands pressed to her stomach, but the slick heat between her legs betrayed her, pulsing insistently. Her muscles quivered, nipples taut, a tremor running down her spine.

He knelt slowly before her, lips hovering near her waist, fingers brushing along her sides, her lower belly, without fully touching. “Every inch of you,” he whispered, “is perfect. Every curve, every line. You were made to be worshipped, Kate.”

Her knees weakened. Her core ached, throbbing with need, thighs slick, heat pooling. “I… I…,” she tried to speak, but her words failed her. Her body tilted forward, arching slightly, inviting him, betraying herself. Her nipples pressed forward, sensitive, almost painfully alive. Her chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, every nerve ending trembling with anticipation.

“Undress for me,” he murmured, low and commanding, leaving no room for refusal.

Kate’s fingers shook as she slid the silk straps of her dress off her shoulders. The fabric whispered against her skin as it fell around her feet. Her bra followed, lace brushing over her arms and leaving her breasts bare. She shivered, hips pressing together instinctively, slick heat pooling insistently between her thighs, nipples taut and sensitive.

He smiled, slow, predatory, and ran his hands over her waist, hips, but never fully touching yet. “Such perfection,” he murmured. “You’re alive with need, with hunger, with beauty.”

Kate trembled, pressing a hand to her stomach, body quivering, breathing shallow. Her heart raced, chest rising and falling unevenly. Her core pulsed desperately, thighs quivering as wet warmth dripped between them. This is wrong. I shouldn’t want this… Her body betrayed her anyway, arching instinctively toward him.

He leaned in, pressing a worshipful kiss along the curve of her neck, down her shoulders, over her breasts. His lips circled her nipples, flicking, teasing, rolling them gently between his fingers. Kate gasped, hips pressing upward, nails raking his back, moaning softly. Heat spiraled through her, spreading from her core to her spine, arms, legs—every nerve alive, buzzing, trembling.

“Oh God…” she gasped, chest heaving, hips bucking slightly. “Please…” Her voice trembled, soaked with want.

He slid his fingers lower, tracing her slick folds, teasing over her clit. Heat surged violently through her, core pulsing, muscles quivering. She trembled, gasping, hips lifting, back arching. “I… need you,” she whispered, her voice wet, desperate, betraying herself entirely.

He smiled, low and approving. “Good girl,” he murmured, and entered her slowly, deliberately. The first thrust stole her breath, her mouth opening in a sharp gasp as her hips pressed instinctively toward him. She clutched his shoulders, nails digging into him, body trembling. Every inch of him filled her, warm, hard, and impossible to resist.

“Oh yes… oh fuck…” she moaned, thrusting back, hips moving with him, every nerve screaming. Nipples pressed to his chest, thighs quivering, pussy pulsing around him, soaking him with wet desire. Her back arched, breaths coming in shallow, wet pants, every movement sending jolts of pleasure through her body.

“Louder,” he urged, thrusting harder, hips pounding into hers. She obeyed, moaning, gasping, hips rising, muscles clenching and releasing around him with unrelenting rhythm. Her body shook violently, slick and alive, trembling under the relentless, worshipful motion.

Her first orgasm ripped through her, sudden and explosive, hips jerking, pussy clenching around him, chest heaving, teeth biting her lower lip as waves of pleasure tore through her body. She cried out, voice trembling, unable to stop shivering under the intensity. Heat pooled deep inside her, spreading through every fiber of her being, leaving her quivering and breathless.

He didn’t relent. Even as the tremors of her first orgasm passed, he continued, slow, sensual, coaxing, kissing her neck, whispering words of worship. Her body shivered again, another coil of pleasure winding through her veins. She gasped, bucking against him, crying out as a second orgasm tore through her, harder than the first, pulsing through every nerve ending, leaving her trembling and slick, chest heaving.

And then again, and again—each wave of sensation leaving her more addicted, more consumed, more entirely betrayed by her own desire. Her mind tried to protest, tried to cling to morality and mission, but her body had its own rules, shivering, soaking, moaning, pulsing with insatiable need. Every inch of her was alive, every nerve ending screaming in decadent surrender.

Finally, spent, trembling, breathless, he collapsed atop her, chest warm against hers, hands trailing over her quivering body. She lay in his arms, slick and trembling, every inch alive, body tingling from the aftershocks, heart pounding, chest heaving.

Even dressed again, sipping wine afterward, the memory burned in her belly, thighs tingling, nipples still sensitive, pulse thrumming. This is wrong, she whispered to herself, pressing a hand to her stomach. And yet, deep inside, a small, traitorous part of her shivered, craving, already replaying every touch, every kiss, every wave of pleasure.

Chapter Text

The apartment smelled faintly of leather and citrus, crisp and intoxicating, like money made flesh. Kate stood by the window, the Manhattan skyline sprawled glittering below, heart hammering in her chest. Her black dress clung to her curves, silk pressed to her breasts, waist, and hips, and her fingers kept brushing nervously over the fabric, feeling the heat already gathering between her thighs. Her pulse raced, a traitorous rhythm that made her nipples hard beneath the thin material. This is wrong. I shouldn’t be here. I’m not supposed to want this, she told herself, but her body betrayed her with every shiver that ran down her spine.

He emerged from the kitchen, tall, sun-kissed, lean, with the easy confidence of a man used to getting everything he wanted. Dark hair fell across his forehead, eyes glinting with amusement, and when they landed on her, she shivered, hips tightening instinctively. “Kate,” he said smoothly, a smile teasing the edges of his lips. “You look… perfect. But I want more than just your presence.”

“I—I’m here to… perform the session,” she said, voice trembling despite her attempt at calm. For the case. Only the case. But already, her body responded before her mind could intervene, heat pooling in her core, slick and insistent, pressing against the thin fabric of her panties.

He chuckled, slow and knowing. “I want to capture it. Every movement, every expression. You understand?”

“I—I don’t—” she began, cheeks burning, but he interrupted gently. “You’ll see yourself, Kate. You’ll watch, and I promise, it will make it… better.”

Her pulse spiked, nerves twisting with guilt and anticipation. No. I can’t… I shouldn’t… But the thrill of the forbidden, the sharp pull of desire, twisted in her belly. Her thighs quivered, nipples tight, as she watched him assemble a sleek tripod, camera lens trained deliberately toward the bed.

“Just watch,” he said softly, kneeling to adjust angles. His gaze lingered on her, dark, insistent. “It’s okay to want this.”

Kate swallowed hard. She pressed her hands to her chest, stomach twisting, as her eyes flicked to the mirror he had angled toward the bed. Seeing herself reflected, poised, trembling with heat, made something coil inside her, slick and needy, pulsing. Her core throbbed in response, wet and betraying her, a traitorous ache she could not contain.

“Kate,” he murmured, voice low, rough, “come to the bed.”

She obeyed, legs trembling, hands pressing to her thighs, her nipples pebbled with need. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, every nerve alive with anticipation. She sat on the edge of the bed, watching the camera, watching herself reflected in the mirror, feeling the slick warmth between her legs pulse with every thought of what was coming. This is so wrong… and yet I can’t stop myself.

He knelt behind her, fingers brushing over her hips, tracing lines of lace at her panties. “Take them off,” he whispered, voice low, a command wrapped in silk.

Kate’s fingers shook as she slid the fabric down, exposing her glistening folds to his gaze. The cool air kissed her sensitive skin, and she shivered, pressing her thighs together briefly before he guided them apart. Every nerve ending screamed, nipples tight, core pulsing. She felt exposed, electric, and the guilt twisted inside her even as her body trembled in want.

“You look incredible,” he murmured, lips grazing the back of her neck, teeth nipping lightly. “Watch yourself, Kate. Watch how beautiful you are when you give in.”

He positioned her on all fours, camera catching every curve, every movement, mirror reflecting her arched back, breasts jutting forward, cunt glistening. Her fingers dug into the sheets as he aligned himself behind her, breath hot against her ear.

“Ready?” he asked softly, voice low, commanding.

“Yes…” she whispered, heart racing, thighs quivering, core throbbing in anticipation.

He entered her in one smooth, deliberate thrust, and she gasped, arching into him, slick warmth clinging to his hardness. Every movement, every press of his hips against hers sent tremors of pleasure through her body. She gasped, moaning softly, pressing her face into the pillow, chest rising and falling, nipples hard, body trembling.

Her mind screamed with guilt even as her body betrayed her. I’m not supposed to enjoy this… this is wrong… But the slick ache, the hard, relentless thrusts, the reflected image of her own arousal in the mirror, made her cry out, moan, and shiver with uncontrollable need.

“Look at yourself, Kate,” he murmured, thrusting harder, steady. “Feel how good this feels.”

She did. Her eyes caught every slick motion in the mirror, every shiver, every gasp. Her hips lifted, pressing into him with desperate rhythm, matching his movements, nails digging into the sheets as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter. Her cunt pulsed, squeezing him, her body trembling in waves of heat.

“Oh… oh God…” she gasped, voice cracking as her first orgasm tore through her, hips bucking, thighs quivering, pussy pulsing around him. Her chest heaved, mouth opening in a wet, helpless moan, back arching as heat washed through her. Her mind fought shame, tried to cling to reason, but every nerve ending was alive, buzzing, betraying her completely.

He didn’t pause. His thrusts continued, slow, measured, building her again, coaxing another wave of pleasure from her quivering body. She cried out, hips jerking, core clenching and pulsing around him as a second orgasm wracked her body. She shivered violently, slick dripping down her thighs, nipples taut and sensitive.

And again, and again—the camera rolling, the mirror reflecting every inch of her surrender. Multiple orgasms shattered her control, leaving her gasping, trembling, breathless, slick and alive, utterly consumed by the overwhelming pleasure he drew from her.

When he finally collapsed atop her, chest pressing hers, sweat and slick clinging to their bodies, she lay trembling, heart racing, pulse throbbing, core still pulsing with aftershocks. She pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling the heat lingering low, thighs still quivering, nipples still sensitive.

Later, fully dressed but trembling from the intensity, she stole a glance at the saved recording on the device he had left behind. Her fingers hovered, then secretly copied the file, storing it for herself. Heat pulsed again through her core at the thought, remembering every thrust, every moan, every slick inch of herself reflected in the mirror.

This is so wrong… and yet I can’t stop thinking about it, she whispered to herself, pressing a hand to her thigh, a small, traitorous shiver of want curling through her even as guilt twisted inside.

Chapter Text

The apartment smelled of cedar and leather, the faint trace of old cologne still lingering in the air. Kate’s heels clicked softly against the polished hardwood as she entered, her black silk dress swaying against the curves of her hips. Her stomach was tight, but the sharp, nervous ache she had felt with previous clients had dulled slightly, replaced by a low, anticipatory warmth that pressed between her thighs. This is still wrong… still… But her pulse already thrummed with want, and she pressed her fingers briefly to her stomach, feeling the slick heat that had pooled there.

He was waiting in the living room, older, broad-shouldered, a calm strength radiating from him. There was no predatory gleam in his eyes—just a measured confidence, a quiet intensity that made her chest flutter. “Kate,” he said softly, voice low, steady. “I’m glad you came.”

“Yes,” she whispered, voice trembling slightly, though not with fear this time. Her fingers brushed over the silk of her dress, over the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips. Her nipples pressed forward beneath the fabric, sensitive and tight. It’s just the case… she reminded herself, though her body hummed with traitorous awareness.

“Tonight,” he said, stepping closer, hands brushing over her waist, “I want to be gentle. I want to feel you. Not just touch you… feel you.”

Kate shivered, pulse racing. The tenderness in his tone was unexpected, disarming. He didn’t command; he invited. His hands traced the curve of her sides, over the swell of her breasts, fingers sliding down her back, and she pressed a hand to her chest, gasping softly. Her core pulsed in response, wet and insistent, slick heat gathering between her thighs.

“Undress for me,” he murmured, a gentle command wrapped in warmth.

Her fingers shook slightly as she slid the straps of her dress down, letting the silk slip from her shoulders. Her bra followed, delicate lace sliding down her arms, leaving her chest bare. She shivered, pressing her thighs together instinctively, nipples tight, core throbbing. His eyes lingered, not in judgment, but in quiet admiration, and the warmth that spread through her was different this time—not just lust, but something deep, intimate.

He guided her to the bed, slow, deliberate, hands gentle as they roamed over her curves. He kissed her shoulder, whispered her name against her neck, and Kate gasped, hips pressing into him, body trembling, wet heat pooling deep inside her. His hands were firm, protective, holding her like she had never been held. Her fingers dug into his chest, nails tracing the plane of his shoulders, and she realized with a flush that she didn’t feel like she had to perform. She could just… feel.

When he entered her, slow and steady, a deep moan escaped her lips. The sensation was different—less raw urgency, more warmth, more connection. Every thrust was measured, deliberate, drawing shivers from her, making her gasp, moan, cry his name. “Oh… oh, God… yes… Michael…” she breathed, each syllable leaving her chest in ragged gasps.

His hands held her hips, guiding her gently, and she let herself ride him, her own body moving instinctively with his. The slick heat between her legs pulsed with every movement, and her nipples brushed against his chest with every arch, sending waves of shuddering pleasure through her. She moaned again, louder this time, “Michael… oh God…” Her voice was soaked with sensation, low, wet, trembling with heat.

Kate caught herself, a flush heating her cheeks. She realized she wasn’t performing anymore—she wasn’t pretending, wasn’t measuring her moans or movements. She was feeling, truly, fully, letting the pleasure flow through her. She arched, hips lifting higher, chest pressing forward, pulsing with every deliberate thrust he gave her. Her body shivered in cascading waves, slick and trembling, muscles tightening and releasing in delicious rhythm.

“Oh yes… right there… oh God…” she gasped, voice cracking with need. Her body was slick with her own arousal, dripping around him, shivering, alive with heat, and she didn’t stop. Every thrust drew another gasp, another moan, her back arching, nipples brushing, thighs quivering, core pulsing, heart racing.

He leaned forward, lips brushing her shoulder, whispering her name over and over. Kate shivered violently, her mind nearly blank with sensation, only the delicious, insistent pulse of her body filling every thought. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, her body betraying her with moans, cries, and desperate movements.

Her first orgasm struck like lightning, ripping through her, hips jerking, pussy pulsing hard around him, chest heaving, back arching. She clung to him, trembling, gasping, heat coursing in every nerve ending. But he didn’t pause, letting her ride him through wave after wave of pleasure. She felt herself shiver violently again and again, multiple orgasms wracking her body, leaving her breathless, trembling, slick and alive.

Finally, spent, he held her close, chest pressed against hers, warmth enveloping her. She trembled, slick and sticky, hips pulsing with aftershocks, nipples still tight and sensitive. Her mind was spinning, heart racing, and for the first time she realized… she hadn’t thought about guilt at all in the last hour. She had just felt. Fully, completely, shamelessly felt.

Kate pressed a hand to her stomach, still trembling, flushed, and whispered, breathless, “I… I never imagined… it could feel like this.”

He smiled softly, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead. “You deserve it,” he murmured. “Every part of you deserves to be felt, to be wanted.”

Kate shivered again, heat lingering low, body still humming with aftershocks, pulse fluttering, and for the first time, she let herself rest fully in the pleasure, in the intimacy, in the fact that she had felt something entirely for herself—not just for the mission, not just for the client, but for her own body, her own desire.

Chapter Text

Kate stepped into the apartment, dressed in the tailored black dress she had carefully chosen for tonight. Her heels clicked softly against the polished hardwood floor, and she adjusted the skirt around her hips, feeling the silk cling to the curve of her waist. Her stomach fluttered, heat pooling low between her thighs, slick and insistent, but her pulse quickened with anticipation rather than fear. This isn’t for the case. This is mine. I want it. She pressed a hand lightly to her stomach, suppressing the traitorous ache that throbbed with every heartbeat.

The door opened, and he stepped in. Tall, broad-shouldered, athletic, a dangerous kind of man whose confidence filled the room. His dark eyes scanned her body, lingering over her chest, the curve of her hips, the graceful line of her legs. He smiled, predatory yet controlled. “Kate,” he said smoothly, voice low, commanding. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

Kate swallowed hard, cheeks warming. “I… I—” Her voice faltered, throat tight, but her body betrayed her immediately. Core pulsing, thighs quivering slightly under the smooth fabric of her dress. Nipples pressing forward beneath the silk, hard and sensitive. I can’t pretend this is for the case. This is just… me wanting it.

He stepped closer, hand brushing the small of her back, pressing her slightly toward him. Heat flared through her body, a shiver running down her spine. “Don’t talk,” he growled. “Just feel it. Let me take care of you.”

Kate trembled, pressing a hand to her chest, her fingers tracing the curve of her breasts through the silk. Every nerve ending screamed in anticipation. Her thighs shifted, pressing together, then parting slightly, wet heat pressing insistently against him. God… I want this. I can’t stop wanting this.

“Take off the dress,” he said, voice low, deliberate.

Her fingers shook as she slowly unzipped the back, sliding the dress over her shoulders. The silk fell around her feet, and she stepped lightly from it, standing in nothing but her lacy black bra and matching panties. Her nipples were taut, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. Core throbbing, slick heat pooling, she pressed her thighs together briefly before his hands guided them apart.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, eyes dark, hands circling her hips without touching fully yet, savoring. “Every inch of you is mine tonight.”

Kate trembled, pressing a hand to her stomach, heart racing, muscles quivering. She leaned slightly forward, letting her body betray her, arching instinctively toward his gaze. Wet heat pulsed, slick and desperate, as her nipples brushed against his chest. I can’t justify this. It’s just for me. And he doesn’t know.

He guided her to the couch, positioning her on all fours. His hands gripped her hips, pressing into the curve of her ass, and she gasped sharply, arching, thighs trembling. Every nerve ending screamed as he aligned himself behind her.

“Ready?” he asked, voice low, commanding.

“Yes,” she whispered, voice trembling, breath shallow, core throbbing, muscles tense.

He entered her with one smooth thrust, and she cried out, back arching, chest pressing into the cushions. Every movement sent shockwaves of pleasure through her body—hips rocking instinctively, pussy pulsing and dripping around him, nipples taut and sensitive. She moaned, biting the cushion, voice wet and feral.

His thrusts were hard, deliberate, bruising in all the right ways. Her hands dug into the couch, thighs quivering, back arching as he drove her into the cushions. “Oh God… yes…” she moaned, voice breaking, hips pressing into him desperately. Core pulsing, slick heat dripping, every nerve ending alive and screaming with want.

She rode him, hips moving instinctively with his rhythm, moaning louder and louder, gasping, body trembling. “Harder… oh yes… God!” Her back arched, chest heaving, nipples brushing against the fabric of the cushions. Every thrust drove her closer to the edge, muscles clenching and releasing in waves of feral pleasure.

Her first orgasm hit violently, leaving her trembling, wet, and breathless. He continued without pause, thrusting deeper, harder, driving another orgasm from her quivering body. She cried out again, hips bucking, core pulsing, back arching, every nerve ending alive with the electric storm of sensation.

Again, and again, the orgasms tore through her, leaving her soaked, shivering, utterly undone. Her mind had no room for guilt—only heat, slickness, pounding rhythm, and the feral need that overwhelmed her.

Finally, spent, he collapsed atop her, chest pressing hers, hands trailing over her slick, trembling body. She lay quivering, core pulsing with aftershocks, nipples still hard and sensitive, sweat slicking her skin.

Dressing quickly afterward, she pressed her fingers to her slick thighs, remembering every bite, every moan, every feral gasp. Her mind could no longer frame it as “for the case”—this was hers alone. She logged it as surveillance, pocketed the cash, and didn’t tell Ramirez.

I wanted that. I needed that. And he doesn’t know. Her pulse still racing, core still pulsing, she shivered again, heat lingering, savoring the secret thrill of what she had allowed herself to feel.

Chapter Text

The penthouse was soaked in heat—cologne clinging to the air like humidity, the soft sharp tang of expensive leather catching in her throat as she stepped inside. Kate moved slow, deliberate, heels whispering across high-gloss floors. Black silk hugged her figure like a second skin, smooth over the slope of her breasts, the pinch of her waist, the wide, swaying curve of her hips.

Every inch of her was wound tight with anticipation, but her face didn’t show it. The fabric of her dress caressed her nipples with every step, and they responded instantly, pebbling, throbbing through silk. Her thighs were slick already, wetness seeping with every heartbeat. When she pressed her palm low to her stomach, she felt the pulse throb right there, hot and aching.

This wasn’t for the mission. This was hers. Not the objective. Just desire. Unfiltered. Undeniable.

The first man was already watching her. He smiled like a wolf—sharp, amused, predatory. The other two weren’t far behind, lingering in the sitting area with half-finished drinks, dress shirts half-unbuttoned, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Their bodies hummed with the buzz of post-victory indulgence.

“We want a party,” said the first, voice soft but firm.

“All three of us,” added the second, already setting his glass down with a deliberate clink.

Kate tilted her head. Heat flared low and deep, a pulse in her gut that made her cunt clench, slick gathering even faster. She didn’t need to think about it.

“Then it’s four times the rate,” she replied, voice steady, just a hint of tease curling the words.

They agreed without hesitation, the smirks on their faces thick with anticipation. Her pulse quickened, hips already shifting instinctively as her imagination painted the picture ahead. Three cocks. Her holes. Every inch of her body stretched, filled, wrung out.

God, yes. She wanted it.

The first one took control immediately, hands heavy and possessive on her hips. He guided her to the edge of the bed and pressed her forward, folding her over until her chest flattened against the cool sheets, breasts pressed and spreading slightly beneath her, nipples trapped tight against the cotton. Her dress bunched around her waist, exposing bare skin, and his hands didn’t hesitate—he spread her open, thumbs parting the swell of her ass as he groaned under his breath.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, stroking along her slit. Her pussy lips were fat and flushed, glistening, heat radiating. Slick ran down her inner thighs already.

She gasped as he pushed inside, slow at first but deliberate, splitting her open inch by inch. Her cunt gripped him immediately, greedy, clenching hard as her knees buckled.

“A-Ahh—fuck—yes—” her voice cracked, her back arching deeper, ass rising to meet him.

He began to move. Long strokes, deep thrusts, every motion slapping wetly against her soaked pussy. Her hands gripped the sheets tight, her hips rocking back with every push. Her ass bounced, cheeks clapping softly with every slam of his hips, her moans turning wet, breathless.

Her breasts dragged across the sheets, nipples aching. She writhed beneath him, every thrust shocking pleasure through her thighs and straight into her spine.

He leaned over her, hands moving up to cup her tits, pinching her nipples hard between his fingers. “Margins for the East Coast deal need adjusting,” he said, his voice maddeningly casual.

Kate let out a guttural cry as he twisted one nipple sharply, fucking her harder.

“And supplier contracts,” said the second man, who had joined behind them, one hand on her ass, watching her rhythm. “Projections by noon.”

Their voices floated around her like background noise, but it only made her wetter. Ignored. Used. Spoken over like she was nothing but a warm, wet fucktoy. Her pussy clenched hard around the cock driving into her, slick dripping down her thighs, her moans high and unrestrained.

When he came, it was deep and hard. She could feel the heat of it shoot into her, filling her. Her cunt spasmed violently, muscles locking as her own orgasm tore through her like a lightning strike, leaving her twitching, dripping, pulsing.

Her hips still twitched after he pulled out. Her thighs shuddered uncontrollably.

She was still catching her breath when the second man gripped her chin and pulled her to her knees. His cock was already out—thick, glistening at the tip. She didn’t hesitate.

She leaned forward and took him deep, lips sealing tight, tongue curling along the underside as he slid into her mouth. Her cheeks hollowed, throat fluttering as he pushed further. He groaned low, and she moaned around him.

Her nipples scraped her dress as she moved, chest bobbing, back arched, thighs pressing together instinctively as wetness leaked again from her core. Her cunt ached, hungry even though untouched. Her body was still greedy.

“You love this, don’t you?” he growled, gripping her head, fucking her mouth slow and deep.

“Mmhf—gghk—yes,” she managed between thrusts, drool spilling from the corners of her mouth. Her eyes fluttered, gag reflex fighting, but she didn’t stop.

“Double-check the West Coast pipeline,” said the first, now reclining against the wall, watching.

“Client meeting’s at eight,” the third muttered from somewhere behind her.

She moaned louder at their tone—impersonal, transactional, like she wasn’t choking on cock. Her throat stretched around him, her mouth dripping spit, her body trembling.

When he came, he held her down. Thick heat spilled across her tongue. She swallowed instinctively, her throat working, cum sliding down. Her chest heaved. She didn’t stop moaning.

The third man wasted no time. He stepped in as the second stepped away, his hands already closing around Kate’s hips like handles, gripping her like a thing meant to be positioned, filled, and used. Her body was slick, already trembling—cunt puffy, soaked, raw from use but nowhere near satisfied.

He didn’t guide her. He took her.

One palm slid up her spine, forcing her chest down flat against the mattress while the other hauled her hips back, tilting her, spreading her open wide. Her ass lifted again, thighs parting reflexively as her feet braced against the bed. Her knees dug in, calves flexing. Her breath caught as the cool air kissed the glistening spread between her legs—hot folds, flushed and swollen, stretched wide and exposed, lips slick and trembling, still leaking from the last man’s load.

Her pussy fluttered visibly as he paused behind her, letting the head of his cock rest at her soaked entrance. He nudged it forward, just enough to graze her slit, smearing precum along her folds, until she whimpered and pushed her hips back against him without thinking.

“Greedy little thing,” he murmured.

He pushed in.

The slide was slow, deliberate, grinding. Her breath stuttered out in a moan that rose to a cry as he filled her inch by inch. Her pussy welcomed him, clenching tight, sucking him in with wet, hungry need. She could feel everything—every vein, every throb, every slow, stretching press that spread her open again. Her inner walls pulsed, clung, refused to let go. By the time his hips met hers, her eyes were rolling back.

“Oh—fuck—”

He began to move.

Slow thrusts at first, deep and rolling, each one dragging against every raw, swollen nerve inside her. The sound was obscene—slick and squelching, her wetness overflowing with every pump of his cock. Her thighs trembled violently. The bed rocked beneath her, the rhythm of his hips sending shockwaves straight through the mattress and up her spine.

Behind them, the conversation resumed like nothing was happening.

“Don’t forget the audit meeting next week,” the first man said from the edge of the bed, not even looking at her.

“Margins are tight. Make sure everything’s verified.”

“Oh, right—the quarterly numbers,” added the second, adjusting the cuff of his shirt. “Can’t afford mistakes.”

Kate sobbed as he shifted his angle—one hand on her back, pressing her flat, while the other gripped her hip and pulled. The new angle hit deeper. Too deep. Her eyes flew wide as her body jerked forward on instinct, but he held her in place, hips slamming against her ass as he fucked her with steady, brutal rhythm.

Her pussy gushed around him, the wet slick coating both their thighs now. Her ass rippled with every impact, flesh jiggling under the relentless pounding. Her cunt clutched at him with each thrust, tightening rhythmically, her core spasming, desperate to be filled again, to come again, to be ruined properly.

Her nipples were raw, flushed dark, dragging along the bedsheets with every movement of her body. They pulsed with their own aching heartbeat, as if they, too, were trying to come. Her breasts flattened and shifted with the thrusts, skin slick with sweat, her breath catching in sharp, gasping cries.

She moaned without rhythm now—wet, breathless, a mixture of groans and high-pitched yelps that only grew louder as his pace quickened. Her fingers clawed at the sheets, nails scraping across the fabric, shoulders twitching with every blow to her cervix.

Her core burned. Her back arched deeper, hips rising involuntarily. Her pussy was completely unrecognizable—swollen, stretched, fluttering uncontrollably, liquid heat pouring out with every thrust.

“Ohhh—ah—ahhh! F-fuck, deeper, yes—there—there—”

She was babbling now, almost incoherent, hips jerking back in tandem with his. Her thighs slapped against his hips, juice splashing out from between her legs, her breath catching again and again.

“Make sure your projections are accurate,” the first muttered, still seated, watching the motion of her ass without blinking.

“Yes, check the supplier contracts,” added the second, his hand sliding lazily over the curve of her hip like she was an object on display.

Kate couldn’t speak. Her voice cracked into a moan as he rammed deep again, hips grinding against hers, balls slapping her clit in rhythmic taps that made her cry out even louder. Her clit was swollen, barely touched yet tingling wildly from the way her pussy clenched, the friction dragging her skin taut with every motion.

His cock was thick, filling her to the brink. The wet slap of hips to ass filled the room, echoing with each impact. Her inner walls clenched around him with desperation, the slippery mess of her juices clinging to his shaft, coating everything.

She could feel the pressure building—deep, tightening, electrifying. Her thighs shook uncontrollably, her body a live wire.

He fucked her harder now, faster, slamming into her with purpose. Her ass shook under the force, bouncing back to meet him. Her pussy twitched and clutched and spasmed, muscles jerking with every thrust. Her body was completely out of her control, surrendered entirely to his rhythm.

Then her orgasm hit.

It tore through her like a shockwave, exploding out from her core. Her cunt clenched hard, pulsing in waves, liquid heat flooding from her as she screamed into the mattress, back arched, ass high, every muscle vibrating from the release. Her moans went wet and broken, gasping, stuttering, her entire body jerking violently beneath him.

Her pussy milked him.

He groaned and drove deep one last time before erupting inside her, hot pulses painting her walls, filling her completely. She felt every throb, every twitch of his cock as he emptied into her. Cum spilled from her immediately, leaking out around his shaft, dripping down her thighs.

She stayed there, motionless, spine arched, cunt wide and twitching, still riding aftershocks that refused to end. Slick gushed between her legs. Her ass quivered. Her thighs spasmed. Her breath came in sharp, wet sobs of pleasure. Her nipples dragged across the sheets with every tremble, still painfully hard.

He pulled out slowly, and the slick sound of it made her moan again, legs shaking, ass still lifted, pussy left open and leaking.

Chapter Text

They didn’t speak. They didn’t ask.

The first man returned behind her, his cock hard again, slick with need. The third moved in beside him, hand already sliding up her thigh, fingers dragging through the wet mess between her legs. Kate was still trembling, still leaking from the last pounding—her pussy red and soaked, her ass quivering, lips swollen and parted, clit twitching at the slightest contact.

She could feel their hands on her—one gripping her waist, one spreading her cheeks wide apart. Her breath caught. She didn’t move. She didn’t need to. Her body opened for them. Ready. Waiting. Needy.

Then they entered her at once.

The first slid back into her dripping pussy, his shaft vanishing into the slick heat with ease. The third pressed against her back entrance—thick, slow, grinding. Her hole clenched instinctively, tight from the stretch, still tender from before. He eased in, relentless, pushing past resistance as her body opened with a broken gasp.

“Nnnhhh—oh—f-fuck—oh my—!”

Her mouth dropped open as the pressure built, doubled, thick cocks filling both her holes at once, spreading her wide from both ends. Her hips jerked forward instinctively, body trying to recoil—but they held her fast, anchoring her between them.

Her cunt clenched down hard, sucking in the cock driving into her, while her ass squeezed and trembled around the invading girth that filled her back door inch by inch. Her thighs trembled violently, the bed creaking beneath her, her core stretching to accommodate the impossibly full sensation.

Her body twitched and flexed around them, caught in the tight squeeze of two cocks moving in her at once. Each thrust forced her hips forward, then back again, bouncing between the two of them like a ragdoll—her tits swaying beneath her, dragging across the sheets, nipples stiff and aching from friction.

“Logistics call tomorrow,” the second man murmured, standing above her now, watching the show like it was nothing. He reached down and cupped her breast lazily, rolling her nipple between his fingers. “We need shipping confirmations finalized.”

Kate whimpered, barely hearing him over her own moans. Her pussy clutched tight around the cock slamming into her, juices flooding every thrust, dripping in messy streams down to the mattress. Her ass pulsed around the thick intrusion behind her, muscles fluttering with overstimulated contractions.

“Don’t forget the supplier contracts,” the third said, voice low and calm, as he pushed deeper into her ass.

Her whole body reacted—core tightening, back arching, ass jiggling with each impact. She felt stretched past sanity, her holes completely stuffed, her body overwhelmed by sensation. Her fingers clawed at the sheets, nails dragging across the fabric in desperate little scrapes.

Each thrust was relentless, timed in perfect tandem—when one drove forward, the other pulled back, rhythm constant and brutal. It kept her locked in a state of perfect motion: her skin slick with sweat, tits bouncing, nipples rubbing raw, belly tight with pressure and pulsing heat. Her inner walls spasmed constantly, helpless under the onslaught.

She moaned louder—raw, cracked, sobbing moans that spilled between gasps for air. Her eyes blurred, tears of pleasure wetting her lashes. Her voice broke into little whimpers, her entire body trembling as the heat in her gut spiraled tighter and tighter.

Her cunt pulsed again, spasming hard. Her clit throbbed untouched. Her ass twitched violently around the thick girth slamming into her again and again. She felt it building—another orgasm, more intense than any before, rising fast, seizing every muscle.

She bucked against them. Hips jerking, thighs trembling.

“Oh—ohh fuck—fuck me—deeper—yes—fill me—use me—don’t stop—!”

Her body erupted.

Her pussy clenched hard, rippling around the cock buried inside, flooding with a gush of slick that spilled over her thighs and down to the bed. Her ass clamped tight, squeezing rhythmically as she screamed into the sheets, her voice ragged and soaked with pleasure. Her legs kicked slightly, trembling under her, every muscle convulsing.

Her back arched hard, her spine a tight curve, chest flattening to the bed. Her nipples scraped the sheets, hard enough to hurt, aching with each twitch. Her core pulsed again. And again. Every contraction sent more fluid leaking down, her whole body rocking in rhythm.

Still, they kept fucking her.

The rhythm didn’t falter. The cock in her cunt thrust deep and fast, pounding her, the wet slap of hips to ass echoing louder than her moans. The cock in her ass moved with deliberate force, stretching her, grinding deeper, hitting nerves that made her whole body spasm.

She drooled into the sheets, tears streaming. Her mouth hung open in wet, gasping cries.

The bed rocked. Her ass bounced. Her pussy squelched with every motion.

“Margins are tight for the East Coast project,” the first man grunted, fucking her deeper.

“Make sure deliveries are on schedule,” the second added calmly, still fondling her nipple with distracted precision.

Kate could barely breathe.

Her body gave up another orgasm without warning. Her pussy convulsed, gushing fresh slick that spilled around his cock, dripping down her legs in thick rivulets. Her ass clamped down at the same time, milking the cock inside her with desperate, throbbing squeezes.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream. Her body locked up. Her toes curled. Her eyes rolled back.

Then both men groaned behind her. One slammed in deep, held, and came—his cock twitching violently, jets of cum painting her insides. The other followed seconds later, emptying into her ass with low, guttural grunts.

She felt all of it. Every hot pulse. Every spurt. Her holes overflowed immediately, cum leaking out as they pulled back, her body too used, too full to hold it.

Her thighs shivered violently. Her cunt twitched around the absence. Her ass gaped slightly, fluttering. Her back still arched. Her chest heaved.

The sheets were soaked. Her entire body shone with sweat and slick. Her skin trembled with aftershocks.

Her body had no strength left to fall. It simply collapsed, chest to bed, arms splayed, mouth open. Her nipples throbbed against the wet fabric beneath her. Her thighs still quivered. Her pussy twitched open and closed, leaking.

And still she breathed, moaned softly, every inch of her consumed.

They gave her barely a moment. Her body was still slick, open, shaking from the last orgasm when they moved in again—intentions clear, wordless. The second man stepped forward, cock already hard again, veins throbbing as he brushed it against her lips. Her mouth opened for him automatically, no hesitation, tongue flicking out to taste his salt-slick tip.

Behind her, the third positioned himself with practiced ease. One hand pressed to her hip, the other dragged firmly along the swell of her ass, spreading her cheeks apart. Her asshole was still stretched, glistening with their last load, fluttering visibly with every breath. He aligned himself with the loosened ring and pushed forward, and her body tensed in anticipation.

She moaned around the cock in her mouth as he breached her again.

Her throat vibrated with the sound, muffled and wet, while her eyes fluttered open wide. The pressure was immediate, full, overwhelming. Her ass gave with a slow resistance, the stretch deep and raw. She gagged lightly, mouth stretching around the thick length pushing into her throat, spit already leaking from the corners of her lips.

Her body rocked between them—head pulled forward, hips pulled back. She was caught in their rhythm, a toy moved by pressure and pace.

Her hands clenched in the sheets. Her knees spread wider, toes curling against the mattress. Her tits swayed beneath her, heavy, slick with sweat, nipples painfully erect and raw from friction. Her whole body burned—inside and out.

The cock in her throat slid deep. Her mouth stretched around him, jaw aching as he thrust in with slow precision, watching the way her lips sealed around the base. He held her by the hair, fingertips tangled at her scalp, using her face like a hole meant only to be filled. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps through her nose.

Behind her, the cock in her ass moved steadily, pushing deeper each time, dragging along her inner walls, stretching her again and again. Her asshole twitched and squeezed around him, the sensitive ring of muscle fluttering every time he pulled back. Slick dripped from the base of his cock, mixing with the cum already inside her, coating his shaft in messy, glistening sheen.

Kate moaned around the cock in her mouth, the vibrations buzzing through his length. Her throat convulsed slightly with every deep push, tears welling at the corners of her eyes. Her body jerked with every thrust from behind—each impact into her ass sending a ripple through her spine, making her nipples brush the sheets, adding sparks to the raw sensitivity in her chest.

“Finance call first thing tomorrow,” the second murmured casually, hand still in her hair, voice completely unaffected as he guided her head to take him deeper. “Make sure the projections are finalized.”

“Yes, and double-check the West Coast margin calculations,” the first added, adjusting his sleeve as he watched her ass bounce.

Kate’s cunt ached. Still untouched this round, still soaked. It pulsed with every thrust into her ass, every moan forced from her mouth. Her body didn’t know the difference—her pussy was clenching reflexively, leaking again, slick running freely down her thighs, pooling beneath her. The lips were parted, flushed and puffy, visibly throbbing. Her clit twitched and pressed against the sheets, catching friction that made her whimper around the cock in her mouth.

Her moans were constant now. Wet, strangled, gagging whimpers that barely made it past her stuffed throat. Her ass bounced with every thrust behind her, cheeks clapping against his hips, skin red with heat and contact. Her hips rocked involuntarily, a helpless rhythm born of need.

Her throat fluttered. Her jaw locked open. Her saliva ran thick and fast, coating the man’s cock with each deep thrust, strands connecting her lips to his base. Her chest heaved against the bed, breasts flattening and shifting, nipples dragging painfully.

“Ohhh—nnnngghk—gghhhhh—”

Her eyes were unfocused, tears spilling over now, running down her cheeks and dripping to the bed below. Her lips were swollen, slick, stretched wide, spit bubbling as he used her mouth like it belonged to him. He thrust deep and slow, pulling back just enough to let her breathe before driving forward again.

The cock in her ass drove harder now—faster, more brutal. His grip tightened on her hips, thumbs pressing into the muscle as he slammed into her again and again. Her hole clenched hard around him, fluttering with each movement, stretched wide but still gripping.

Her clit rubbed against the sheet, friction building, unbearable.

Her orgasm slammed into her without warning—again.

Her hips jerked forward, ass tightening, every muscle locking as her pussy gushed untouched. Slick poured out of her, down her thighs, across her mound, onto the sheets. Her ass clamped tight around the cock fucking her, squeezing in tight, relentless pulses.

She screamed around the cock in her mouth—wet and high and choked.

Her throat constricted. Her whole body seized. Her nipples throbbed, body trembling under them both, her hands curled into fists against the mattress.

“Also, confirm the supplier contracts,” said the first man, absently.

“Deadlines are non-negotiable,” the second replied, slamming deeper into her throat.

The third groaned behind her, buried deep in her ass. He came hard, thick ropes shooting inside her, filling her, his cock twitching as her asshole clenched again and again. His cum leaked immediately, dripping down to her swollen pussy lips.

The second finished seconds later—slamming his cock deep into her throat one last time and holding her there. She gagged once, then swallowed, feeling the hot pulses of cum spill down her throat. Her lips sealed around him as she obeyed instinct, taking everything he gave her.

Her whole body was soaked. Her chest rose in shallow, twitching gasps. Her nipples were painfully stiff. Her cunt pulsed, leaking. Her ass still fluttered, unable to close fully.

They pulled out of her slowly.

Her mouth dropped open—cum pooled on her tongue, dripping to her chin. Her ass twitched, stretched and dripping. Her inner thighs were glossy with her own slick and the overflow from behind. Her clit throbbed hard, begging to be touched.

But no one did.

She collapsed fully, face to the bed, body shaking, skin flushed and burning, pussy untouched but soaked and spasming like she’d been fucked senseless.

She had.

Chapter Text

They didn’t ask if she could take it.

They just moved—slow, coordinated, practiced. One of them gripped her by the waist, another slid fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face up. The third came from behind again, his cock already twitching, still slick with spit and cum. Kate’s body reacted before her mind could form thought. Her legs spread wider, trembling, and her back arched deep, spine curving with a perfect invitation.

Her holes were open. Red. Slick. Twitching.

Her mouth parted, lips wet and swollen, breath trembling. Her pussy was a swollen mess—puffy, leaking, raw from being used again and again, still pulsing from the last orgasm. The lips dragged open as she moved, the glistening folds parting around nothing now, fluttering, begging. Her ass was gaped and red, twitching involuntarily, cum still dribbling slowly from her rim.

Then the first pressed into her pussy again—his cock sliding in with wet ease, her walls gripping instantly, sucking him deep.

The second took her mouth, guiding his cock between her lips, groaning as she sealed around him, throat already adjusting, spit slickening the length. Her jaw ached, but her tongue was greedy, swirling as he eased in deeper.

The third aligned behind her again, one hand on her lower back, the other spreading her cheeks wide. Her ass clenched instinctively—then opened with slow, shaking surrender as he pushed in.

And just like that, Kate was full.

Stuffed.

Her mouth, her cunt, her ass—all taken, all throbbing, all stretched around thick cock.

She trembled violently, a full-body shiver that rolled from her scalp to her toes. Her throat worked around the cock filling it, breath humming through her nose. Her pussy clamped down hard, walls milking the thick shaft that moved deep inside, slick squelching loud and messy as he began to thrust. Her ass spasmed, the stretch brutal, her body struggling to stay open as he bottomed out, inch by inch.

Her hips rocked involuntarily, caught between them. Every thrust forward pushed the cock deeper into her throat. Every thrust backward slammed her hips into the one in her ass. Her core pulsed so hard it ached. Her clit throbbed against the air, untouched but overstimulated from constant contraction. Her inner thighs were soaked—slick and cum smeared up and down her skin, shining with every movement.

Her tits were pressed flat into the mattress, nipples red and puffy, dragged raw by the sheets. Each one pulsed with its own heartbeat, so sensitive that even the fabric brushing them made her moan.

Her voice was barely human now.

“Mmmgh—nnk—kkhh—nnnnnhhh—!”

Each sound was garbled, muffled by the cock in her throat. Drool spilled from the corners of her mouth. Her eyes fluttered, lashes damp with tears as she gagged and swallowed, her throat constricting tight around the invading length. He groaned low as he slid deeper, watching her lips stretch wide, watching her struggle and take it all anyway.

Behind her, the cocks in her cunt and ass worked in rhythm—one pulling back as the other drove forward. Her body rocked between them, hips jerking, ass bouncing. Her pussy was noisy now, soaked with slick and fresh cum, every thrust making a wet slapping sound that echoed loud and obscene.

“Update the supplier list,” one of them said casually.

“Can’t afford delays,” another replied, adjusting his grip on her hips before fucking her deeper.

“Schedule the conference room,” the third murmured, cock buried in her throat.

Kate moaned—loud, wet, involuntary. Her body was flushed everywhere. Her skin gleamed with sweat. Her belly was tight with pressure. Her thighs trembled violently with each deep thrust. Her nipples scraped the bed with every rock of her hips. Her core was on fire—pulsing, leaking, needing more even though she was filled to the limit.

The friction of them using her together was unbearable. The stretch was total. Every muscle in her body contracted and twitched. Her cunt spasmed constantly, gripping the cock inside, trying to milk him, clenching with desperate hunger. Her ass squeezed just as tight, every movement dragging the head of the cock across hypersensitive nerves, her rim fluttering with spasms.

Her throat worked as she swallowed around the cock shoved deep inside. Her lips sealed tight, spit bubbling, chin soaked.

Then it hit her.

Her orgasm struck like a violent seizure.

Her whole body snapped tight. Her legs kicked once, thighs seizing. Her pussy clenched so hard it almost pushed the cock out, then dragged him back in with a wet suck. Her ass pulsed, fluttering hard, locked around the girth inside her. Her throat tightened, a scream trying to rip free but gagged by the cock deep down her esophagus.

Her moans were high, sharp, soaked with helpless pleasure.

She came hard. Again. And again. Each wave tearing through her, forcing her to jerk on reflex—hips slamming back, chest heaving, drool and tears streaming from her face.

Her whole body shook.

She had no control. No thought.

Only sensation.

Only cock. Cock in her mouth. Cock in her ass. Cock in her cunt. Everywhere.

Her cunt gushed around the thick shaft, slick spilling freely down onto the bed. Her ass twitched violently, cum from earlier now pushed out in fresh streams by the force of the new invasion. Her mouth gagged, swallowed, drooled.

“Make sure the margin calculations are accurate,” one man muttered, ignoring her cries.

“Finalize the logistics schedule,” another said, watching her hips bounce.

“Confirm the East Coast projections,” the third added, voice low as he held her hair tight, fucking her mouth harder.

She couldn’t see.

Could barely breathe.

But she didn’t stop moaning. Her hips wouldn’t stop moving. Her body demanded more.

Then they came.

The cock in her pussy throbbed first—thick spurts filling her completely, white heat painting her insides, pulsing against her spasming walls. She sobbed as her cunt clenched again, gushing on impact.

Next, the cock in her ass jerked—one deep, final thrust and a long groan as he spilled inside her, hot cum flooding deep, forced into her until it leaked around the base. Her asshole clenched violently, milking him, unable to hold it all.

Finally, the man in her mouth slammed deep one last time, and she gagged as the first burst hit her throat. She swallowed instinctively, tears streaming, her throat fluttering around the length.

All three held her there—stuffed and pinned, used and full, her body locked in place as it trembled uncontrollably.

Her cunt leaked. Her ass twitched. Her throat pulsed.

Her skin was flushed. Her body shook.

The scent of sex hung thick in the air—sweat, cum, wet heat and skin. The sheets were ruined beneath her. Her body was soaked, glossy with slick and seed and sweat, trembling with aftershocks.

Even when they pulled out, she was still twitching. Her holes leaked instantly—pussy and ass both, wide open, unable to close, slow streams of hot white sliding down her inner thighs. Her lips parted, a final line of spit and cum dripping from her mouth to the mattress below.

Kate didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her body buzzed. Her cunt spasmed. Her ass fluttered. Her throat burned. Her whole form lay in a sticky heap—glowing, used, dripping, alive.

Kate didn’t know how long she lay there.

The sheets beneath her were soaked—cum, sweat, drool, slick—every inch damp and clinging. Her skin stuck to the mattress where her thighs had pressed down, where her breasts had dragged, where her hips had jerked in place over and over again. She could feel the cooling puddle beneath her, thick and slippery, the mess of it spreading slowly as her body twitched in little waves.

She was on her stomach, cheek turned to the side, lips parted, breath shallow. Her mouth hung open, throat sore, jaw aching. A string of cum had dried across her chin and along the side of her neck, trailing down to the swell of her breast. Her tongue flicked out instinctively, but she didn’t move further. She couldn’t.

Her chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, every breath dragging across hypersensitive skin. Her nipples were still rock-hard, tingling painfully. The raw abrasion from the sheets had left them flushed and red, slightly swollen. They throbbed with a dull ache—sore from pressure, from suction, from being rubbed again and again. The sensation pulsed down into her ribs, spreading heat through her chest with every breath.

Her arms were useless, sprawled out beside her, fingers twitching. Her shoulders burned with overuse, from holding herself up, from being held down. Her thighs lay slack, splayed wide, trembling faintly. Her calves were cramping, toes curled.

Her ass was the worst—or the best. Still twitching. Still red. Still sore.

She could feel it stretch and clench slowly as she shifted her hips, the muscles fluttering in response to nothing. Her rim felt raw and swollen, the hole barely remembering how to close. Cum was leaking from her steadily—slow, thick streams dribbling out, sliding down between her cheeks, tracing over her pussy lips, down her inner thighs. The warm slick made her shiver. She could feel every drop.

And her cunt—God. Her pussy was a wreck.

Glistening. Open. Flushed and abused. Every part of it ached. Her folds were puffy and parted, the entire mess of her core exposed and soaked. Her clit twitched against the air, still over-sensitive, untouched during the final round but no less swollen. Her lips were stretched, the entrance still fluttering, stretched wide and leaking so much cum it felt like she was melting into the sheets.

She reached down with one shaky hand. Just to feel. Her fingers brushed the inside of her thigh, and she moaned—soft, hoarse. Her body jerked. The sensation was too much and not enough. She slid her fingertips through the slick between her legs, traced the dripping folds, pressed lightly to her entrance.

Cum spilled instantly, her cunt giving up the load like it had been waiting.

She gasped, back arching. Every part of her throbbed.

Her skin burned with heat. Her nerves buzzed under the surface. Her mind was blank, floating, lost in afterglow and raw sensation. She felt used. Fucked. Marked. Claimed.

Her hair was a damp tangle, sticking to her cheeks, her breasts, her collarbone. Strands curled down between her tits, clinging to sweat-slick skin. Her whole body was flushed. Red fingerprints speckled her hips. Her thighs bore imprints of hands, knees. Her ass had darkening bruises across both cheeks—faint, perfect outlines of grip and thrust.

And then there was the money.

Crumpled bills lay scattered across her skin—some stuck to the sweat on her stomach, some between her thighs. One was folded into the curve of her breast, half-glued by dried cum. Another was pressed to her hip, sealed there by the mess that had dripped down from between her cheeks. A thick roll had landed between her legs and soaked through, edges curling as the paper absorbed slick.

She didn’t count it. Didn’t care.

The tip was huge.

She slid one of the bills free from her skin—slowly, lazily, watching the string of cum stretch between it and her thigh before it finally snapped. The money was soaked. She stared at it, then tossed it onto the pile beside her purse.

Eventually, her limbs obeyed. She pushed herself up, legs wobbling as she sat back on her heels. Her ass pressed into her calves, and she flinched—still so sore, still fluttering. Her cunt dripped another trail of cum as her position changed, the slow slide of it tickling as it moved. She glanced down between her thighs.

Mess everywhere.

Her pussy lips stuck briefly when her legs moved, then pulled apart with a wet squelch, strings of fluid stretching between them. Her clit was flushed and glistening, standing out from its hood, trembling. She could see it twitch.

She didn’t bother cleaning up right away. Instead, she gathered the cash. One hand pressed to her lower belly as she crouched forward—trying to ease the ache inside. Her core felt bruised, full, stretched and ruined. She shuddered.

The money went into her purse. Every bill. Tip included. The cum-drenched ones, too.

By the time she got to her feet, her thighs were streaked, inner flesh sticky with drying seed. Her steps were slow, wide, calculated. Her pussy pulsed with each movement, her ass aching more with every step.

She dressed without wiping herself clean.

She let the silk of her dress drag across her skin, watched it cling to the slick on her thighs, saw the faint imprint of her nipples press through. She didn’t smooth it. She didn’t hide it. Her heels clicked softly across the floor as she left the penthouse, every step a reminder. The cum. The bruises. The ache.

Her cunt throbbed the whole elevator ride down.

-0-

The next morning, she walked into Ramirez’s office polished and precise. Her heels were sharp. Her blouse crisp. Her hair perfectly smooth. Her legs crossed easily as she sat, ankles tight, knees angled like a weapon. Her voice was calm, professional.

She reported the job.

Minimal resistance. One client. No irregularities. Nothing worth noting.

She mentioned nothing of the second. Nothing of the third.

And none of the money.

Not the stacks. Not the tip.

Not even the bruises.

Not because she needed to keep it. Not because she wanted it. But because hiding it—keeping it secret, just for herself—made it better.

Dirtier.

Filthier.

Her thighs pulsed beneath her pencil skirt as Ramirez debriefed her.

And when she rose to leave, she didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

Kate’s heels clicked softly against the polished floor as she stepped into the stark apartment. The air was crisp, still, too clean. Every surface gleamed—white tile, brushed chrome, spotless glass. It smelled faintly of antiseptic, ozone, and something else... something metallic. Her core tightened instantly.

Her black silk dress clung to her body with perfect pressure. It framed her breasts like they’d been molded for display, hugged the hollow curve of her waist, and swayed at the hips like it wanted to be peeled off. Each step made the fabric shift subtly over the stiff peaks of her nipples, already hard, already throbbing. Slick pooled in her panties as she walked farther in, the quiet space amplifying the wet sound between her thighs.

She was already aroused.

And she didn’t know why.

No, that wasn’t true.

She had a theory.

This man… this “client”... he fit too many profiles. Precision. Sterility. Control. All the markers were there. The kind of man who didn’t see people as people. Who didn’t feel heat in his hands, only measurements.

Could be him. The thought pulsed through her.

The killer. He could be the one.

And if it was—if it was—she needed to play this perfectly.

A tall, lean man stepped into the doorway ahead. White coat. Tight gloves. Clean-shaven. Every movement efficient, unhurried.

“You’re on time,” he said, voice clipped, cold. “Good. Tonight, there is no improvisation. No deviations. I expect full compliance.”

Kate nodded, her pulse rising. “Yes, sir,” she answered, voice smooth.

Her nipples pressed harder into the silk, almost aching. She pressed a hand lightly to her stomach. Her body was heating up far too quickly. She told herself it was nerves.

But that wasn’t true either.

A tray sat nearby—metal instruments, sealed vials, lubricant. Two toys, gleaming under the light. Smooth. Thick. Surgical. Too clean.

Too careful.

This could be him. She let the possibility simmer in her gut.

He approached slowly, his gaze running over her like he was cataloguing a specimen. Not arousal—calculation. He wasn’t here to fuck her. He was here to use her.

That should’ve scared her.

But her cunt throbbed.

“You will follow instructions,” he said. “You will respond when spoken to. I expect clarity. When you beg, you will be specific.”

“Yes, sir.” Her throat tightened slightly. Her skin prickled.

She let her gaze flick toward the tray again. No restraints. No ropes. Nothing to tie her down. He didn’t need to. She was already giving herself up. For the case, she told herself.

But she didn’t believe it.

His hand landed on her shoulder. Not rough. Just firm. His grip told her he wasn’t asking.

He guided her to the metal table at the center of the room. Every step toward it made her panties wetter. By the time her thighs touched the edge, she could feel a string of slick teasing down one leg.

“Undress.”

The command wasn’t sexual. It was clinical. Like a doctor saying “open up.”

She hesitated only a second. Her fingers found the zipper, dragging it slowly down her back. The silk whispered over her skin as it slid off her shoulders and puddled around her feet.

Her bra was sheer. Black lace, delicate. Her nipples were already visible through it—dark, puckered, painfully tight. She reached behind, unhooked it, let it fall. Then she pushed her panties down, peeling the wet fabric from her slick folds.

The air hit her naked skin like a shock. Her nipples hardened further. Her clit twitched visibly between her swollen lips.

She wasn’t just aroused.

She was soaking.

Dripping.

“Hands on the table,” he said, voice level.

She obeyed—palms flat to the cold metal surface, fingers splayed, chest tilted forward. Her breasts swayed slightly as she adjusted, nipples brushing the table. She gasped at the cold, back arching, ass lifting instinctively. Her thighs were already trembling.

Behind her, he pulled on a fresh pair of gloves. The snap made her flinch. It sounded too much like preparation for dissection.

He could be the killer. She reminded herself again, as if that would keep her mind sharp.

But the thought only made her wetter.

He stepped up behind her. No warning.

Two gloved fingers brushed down the curve of her ass, slid between her thighs, and found her dripping folds. She gasped. Her legs jerked slightly. Her slick spread easily under the latex—slippery, warm, obscene.

“You’re already wet,” he said, without inflection.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her body was clenching, pulsing, begging.

His fingers teased her slowly—barely grazing her clit, tracing her folds, dipping into her pussy just enough to make her whimper. Her walls clutched desperately with each shallow press. Her hips rolled back on instinct, offering more.

He’s testing me, she told herself. Measuring response. Psychological evaluation. This could be his profile.

But her cunt didn’t care.

It wanted everything.

Without a word, he picked up the first toy—long, stainless steel, shaped to press against her g-spot with perfect precision. She felt it at her entrance. Her slick welcomed it.

He slid it in slowly.

Her moan hit the air, ragged and raw. Her pussy stretched around it, greedy, fluttering. Her muscles clutched it, her body trembling. When it bottomed out, she let out another soft cry.

He began to thrust.

Slow. Mechanical. Perfect.

Each stroke dragged along the most sensitive spot inside her. Her arms trembled against the table. Her tits bounced slightly with the rhythm. Her nipples scraped the cold surface with every push, burning with friction.

He added the second toy without pause.

It was thicker.

When it entered, she gasped—a desperate, high-pitched sound. Her walls stretched wide. The pressure was dizzying. She clenched hard, shaking.

“Breathe,” he said calmly, without warmth.

She did.

Barely.

Her pussy was full. Too full. But still hungry.

His fingers returned to her clit, circling with precision. Each motion calculated. He wasn’t trying to make her come—he was studying the effect of each motion. Her thighs were soaked. Slick poured freely now, dripping to the floor beneath her. Her cunt clenched wildly around the dual intrusions, unable to decide if it wanted to hold them in or force them out.

Her breath was ragged.

Her hips bucked.

She moaned, louder now. "Please… sir…"

He paused.

“Specify.”

Her back arched. Her voice broke.

“Please… fuck me… harder… deeper… I need it—need your hands, your toys, I—I’ll be good—I’ll stay open—I’ll obey—please—just don’t stop—”

He resumed the rhythm—faster now.

She cried out. The toys pistoned inside her, the gloved fingers pressing her clit in time. Her cunt gushed, the flood of slick coating her inner thighs in sticky heat.

Her orgasm hit like a tremor.

Her entire body jerked. Her knees gave out. Her pussy clamped hard, pulsing, squeezing, releasing again and again. Her slick poured out around the toys. She screamed, voice breaking, muscles locking.

Still, he didn’t stop.

Another orgasm followed seconds later.

Then another.

By the time he finally pulled the toys from her, her walls were twitching, fluttering open and closed. Her core felt hollow, her clit swollen and aching. Slick still dripped down her legs in slow, constant trickles.

She collapsed onto the table, chest against the steel, tits flattened and sensitive, arms trembling, thighs spread.

She didn’t move.

She couldn’t.

And the entire time, she kept whispering it in her mind:

He could be the killer. This was just part of the cover. This was for the mission. This was necessary.

But even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true.

She’d known from the moment he used the word "specify". He wasn’t the killer. He was too mechanical, too regimented. It wasn't him.

She just wanted him to be.

Because it gave her permission.

Because it made the surrender easier.

Because if this was for the job, then it wasn’t about the way her body begged for it. Then it wasn’t about how soaked she was now, dressing slowly without wiping clean, her panties sticking to her ruined folds. Then it wasn’t about the slick on her inner thighs, the ache in her core, the tremble in her belly every time she thought about his hands.

At home, she didn’t wash.

She got into bed still sticky, still smelling like steel and sweat and her own soaked arousal.

She pressed her thighs together and moaned softly, her fingers grazing over her stomach, tracing every place he’d touched her. Her clit pulsed, untouched. Her pussy leaked.

She whispered it again.

He might still be the killer.

But her cunt clenched, and her thighs rolled open, and her hips rocked into the sheets.

She knew better.

And she didn’t care.

Chapter Text

Kate stepped into the sleek, minimalist penthouse loft, her heels clicking softly against polished stone, the sound swallowed by vast ceilings and wide-open glass. Chrome, marble, clean lines, and cold light—everything looked like it had been designed by software. There were no paintings. No clutter. No warmth.

Just precision.

And him.

He didn’t greet her. He didn’t rise. He didn’t offer her a drink. Why would he?

He stood near the fireplace with a drink in hand, facing the skyline, tall and at ease. Tailored suit. A watch that likely cost five figures. He wasn’t detached—he was entitled. The kind of man who didn’t ask for control. He assumed it. Wore it like scent.

When he turned, his eyes scanned her like she was an object he'd already purchased.

Kate’s body flushed under the weight of it.

Her black silk dress clung to her like shrink-wrap. Breasts high, nipples hard against the fabric, waist tight, hips flared. Her panties stuck wet between her thighs, and each step whispered slick heat.

She was already wet.

And he hadn’t even spoken yet.

Then he did.

“Strip.”

Just one word. Calm. Commanding.

And her cunt clenched.

“Yes, sir,” she murmured.

She reached for her halter clasp, loosened it, and let the dress fall. It peeled down slowly, catching on her nipples, then slipped over her hips and puddled at her heels. She stood in black lace—bra, panties, heels—heart racing, stomach tight, thighs already damp.

He didn’t say anything. Just stared.

Smirked slightly. As if to say you’re right where you belong.

“Take it all off.”

Kate reached back and unclasped her bra. Her breasts spilled free—round, full, flushed, nipples puckered and taut. She saw his eyes flick down. Then lower.

The panties came next. She slid them down slowly. They clung to her slick folds, stretched between her thighs with wet resistance, then dropped. Her cunt glistened. A string of arousal broke between her lips and the ruined lace.

She stood naked.

Back arched. Breasts lifted. Thighs parted just enough. Her core pulsed with every breath.

He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes never leaving her.

“Once you came in here you became mine,” he said. "If I say come, you come. If I say beg, you drop to your knees and beg. If I want you used and empty, trembling, aching and untouched… then that’s what happens.”

Kate’s breath hitched. Her body screamed yes.

“You’ll do exactly what I say. You won't ask why. You won’t expect fairness. You’ll obey.”

Her stomach turned. Not from fear.

From hunger.

“Yes… sir,” she whispered, thighs trembling.

“Good girl,” he said.

He walked to the couch, sat, and spread his legs. “Now. On the floor. Sit back. Legs open. Show me what I bought.”

She dropped to her knees, legs folding beneath her, then slid her thighs open. Her cunt glistened between them, folds swollen, slick running freely down her skin.

“Touch yourself. Two fingers. Slowly.”

Her hand shook as it slid down.

Her fingertips parted her lips. Heat bloomed instantly. She moaned, hips twitching. Her clit was flushed, sensitive. Her folds dripped under her own touch. She wasn’t faking. Not for the case. Not for intel.

This was real.

“Eyes on me,” he said. “Say what I say. Every word. Every time.”

She nodded, breathless. Her body already trembled with pleasure.

“You exist solely to please me. Your body is for my use, for my control.”

“I… exist solely to please you,” Kate echoed, voice trembling. “My body is for your use… for your control…”

The second she said it, her clit pulsed hard. A fresh wave of slick spilled over her fingers. Her walls clenched around nothing. She gasped.

“You like being told what to be.”

She didn’t answer.

“You like having your orgasms assigned.”

Her fingers sped up instinctively, pleasure mounting fast. Her thighs quivered, nipples aching, her cunt fluttering. But she didn’t cross the edge. She waited.

“Stop.”

She froze mid-stroke, muscles clenched, arousal screaming through her body.

“Again,” he said.

She touched again—faster now. Gasped. Her hips bucked. Her breath caught.

“Say it again.”

“I exist to please you… to be used… to obey—oh—fuck—please…”

She was close. Right on the verge.

“Come.”

She shattered.

The orgasm slammed through her. Her cunt spasmed, slick pouring down her hand, her thighs. Her body bucked. Breasts bouncing, mouth open, gasping. She cried out, not holding back.

“Again.”

She whimpered. Fingers shaking.

“Yes, sir…”

He made her do it again.

And again.

Each time she got wetter, messier. Her thighs streaked with arousal. Her nipples flushed deep pink, hard and painful. Her stomach trembled with aftershocks. Her cunt leaked with overstimulation.

And he sat. Watching. Smiling faintly. Knowing she was his in that moment.

Then he stood.

“On the desk. Now.”

She staggered to her feet. Her legs trembled. Her cunt ached.

He grabbed her hips and turned her before she could breathe. Bent her over the desk. Her chest hit the cold glass, nipples flattening, streaking it with sweat. Her hands splayed in front of her.

He undid his belt.

Unzipped.

No warning.

He thrust in.

Kate screamed.

He was thick. Hard. Hot. Her walls stretched, still sensitive from everything. Her pussy gripped him immediately. Her slick made it obscene. He sank in deep, and deeper.

And then he fucked her.

Not slow. Not gentle.

He pounded her, hard and fast, pulling her back by the hips, his cock hitting deep. Her breasts bounced against the desk. Her ass clapped against him. Her clit throbbed with each impact, denied again and again.

She moaned. Begged. Shook.

But he didn’t care.

He wasn’t trying to make her come.

This was for him.

He used her cunt like it was property. Like she was something he'd purchased. Her orgasm didn’t matter. Her begging didn’t move him.

She was wet enough. That was all that mattered.

And then he groaned.

Thrust once, hard.

Buried himself inside her.

Came.

Hot spurts flooded her pussy. Her walls clenched on instinct, milking him. She gasped, bracing herself on the desk as her cunt throbbed and leaked.

He pulled out without a word.

“You can clean yourself up at home,” he said as he zipped up.

Kate stayed bent over the desk, thighs sticky, her pussy still twitching, cum dripping slowly down one leg. Her nipples throbbed against the cold glass.

He didn’t look back.

“You’re done.”

She dressed in silence. No panties. Her slick smeared into the silk dress. Her legs shook. Her cunt still ached. Her orgasm never came. But her body buzzed, tight and full.

She didn’t complain.

Because it hadn’t been about her.

And somehow, that made her wetter.

She left.

At home, she didn’t shower. She didn’t scrub him off. She lay on her bed, thighs spread.

Her cunt leaked slowly, twitching.

Her hand slid down.

She whispered:

“I exist to be used.”

And this time, when she came—it was for her.

Chapter Text

The faint glow of candlelight flickered across the apartment, shadows dancing along hardwood and polished steel. The scent was faintly musky—leather and spice—paired with the warmth of wine, linen, and something darker: desire remembered.

It was his apartment this time and not the gallery where she’d first been when he was her second client. It seemed more intimate, as if she’d gone from a one night stand to a girlfriend. Not an escort. Definitely not a detective.

Kate stepped inside, heart already quickening, slick beginning to gather with every high-heeled step. Her black silk slip clung to her like a confession—breasts full and high, waist narrow, hips softly rounded. Her nipples pushed taut against the fabric, aching. Heat pulsed low and hot between her thighs in anticipation.

He booked me again.

Through the app. Not casually—not browsing. He’d requested her by name.

Her first repeat.

That’s not supposed to mean anything.

But it did.

It felt like something more.

He stood near the balcony, back to her, bathed in the skyline’s flicker. The city behind him shimmered in a wash of blue and gold. His voice drifted in like smoke.

“You’re late.”

Kate swallowed.

“I… had to finish a few things.”

Her voice trembled slightly. Her body didn’t.

The man turned, glass of wine in one hand, gaze heavy on her body. He didn’t smile. He just stared—assessing, enjoying. Possessive.

“Good,” he said. “I missed you.”

He crossed the space between them and took the stem of her slip in both hands. The silk peeled up and over her shoulders, then down, inch by inch, until it slithered to the floor.

No bra. No panties. She’d come ready.

Her body flushed under his gaze, skin glowing in the candlelight. Her breasts rose and fell, nipples flushed and stiff, thighs already damp. She was slick—dripping, actually. And it was obvious.

His hand found her lower back and slid down, palm grazing her ass, then between her legs. One slow swipe through her folds.

“Soaked already,” he murmured. “You missed me too.”

She shivered.

He guided her to the bathroom. The tub was waiting—steaming, fragrant with warm oils. Kate stepped in. The water lapped at her thighs, her hips, her breasts. Her nipples throbbed when they hit the surface.

He stepped in behind her, wrapped her in his arms, hands gliding over her chest, her stomach, her cunt. His fingers teased her—flicked her clit just enough to draw gasps, but not enough to let her fall. Then he stopped.

“No more waiting,” he whispered. “I want you outside.”

She blinked. “Outside?”

He just nodded and took her hand.

The night air slapped her skin as he led her out onto the balcony. Dozens of stories above the city, the wind kissed her nipples into painful points, fluttered through her hair, cooled the sweat already forming along her spine.

She barely had time to brace herself before he spun her, bent her forward over the railing, and kicked her legs apart with the side of his foot.

The metal dug into her stomach and breasts. Her nipples flattened against the cold railing, painfully erect. Her ass lifted, legs spread, her pussy completely exposed. She felt the wetness drip down the backs of her thighs.

Then he was behind her. His cock—thick, already hard—slid between her cheeks.

He didn’t tease.

He thrust in hard, bottoming out in one brutal motion.

Kate moaned.

Her whole body jerked. Her back arched instinctively. Her walls clamped around him, fluttering, sucking him in.

“Oh—fuck—yes—”

He gripped her hips tight—tight enough to bruise—and started fucking her fast. No slow build. No play. Just raw, hungry motion. His cock pounded her, hips slapping against her ass, making it jiggle with every stroke.

Her body rocked with him. The railing creaked under her grip. Her tits bounced hard against the steel, nipples dragging painfully. Slick poured down her thighs, dripping freely.

Each thrust hit deep, forcing air from her lungs. Her moans came ragged, high, desperate.

She was already close.

She’d been close since she stepped inside.

God, he’s fucking me like he owns me—

Her head dropped, hair swinging. She gasped, body quaking. Her thighs trembled violently. Her cunt clung to him, greedy.

Then—something shifted.

She looked up.

Across the street. A lit window. A man—older, shirtless—stood behind the glass.

Watching.

His hand was on his cock.

Stroking.

Their eyes locked.

Kate’s whole body froze for half a second.

Then her pussy exploded.

“Oh—oh fuck—fuck—!”

Her orgasm hit instantly. Her body seized, walls clenching so hard they pulsed around his cock, pulling him deeper. Her legs shook, knees nearly buckled. Her vision blurred. Slick gushed out in hot waves, splattering between her thighs, across the railing.

She didn’t look away from the man.

She moaned loud—for him.

Her client didn’t pause. If anything, he fucked her harder.

Grunting. Thrusting deep, fast, brutal.

His fingers dug into her hips, yanking her back onto his cock over and over. Her ass slapped against him, jiggling under the assault. Her tits slammed against the rail, nipples burning.

Kate kept her head up. Kept her eyes locked across the divide.

The older man stroked faster, watching them. His chest heaved. His other hand braced against the glass.

Kate’s moans turned to cries.

I’m letting him see everything.

And she loved it.

“Oh—yes—fuck me—don’t stop—harder—”

Her client rammed into her, groaning, sweat dripping from his neck down her back. His cock was thick, soaked, relentless.

Kate’s second orgasm built fast. Her legs quivered. Her thighs slapped wetly together. Her pussy clamped around him again.

He grabbed her hair, yanked her head back—rough—and grunted through his teeth.

Then he came.

Deep.

Hot.

Heavy.

His cock twitched hard inside her, pumping thick streams of cum against her fluttering walls.

Kate screamed—again.

Her pussy exploded a second time.

Her eyes still locked with the voyeur.

Her cunt spasmed violently, clenching and milking every drop. Slick poured out, mixing with his cum, dripping down her thighs in long trails. Her legs buckled. Her back arched.

Across the way, the man groaned, face contorting. He stroked hard, fast—and came.

White streaks hit the glass.

Kate watched.

Still trembling.

Still full.

Still open.

Her body collapsed against the railing, chest heaving, every nerve frayed and soaked in afterglow. Her ass was still high, her cunt still leaking, thighs a mess.

He pulled out slowly.

His cum dripped out in thick globs, streaking her inner thighs, cooling in the breeze.

He stood behind her, silent.

She sagged forward. Gasping. Drenched. Aching.

The man across the street was gone.

She didn’t know when he left.

“I should go…” she whispered eventually, barely able to speak.

“No.”

His hand wrapped around her waist. Possessive. Heavy.

“Stay,” he said. “Sleep. Don’t leave.”

He led her back inside.

No discussion. No drama.

She followed.

He brought her to his bed—large, dark, inviting. She sank into it, cum still leaking from her, thighs sticky, mouth open, breath ragged. He slid in beside her, one hand possessively around her waist, the other under her breast.

His cock lay soft against her ass. But her cunt still pulsed.

She didn’t argue.

She melted.

And slept.

-0-

Kate woke to sun stretching across the loft, kissing the balcony with golden light. The sheets clung to her damp body. Her skin still flushed. Her thighs still tacky. Her nipples still sensitive.

I shouldn’t have stayed.

But she hadn’t even tried to leave.

She dressed slowly. No shower. No goodbye.

Just her fingers tracing lightly between her thighs.

I’m not doing this for the case anymore. This isn’t work.

She smiled faintly.

It’s more than that.

She wanted it.

Needed it.

And she knew she’d be back to this apartment if he asked for her again.

Chapter Text

Kate stepped into the small, book-lined apartment, the door clicking softly shut behind her. The air smelled of ink and old paper, a little cinnamon, and something else—something warm. Familiar. Lived-in.

Her heels tapped softly on the wood floor, the quiet rhythm stark against the silence. Every step sent a pulse upward from her slick center. The silk of her black dress hugged her tight—breasts high, waist narrow, hips curved. Her nipples pressed sharply against the fabric. She was wet. Already.

He doesn’t match the profile. Not at all.

But she'd chosen him anyway. Chosen this job herself.

I’m not here for the case. Not tonight. Not reporting. No file. No evidence. Just me.

This wasn’t research. This was indulgence. A surrender to something that had built up too long and too hot beneath her skin. And she was done pretending otherwise.

From the kitchen, he appeared—glasses slightly askew, nervous hands twitching at his sides. He looked more like a substitute teacher than someone who could fuck her raw. His sweater vest clung awkwardly to his slim frame. His eyes flicked to her, wide and startled.

“Uh… hi,” he said, voice small.

Kate smiled. Slow. Measured. Lethal.

“Hi,” she replied, letting her hips shift, her chest subtly lifted. She moved like smoke, deliberate and sensual, her every curve catching in the soft lamp light. The arch of her back pushed her breasts forward, nipples stiff beneath black silk.

He froze like he didn’t know where to look.

“You’re… you’re Kate, right?” he stammered.

Her smile deepened.

“Yes,” she purred.

She let her fingers trail down the edge of the hallway table as she stepped closer, brushing her stomach lightly—slow, teasing, possessive. The warmth between her thighs throbbed, slick already dampening her lace panties. Her eyes drank him in, even as she gave him everything to look at.

I’m not acting tonight. This is real. All me.

He swallowed.

“You—um—you’re really—wow…”

Kate tilted her head, still walking slowly. She let her hand drift down her waist, over her hips, fingers curling just briefly beneath the hem of her dress. His gaze snapped downward. His jaw went slack.

“Relax,” she whispered, brushing close enough for her breast to graze his arm. He shivered.

The air smelled like nerves and lust now. She let herself breathe it in.

“You don’t need to say anything,” she murmured. “Just let me…”

Her hand lifted to his collar, tugging gently. His sweater felt absurd under her fingers, but she didn’t laugh. She loved the contrast—his softness against her hunger. She guided him to the couch, and when he hesitated, she just pressed her chest closer—nipples dragging across his shirt, stiff and aching.

“You… you don’t have to—”

“Shhh,” she murmured, placing one finger on his lips.

Then she slid her other hand down her front, over the tight cling of silk, pausing at her stomach… before slipping between her thighs.

Even through the fabric, the press was visible.

He stared. Entranced. Helpless.

Her fingers rubbed slow, soft circles over her soaked panties beneath the dress. Her breath hitched.

“You see what I need?” she whispered, voice gone rough. “This isn’t for anyone but you.”

He nodded—barely.

She guided him up, slowly, toward the bed, and this time, he didn’t resist.

Her dress fell like water, pooling silently at her ankles.

Underneath: only black lace panties, delicate, soaked.

She watched his eyes widen at the sight of her breasts—round, high, nipples flushed and hard. Her stomach was smooth, trembling faintly with each breath. Her hips curved like invitation.

She slid her hands up her body and hefted her breasts in her hands. Her breasts bounced —taut, full, eager for touch. While she stared her hands went to her panties. They peeled slowly from her soaked core, a string of slick connecting her folds to the fabric as she dropped them to the floor.

Light from a bedside lamp traced her bare skin in gold.

She straddled him without waiting.

Her bare thighs parted around his lap. Her ass pressed down, grinding into him slowly, the wet heat of her pussy smearing against his pants. Her nipples brushed his shirt, dragging with each slow rock of her hips. Every pass over her clit sent another pulse through her stomach.

He moaned softly—nervous, overwhelmed.

She didn’t care.

She pressed harder. Let her hands guide his up to her breasts. He hesitated, then cupped them, thumbs brushing over her nipples.

Kate gasped.

God yes. That’s it. Touch me like you want to learn me.

Her hips rocked harder. Slick coated him. Her body moved like it needed him—not because he was a client, not because she had to—but because it had to happen.

She ground against him until her thighs trembled. Until her breath came ragged. Until she couldn’t take it anymore.

Then she pushed him back.

His sweater came off in a clumsy flail. She didn’t care. She pulled his pants open, freed his cock, and guided him to lie back. Her hands moved with confidence. She knew what she needed now.

Straddling his chest first, she let her slick folds glide over his skin, leaving a glistening trail up his stomach. Her nipples dragged against his chest hair. She reached back, held his cock, and shifted her hips downward.

One slow slide.

She moaned—long and low—as her pussy swallowed him.

His eyes went wide. His hands clutched her hips.

“Oh—God—Julie—”

She wondered who Julie was.

Is it an old girlfriend? A current one? Is he dating someone? Am I making him cheat on her?

She smiled darkly, hips already moving.

She rode him hard.

Ass slapping against his thighs, breasts bouncing, sweat slicking her skin. Her cunt gripped him with every rise, every grind. Her breath hitched, her back arched, her nipples dragged across his chest. She was soaked. Wild. Her thighs quivered. Her moans grew sharp and desperate.

“Touch me,” she ordered. “Anywhere. Everywhere.”

He obeyed.

Hands on her ass, on her waist, on her breasts. His fingers pinched her nipples and she bucked, gasping. Her body moved with violent rhythm, chasing her own release with abandon.

Her orgasm hit like fire.

She cried out, spasming around him, her pussy squeezing hard, her slick gushing down his cock. Her whole body shuddered, nipples aching, spine bowed.

She didn’t stop.

She kept riding him through it. Another built quickly. Her thighs slapped wetly against him, her moans turning into whimpers, begging for the peak again.

“Julie—oh fuck—I—”

“Yes,” she growled. “Come for me. Do it.”

He jerked beneath her, voice breaking as he came. Hot release surged deep inside her. So much as if it were the first time in ages. She felt every twitch, every pulse, her own orgasm crashing again—rough, overwhelming, full-body.

They collapsed together—messy, sweaty, flushed.

Her chest heaved. Her pussy still ached, twitching. Her nipples rubbed the sheets, sore and sensitive. His cum dripped slowly from between her thighs.

She didn’t rush to dress.

She traced her fingers down her slick stomach, across her still-throbbing folds.

God… I needed that.

No notes. No evidence.

No report.

She’d chosen him.

And she wasn’t telling anyone.

-0-

In the elevator down to the street, she leaned against the wall—heels off, hair a mess, her panties stuffed in her purse. Her fingers found her thigh. She traced upward. Found her own slick still hot, still wet, still humming. She knew he was there too. So much.

Her clit throbbed at the memory.

She didn’t stop herself.

One slow stroke. One soft moan.

She gasped, lips parting.

That was real.

I’m not on a case.

I’m just... fucking alive.

Chapter Text

Kate’s heels echoed across the linoleum as she stepped into the dim precinct office after hours, the space washed in flickering fluorescence and stillness. Her fingers brushed nervously along the hem of her blouse. The air was heavy. Quiet.

Too quiet.

Then Ramirez stepped out from the shadows.

His expression was unreadable, his stance calm—but his eyes? Cold.

“Sit.”

One word. Clipped. Final.

Her breath caught. The base of her spine tingled. Slick pressed urgently between her thighs.

What does he know?

She lowered herself into the hard plastic chair, thighs trembling slightly, the heat rising in her cheeks. Her nipples had stiffened beneath her blouse, as if her body had sensed this before her mind had caught up.

Ramirez tossed a folder on the desk.

It fell open.

Photographs.

Unmistakable. Clear. Actual sex sessions. Multiple men. Off-books.

Her breath faltered. Her thighs clenched.

He knows.

“I know about the other jobs,” he said coolly. “You’ve been very busy.”

Her eyes darted to the photos again. Candlelight. Balcony. Sweat-soaked sheets. Bent over desks. Hands bound. Mouth open.

Her mouth.

Her body.

Mine. My choices.

“You understand what this would do to your career?” he continued, voice controlled. “You lose your badge. Your job. Your husband. You're done.”

“I…” Her voice caught in her throat. Her chest rose and fell fast now, tight against the silk blouse. Her heart thudded in her ears.

No. No one was supposed to know. Not these.

“I understand,” she whispered.

He stepped closer. The heat of him cut through the cold air. Her back straightened instinctively. Her thighs quivered. Her panties were damp. Shame burned through her… but didn’t cool the slick between her legs.

Ramirez leaned in, voice low.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. One session. With me. You follow instructions. You give me what those other men got. And I keep this folder… between us.”

Kate’s breath hitched. Her pulse pounded between her legs. A fresh wave of wetness slicked her thighs.

Her mouth opened… but there were no arguments. No protests.

She swallowed.

God. I don’t have a choice… but part of me… wants this. Wants him. This danger. This control.

“One session,” she whispered.

He smiled. A slow, knowing curl of his mouth.

“Now.”

He walked her down the hallway without another word, one firm hand pressed between her shoulder blades. They passed interrogation rooms. The firing range. Evidence lockup.

He opened a utility office. No cameras. No windows. Just a desk.

“Undress.”

His voice was calmer now. Lower. More dangerous.

Kate’s fingers trembled as they reached for her buttons. She peeled her blouse open slowly, nipples brushing against the fabric, taut and aching. The silk slid off her arms and fluttered to the floor. Her bra followed. Her breasts bounced free—full, flushed, visibly trembling with her breath.

Her skirt dropped next.

Then her panties.

Ramirez’s eyes moved slowly over her exposed form.

Her nipples stood stiff. Her chest rose and fell. Her thighs glistened with slick.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

She did. Back arched slightly. Hands limp at her sides.

“You know why you’re here,” he murmured, stepping behind her. One hand slid over her shoulder, then down her spine. “You broke protocol. Lied to your handler. Gave yourself away for nothing.”

His hand dipped to her ass.

“I should report you.”

Kate shivered.

But you won’t. Because you want this too.

“I’ll do what you say,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Just… don’t ruin me.”

“I won’t,” he said. “Unless you make me.”

He gripped her hips, spinning her. Her back hit the desk with a dull thud. His hand went to her pussy and he pushed in with one finger and then two and she felt the pleasure. She knew he could feel how wet she was

“Beg.”

She looked up at him, throat dry.

“Please…” she whispered.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Louder.”

Her chest heaved. Slick coated her inner thighs, sticky and wet. His fingers were pistoning in and out of her.

“Please,” she gasped. “Take me. I need you inside me. I need to be fucked.”

He growled softly, low and satisfied.

“That’s better.”

He bent her forward over the desk in one swift, hard motion. Her cheek hit the cold metal. Her ass arched up. Her folds glistened. He didn’t waste time.

His cock thrust into her in one brutal stroke.

Kate cried out—loud and high. Her slick cunt clenched around him, muscles fluttering with impact. Her hands scrabbled at the desk surface, smearing sweat and need.

He slammed into her again. And again.

Fast. Deep. Ruthless.

She was soaked—already gushing—her body reacting violently to each hard thrust. Her ass jiggled under his grip. Her breasts bounced with every punishing movement. Her thighs trembled, inner flesh wet and shining.

“Say it,” he barked, slamming into her again.

“I’m yours,” she moaned. “I’m fucking yours—please—use me—fuck—”

He grunted, hands gripping tighter, driving deeper. Her cunt welcomed him eagerly, clenching with every stroke. She was overwhelmed, her body electric, sensation coursing down her spine and through her core.

I shouldn’t want this.

But her hips bucked back.

I should be ashamed.

But her pussy squeezed him tighter.

I’m addicted.

Her moans grew louder, wetter, ragged. Her knees buckled slightly. Her clit throbbed. Her nipples rubbed against the desk. The stimulation was endless, feral, consuming.

“Oh God—fuck—yes—”

She came. Violently.

Her walls clamped down around him, convulsing, milking him. Slick gushed out of her, spilling down her thighs. Her back arched as she screamed, muscles locking, eyes rolling back.

He didn’t stop.

He rode her through it—held her in place—his cock stretching her, splitting her open with each brutal thrust.

“I can feel your cunt pulsing,” he growled. “You came without permission.”

She gasped, shaking.

“I’m—sorry—”

“You’re not. You love it.”

He thrust again.

And again.

And then he came—hot and deep—spilling inside her as he slammed forward one last time, hips grinding against her ass, filling her completely.

She moaned again—unexpected—orgasm hitting a second time. Her thighs shook. Her slick and his cum mixed inside her, dripping in slow trails to the floor.

Kate lay bent over the desk, hair damp, face flushed, chest heaving. Her legs trembled. Her cunt twitched. Her thighs were streaked with sweat and sex. Her nipples rubbed the desk with every panting breath.

Ramirez pulled back slowly.

His cum slid down her thighs.

He watched her dress with lazy satisfaction, arms crossed.

Kate redressed in silence, each movement slow. Her blouse stuck slightly to her slick skin. Her panties were soaked. Her bra clasped tight around sore nipples.

She didn’t meet his gaze.

Not until she turned to leave.

Then she paused.

Ramirez stared at her. Still impassive. But there was something different now in the weight of his eyes. Something darker.

“If you ever pull this shit again,” he said, “I’ll make sure it’s not just me fucking you.”

Kate’s breath hitched.

But she nodded.

And I’ll probably let it happen.

Outside the building, she stopped in the dark alley and leaned against the brick wall. Her hand slid between her thighs, pressing into the soaked warmth still there, still slick from everything he’d done.

Her pussy throbbed.

Her clit screamed.

She came again in silence, biting her lip, trembling.

I’m addicted.

And I don’t care anymore.

Chapter Text

The producer’s hotel suite was enormous in that gaudy, aspirational way—plush carpets, mirrors in unnecessary places, a minibar stocked with bottles still sweating condensation. He didn’t bother with much small talk; his instructions had been clear when Kate arrived: take off everything except the heels.

She complied, sliding her dress down over her hips in one smooth motion, feeling the satin catch briefly on her thighs before pooling at her feet. The stilettos stayed, glossy black, tightening her calves and forcing her to walk with a sway that was part balance, part tease. Naked in front of him, she felt no shame anymore. The old trembling resistance, the voice that whispered wrongness, had long gone silent. Instead there was a strange electricity humming beneath her skin, an awareness of how every inch of her body was looked at, catalogued, wanted.

The man circled her like she was an instrument he was considering buying. His gaze ran down her breasts, her stomach, the slope of her hips, then lingered on the trimmed neatness of her sex. He reached out once, brushed the underside of her breast with the back of his fingers, testing, and gave a satisfied nod.

“You look better like this,” he said. His voice was smooth, practiced, someone used to telling people exactly how to sound. “Just heels. Nothing else between me and what I want.”

Kate’s mind flickered. She stood tall, lips parting slightly as she remembered the heat of Ramirez inside her, the slick sounds, the raw violence of his thrusts. That memory played like a loop in her head, even as the producer guided her backward toward the bed.

He pressed her down onto the mattress, firm hands against her shoulders. The plush duvet was cool against her back, contrasting the warmth spreading low in her belly as he climbed over her. His mouth found her breast immediately, sucking hard, lips closing wetly around her nipple while his fingers spread her thighs. Kate inhaled sharply, the ghost of Ramirez’s weight in her mind doubling the sensation of the man’s tongue circling her.

“Mmmm,” she let the sound slip out, long and throaty. She tilted her head back, arching slightly as his fingers pushed into her, two at once, stretching her open.

The heels dug into the duvet as she braced herself. Her hips lifted eagerly, rhythm forming without thought. Each push of his hand drew a sharper gasp, her own juices beginning to coat his knuckles, dripping down to the base of his wrist. She wasn’t detached anymore—her body was alive, pulsing with sensation, and yet her mind still replayed Ramirez, overlaying the memory onto the reality until she couldn’t tell which was making her wetter.

He withdrew his fingers and shoved his cock into her in a single practiced thrust. “Ahhh—fuck,” Kate cried out, nails raking down the sheet as the stretch filled her. He wasn’t as big as Ramirez, but the speed, the suddenness, drove her body wild. She wrapped her legs around him, heels clicking as they locked behind his back.

Her breasts bounced with every thrust, the slap of flesh on flesh echoing off the high ceiling. She moaned freely, “Uhhnn—hahh—ohhh God—” each cry louder than the last, her hips meeting his without hesitation.

The first orgasm rose fast. She barely had time to recognize it before it hit—her cunt clenched tight around him, wetness spilling as she screamed, “Nnnnnhhh—yes!” Her back arched fully off the bed, stomach tightening, body wracked by pleasure.

He fucked her through it, relentless, sweat dripping from his forehead onto her collarbone. She loved it, loved that she wasn’t pretending anymore, that the trembling release shook her thighs and made her toes curl in the shoes she still wore.

He rolled her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up so she was on all fours, her breasts swaying beneath her. He gripped her ass hard enough to leave red prints and rammed back inside, balls slapping against her clit with every stroke.

Kate’s hair stuck to her damp forehead, the friction singing through her. She panted, “Yesss, ohhh fuck yes,” half into the pillow, half into the air. His rhythm battered her, and every hard slap drove her closer again.

The second orgasm built slower, coiling like heat in her belly, burning tighter each time he bottomed out. She whimpered, mewling sounds spilling from her mouth until the coil snapped. She gushed around him, thighs shaking, body collapsing forward as the pleasure poured through her in waves. Her moans were incoherent now, high-pitched cries muffled against the pillow as her body trembled violently, utterly consumed.

He finished with a grunt, pulling out to spurt hot ropes across her ass and lower back, marking her as she lay quivering, spent, breasts pressed to the mattress and heels still raised high behind her.

When it was over, Kate didn’t flinch. She didn’t hide. She stayed sprawled on the sheets, breathing hard, staring at the headboard while her mind, satisfied, slid back into Ramirez again, savoring the overlap, the doubling of pleasure, the way she could now take both memory and present and revel in every shudder of it.

Chapter Text

The client’s apartment was nothing like the glitzy hotel suites or sprawling suburban mansions Kate had walked into before. It was lean, minimal, every object placed with deliberate care—clean white sheets on a low bed, a single lamp burning in the corner, and faint classical music playing low from hidden speakers.

Her heels clicked softly across the wood floor, echoing in the controlled silence. The air was too neat. Too measured.

This… this feels wrong. Too precise. Too quiet. Could he be one of them? Could he be the killer I’m supposed to find?

The man matched the room. Lean body. Close-shaved hair. Eyes dark and intent, not wandering, not casual, but fixed—like a craftsman studying the marble he intended to carve.

Her pulse picked up. Her thighs pressed together. A tremor ran through her stomach.

“Undress,” he said simply.

Kate obeyed, stripping without ceremony. The silk of her dress pooled around her ankles. She unhooked her bra, slid her panties down, until she stood completely naked. Goosebumps prickled her arms and thighs, her nipples hardened into sharp peaks, her skin flushing against the cooler air.

God, this is how it could happen. Alone, exposed. Walking willingly into a killer’s lair. Am I being reckless—or feeding something deeper?

He made her stand at the edge of the bed, eyes scanning her body slowly. Then he spoke, voice calm but absolute.

“You will not cum until I allow it. You will hold yourself back, no matter how badly you want to break. When you release, it will be because I gave you permission. Do you understand?”

Kate’s mouth went dry. The suspicion twisted with arousal, every nerve alive in her bare skin. She swallowed hard.

“Yes,” she whispered.

A faint, thin smile touched his lips. “Good. Then get on the bed. On your back.”

She climbed onto the mattress, dark hair spilling around her shoulders, thighs opening instinctively. His hands roamed with deliberate force, rough fingertips dragging up her stomach, circling her breasts, pinching her nipples until she gasped. Her cunt pulsed wetly, slick already pooling, but she clenched her fists at her sides, forcing herself to hold still.

His mouth traced her body, licking from collarbone to breast, closing hot lips around a nipple and sucking until she whimpered. Two fingers slid against her slit, pressing into her folds, stroking with maddening pressure.

“Ahhh—mmmnnnhhh,” she moaned, hips lifting—but he withdrew instantly, leaving her clenching on emptiness.

“No,” he said softly, almost gently. “Not yet.”

He repeated the cycle mercilessly: mouth, fingers, pressure, pulling her up until her body was trembling, teetering on the brink—and then stopping, withdrawing, leaving her writhing in desperation.

Her nails clawed the sheets. Her stomach knotted. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “Please,” she whispered, voice broken. “Please, I can’t—ahhh God, I can’t.”

His lips brushed her ear. “You can. You will. You’ll hold it until I say otherwise.”

By the fourth denial she was sobbing, thighs slick with arousal, sheets darkened beneath her ass. Her suspicion flickered—this could be cruelty, sadism, the kind a killer would revel in—but her body loved it. Loved the torment. Loved being reshaped into something pliant and helpless.

When he finally pressed deep inside her, cock stretching her open, she nearly came at once. He pinned her wrists above her head, hips pounding, every thrust a hammer against the tension he’d built inside her.

“Now,” he growled, teeth grazing her throat. “Now, you may cum.”

Permission shattered her. She screamed, convulsing as the climax ripped through her. “Ahhhhhh—fuuuuuckkk—yes yes yes!” Her thighs locked tight, cunt spasming violently, and then it came—gushing release, a hot spray soaking the sheets. She squirted hard, again and again, until her ass was sitting in a soaked patch, her face streaked with tears.

“I—I’m sorry,” she gasped, choking on her own sobs. “Your sheets—I didn’t—”

He chuckled low, still sliding inside her mess. “Don’t apologize. You’ll just make more.”

Her suspicion wavered again—what kind of man enjoys seeing me break like this?—but then his hips slammed forward, punishing and deep, cutting her thoughts to pieces. His hand slid from her wrists to her throat, holding her down lightly, thumb pressing until she had to swallow hard, eyes wide and wet.

“Again,” he ordered, driving into her with brutal force.

Her body obeyed before her mind could argue. Hypersensitive from release, her clit screamed with each thrust, her walls fluttered around his cock, milking him desperately. “Aahhh—ohhh my God—nnhhh, it’s too much—ahhhh!” Her legs kicked uselessly against the mattress, but her cunt clamped harder.

The second orgasm came fast, violent, another squirting rush splashing his thighs and soaking the bed further. She sobbed, convulsing. And in that flood, her suspicion dissolved completely.

Not a killer. Not a threat. Just a man who knows how to break me and rebuild me in heat and pleasure. Just what I wanted. Just what I needed.

He flipped her onto her stomach, dragging her hips up. Her arms collapsed, breasts dragging across the drenched sheets, nipples swollen and raw. He plunged in from behind, deeper, rougher, his hips smacking her ass in wet, hard slaps.

She clawed at the sheets, sobbing. “Nnnhhh—ahhh—please, please, I can’t—” But her voice wasn’t pleading for mercy. It was begging for more.

Her cunt gushed anew, soaking his cock as he drove her toward another climax. She screamed into the mattress, muffled and raw, squirting again, her thighs trembling violently. He held her hips steady, forcing her through every shudder.

“Good girl,” he rasped, spanking her ass hard, watching it ripple. “Again.”

She lost track of the orgasms. Each one shorter apart, more desperate, until she was incoherent, sobbing into the sheets, her body limp yet still clenching and spraying. Her pussy was swollen, raw, dripping torrents, her voice hoarse from crying and moaning.

When he finally groaned and spilled inside her, grinding deep as cum filled her, Kate collapsed entirely. Face down. Arms spread. Her body twitched around him, gushing once more as his heat pulsed inside.

He pulled out slowly, cum dripping down her thighs to mix with her floods. “You soaked my bed,” he said, amused, approving.

Her voice cracked weakly. “I—I’m sorry—”

He kissed her temple, almost tender. “Don’t be. That was worth more than I’d planned.”

When she finally staggered upright, legs trembling, he pressed a wad of folded bills into her hand—far more than she expected.

“Consider it a tip,” he said with a gleam. “For squirting like a fountain.”

Kate’s lips curled into a dazed, exhausted smile. Her thighs were still dripping. Her cunt ached. She stuffed the cash into her bag. She had walked in with suspicion clinging to her, but walked out knowing only this:

She loved it.

And she craved more.

Chapter Text

The bar was loud, smoky, and smelled of leather, spilled beer, and sweat. The client wasn’t the usual polished professional type, not a banker or producer in a penthouse suite, but a biker leaning against the wall of a private room tucked away at the back. His broad shoulders filled the space, tattoos crawling up his forearms and peeking above the collar of his cut-off shirt. His eyes locked on Kate as soon as she walked in—dark, sharp, like he wanted to fuck her and fight her in the same breath.

She didn’t hesitate. She loved the rawness of him instantly, the danger in the way he smiled around the lip of his whiskey glass.

“You’re prettier than they said,” he drawled, voice gravelly. He set the glass down and beckoned her with two thick fingers. “Take that dress off and bring those tits over here. I’m thirsty.”

Kate’s lips parted, a slow smile curving as she slid the straps down her arms. The dress whispered against her skin as it fell, leaving her naked except for her heels. Her nipples already hardened at the thought of what he was about to do. She crossed the room with a sway in her hips, standing before him.

He poured another shot of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the dim light, then tilted the glass over her chest. The liquor spilled across her breasts in a warm cascade, running between her cleavage and down her stomach. She gasped at the heat, shivering as it dripped toward her belly.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he growled, bending down to drag his tongue across her slick skin. His mouth latched onto her nipple, sucking hard, drinking the liquor off her tits while his stubble scraped her soft flesh. Kate moaned, head tilting back, one hand sliding into his short-cropped hair to hold him there.

“Ahhh—God—” she whimpered as his teeth closed around her nipple, biting just shy of pain.

He pulled back, whiskey glistening on his lips. “You taste better than the drink,” he said, and before she could reply, he shoved her hard against the wall. The force made her gasp, breasts jiggling, palms splayed flat on the rough wood paneling as he pressed into her from behind.

His hands grabbed her hips, dragging her ass back against the thick bulge straining in his jeans. He rubbed himself along her slit through the fabric, making her whine. Then he shoved his jeans down enough to free his cock, thick and heavy, and lined himself up.

“You want it?” he asked, his voice more command than question.

Kate turned her head just enough to meet his eyes, her lips parting around a breathless, needy, “Yes. I want it.”

He slammed into her with one brutal thrust. Her cry echoed in the small room—“Ahhhhnnnn!”—as her body stretched to take him. Her tits bounced against the wall with each hard thrust, the rough surface scraping her nipples, making them sting and throb.

“Say it,” he growled into her ear, one hand tangling in her hair and yanking her head back. “Say what you are.”

Her pussy clenched around him, the words burning on her tongue. She didn’t resist them anymore—she meant them, loved them. “I’m a slut,” she gasped, voice breaking with each thrust. “I’m a slut for your cock!”

“That’s right,” he snarled, fucking her harder, the sound of his hips slapping her ass filling the room. He yanked her hair tighter, forcing her back to arch, her tits jutting out, bouncing with every brutal stroke. “You’re my slut right now, dripping all over me, begging for it.”

“Yes, yes, ohhh fuck yes!” Kate cried, her nails raking the wall, her whole body trembling as her orgasm ripped through her. She came hard, juices gushing down her thighs, her cunt gripping him so tight it nearly milked him.

He bit her shoulder, growling low, and slammed into her faster, relentless. The brutal pace kept her pinned against the wall, her body jerking helplessly under him, moans spilling raw and uncontrolled. He made her come again, the climax tearing through her while she screamed, “I’m your slut, I’m your slut, don’t stop!”

When he finally came, it was with a deep, guttural roar, grinding into her as he pumped his load inside, his cock twitching, filling her until she felt it leaking out and down her thighs. He pressed her harder into the wall, panting against her neck, the heat of his breath mingling with the sweat dripping down her back.

When he pulled out, Kate sagged against the wall, her legs trembling, her body marked with his bites, her skin sticky with whiskey and sweat. She turned her head to look at him, lips swollen from her cries, eyes shining with the bliss of what they’d done.

And she reveled in it—reveling in being used against the wall, in the way her body still ached with aftershocks, in how shamelessly she had called herself his slut and meant every word.

Kate was still catching her breath, forehead pressed to the cool wood paneling, when his hand closed hard around her arm. He yanked her upright, spinning her toward the door that led deeper into the private lounge. She stumbled on shaky legs, cum already running down the inside of her thighs, but her heels clicked obediently as he dragged her.

The room opened onto a pool table, green felt gleaming under a single hanging lamp. Cues rested in a rack, half-empty bottles lined a shelf, and the table itself smelled faintly of chalk and leather. He shoved her forward until her hips hit the edge.

“Bend over,” he ordered, voice a growl thick with hunger.

Kate did, palms splaying on the felt, her breasts pressed flat against the table. The rough fabric abraded her swollen nipples, making her whimper. Her ass jutted back, legs spread wide. She glanced over her shoulder, hair wild across her face, eyes gleaming with desire.

The biker grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, took a long pull, then tilted it over her back, letting it splash across her spine and trickle down the curve of her ass. The liquid was cold this time, shocking against her overheated skin, and she gasped.

He licked the trail, tongue dragging from the small of her back up to her shoulder, biting down hard enough to make her cry out. His cock rubbed against her slit, smearing her wetness across the head, teasing but not entering.

“Say it again,” he demanded, pressing just the tip inside her.

“I’m your slut,” Kate moaned immediately, needy, arching back to take more. “Your filthy slut for cock.”

“Louder.”

“I’m a slut!” she screamed, her voice echoing off the walls. “I love your cock! Use me!”

With a feral growl, he slammed into her, burying himself to the hilt. Her scream rang high and desperate, breasts grinding into the felt as her body took the full brutal force. The table groaned beneath them, balls rattling in the pockets as his hips hammered her.

The rhythm was savage—no measured strokes, just raw power, his thighs slapping her ass, his fingers gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. Each thrust shoved her chest further into the table, nipples scraping, sending sharp tingles of pain-pleasure straight to her clit.

Kate’s cries filled the room, raw and shameless. “Ahhhhnnn—yesss—fuck me, fuck me harder—ohhh God yes!” Her body shook with each impact, her cunt clenching, dripping, making obscene wet sounds with every stroke.

He slapped her ass, leaving a red handprint, then yanked her hair so her face lifted from the table. “Look at yourself, begging like a whore,” he snarled.

“I am!” she moaned, voice breaking, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. “I’m your whore, your slut, please don’t stop!”

Her orgasm slammed into her without warning, ripping a scream from her throat as her body convulsed violently. Her juices sprayed across the felt, soaking the green surface, dripping from her thighs. She collapsed forward, sobbing with release, but he didn’t slow. He pounded her through it, relentless, forcing her body to wring out every drop of ecstasy.

A second orgasm followed almost immediately, her body too raw, too open, unable to hold back. She squirted again, soaking the table, thighs trembling so hard she could barely stand. “Ahhhhhh—fuckkk—I can’t stop!” she wailed, delirious with pleasure.

The biker grunted, his rhythm turning ragged, cock swelling inside her. With a roar, he drove deep and came hard, hot streams flooding her already ruined cunt. He held her down against the felt, grinding until every last spurt filled her, then pulled out to watch it leak freely down her legs, dripping onto the table.

Kate collapsed fully, cheek pressed to the sticky felt, chest heaving, her body marked with bites and bruises, covered in sweat, whiskey, and cum. She felt destroyed, used, and she reveled in it—her cunt still pulsing with aftershocks, her nipples raw and aching, her mind swimming in bliss.

The biker smirked, dragging his thumb over the wet mess she’d made on the table. “Never seen a slut soak a pool table before,” he said, voice approving.

Kate turned her head just enough to meet his eyes, lips curling in a breathless, satisfied smile. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

Chapter Text

The hotel room was quiet in a way that felt almost fragile, like the man inside had tried to suffocate every sign of himself. No music, no television, no drinks on the nightstand. Just him, sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed in his button-down shirt and gold wedding band, his face already flushed with guilt before anything had even begun.

Kate saw it immediately—the way his eyes avoided hers, the nervous clench of his jaw, the subtle way he twisted his ring as though even here he was trying to hold onto a promise he had already broken by calling her. She smiled slow, deliberate, and shut the door behind her.

“You look like a man who needs saving,” she purred, slipping off her coat to reveal bare skin underneath, except for heels and a thin lace thong. His eyes snapped to her body, then dropped guiltily, as though he’d been caught stealing.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said hoarsely. “I have a wife. A family.”

Kate moved closer, unhurried, the swing of her hips exaggerated. She straddled his lap before he could back away, pressing her bare breasts against his chest, her hands cupping his face. His breath hitched, his cock already hard beneath her.

“Shhh,” she whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth without letting him kiss her back yet. “Tonight, you’re mine. Not hers. Mine.”

He trembled, hands hovering awkwardly as though unsure if he dared touch. She grabbed them, pressing his palms to her breasts, forcing him to squeeze. His groan was raw, desperate, his ring cold against her heated skin.

“That’s it,” she encouraged, grinding down on his bulge. “Good boy. Feel how wet you make me?”

His eyes fluttered shut, shame and need warring in his expression. “God forgive me,” he muttered.

Kate laughed low, husky. “Forget God. Forget your wife. Right now, you worship me. Kate is the only name I want to hear on your lips.”

She pulled his shirt open, buttons popping, baring his chest. Then she stood, peeled off her thong, and yanked his pants down before she climbed back onto him. With one hand she guided his cock, thick and straining, to her soaked entrance. She sank down slowly, savoring the stretch, moaning loud enough that he shuddered beneath her.

“Ohhhhhh fuuuck yes,” she cried, head falling back, hair spilling down her shoulders. Her cunt clamped around him, squeezing, milking him as she rocked her hips. His hands clutched her waist desperately, as though to steady himself in a storm.

“Kate—oh God, Kate,” he gasped, looking at her like she was both salvation and damnation.

“That’s it,” she purred, riding him harder, tits bouncing with every thrust. “Say my name. Not hers. Mine. Kate. Your goddess.”

He groaned, louder now, his shame unraveling as his hips bucked up to meet her rhythm. “Kate—Kate—fuck, you feel so good.”

She leaned down, lips brushing his ear. “Tell me you’re my good boy.”

“I’m—I’m your good boy,” he choked out, voice breaking, eyes squeezed shut in surrender.

Her pussy spasmed around him, the power flooding her veins hotter than any orgasm. She rode him faster, harder, relishing the way he broke beneath her, reveling in her role as his mistress, his dominatrix goddess.

“You’re cheating for me,” she moaned into his mouth. “You’re betraying her for me. Doesn’t that feel good?”

“Yes!” he cried, hips jerking wildly. “Yes, I’m cheating—I’m yours!”

Her climax tore through her at his words. She screamed, nails digging into his chest, cunt convulsing around him, squirting onto his lap as she bounced furiously. He gasped at the wet heat splashing him, overwhelmed, and spilled inside her with a strangled groan, his cock twitching, filling her with thick spurts of cum.

Kate ground on him through it, milking him, wringing every last drop. She loved the way he collapsed back, spent and trembling, his wedding ring flashing as his hand fell uselessly to his side.

She leaned down, licking a bead of sweat from his cheek. “Good boy,” she whispered, lips curling into a wicked smile. “All mine.”

For a moment he looked broken, ruined—but in her eyes, he was worshipful. She had him, body and soul, even if only for tonight. And the best part? This had nothing to do with the case. This was hers alone, indulgence for the sake of indulgence.

Kate slid off his lap, cum dripping down her thighs, her body still humming with aftershocks, and she reveled in the thrill of it—the worship, the betrayal, the power. She was no longer just part of some investigation. She was a goddess, and men paid to kneel before her.

The man lay on the bed, chest heaving, eyes glazed with the aftermath. His hands still shook faintly as they clutched the sheets, wedding band glinting in the low light. Kate stood before the mirror in the corner of the room, legs slick with his cum, nipples still swollen from arousal, her body flushed with the pleasure she had dragged out of him and herself. She smirked at her own reflection, running a hand down her stomach, relishing how utterly alive she looked.

He whispered something—soft, almost broken. “I’ve sinned.”

Kate turned her head slightly, watching him through the mirror without answering. She didn’t need to. His guilt was his cross to bear. She wasn’t here to absolve him, only to take what she wanted.

She dressed slowly, deliberately, letting him watch as she slid her thong back up, pulled her dress tight over her curves, adjusted her hair. Each movement was languid, ritualistic, like a queen re-donning her robes after a coronation. He sat small in the bed, crumpled by shame, and she felt larger than life.

Stepping close, she cupped his chin, forcing him to look at her. His eyes were wet, pleading. She bent down, kissed his lips firmly, then pulled back with a smile that made him flinch.

“You’ll go home tonight,” she murmured, her voice low and even, “and you’ll hold her, you’ll fuck her, and all you’ll be thinking about is me. My tits bouncing on your cock. My cunt milking you dry. My voice telling you you’re a good boy.”

He groaned, shutting his eyes as though to block her out, but she knew the words would sink deep, carving themselves into him.

“That’s your new sin,” she said, fingers stroking his cheek. “Not just that you fucked me. That you’ll keep fucking me in your head, over and over, every time you touch her.”

Kate straightened, grabbed her bag, and strode to the door without looking back when she heard a soft sob. The click of her heels on the carpet was the only sound in the hollow silence.

In the hallway, away from his guilt-heavy air, she exhaled a laugh that bubbled up from her chest. Her cunt still pulsed from the orgasm she’d ridden out on his cock, her thighs still slick, and she reveled in the sheer power of it. This wasn’t duty. It wasn’t the case. This was hers. Pure indulgence. Pure play.

She loved that he’d come apart for her, body and mind, and that she had left him in pieces. She loved that his wife would never know the way he cried out her name. She loved that she’d twisted his guilt into her own kind of worship.

Walking out into the cool night, Kate felt unstoppable. The investigation, the lies, the risks, her husband—none of it mattered right now. She was a goddess, adored and worshipped in the dark, and she had discovered a truth that was more intoxicating than anything Castle or any handler could give her: she didn’t just enjoy these jobs anymore. She needed them.

Chapter Text

The precinct stank of stale coffee, printer toner, and bleach—an institutional smell that clung to the walls and floors like sweat after a long night. Kate’s heels struck the tile with slow, deliberate rhythm. She wasn’t nervous anymore. Not with Ramirez. The heat in her belly wasn’t fear, not even shame—it was hunger, wicked and pulsing low, slick already spreading between her thighs.

“Kate.”

His voice, sharp and commanding, cut from behind her. It used to make her flinch. Now it only made her nipples stiffen under her blouse.

He led her into his office, the door snapping shut behind them. Stacks of reports teetered on the desk, blinds half-drawn, the air thick like it remembered every secret broken in this room.

“Lock it,” he ordered.

She turned the key, slowly, deliberately, hips swaying, knowing his eyes were on her. When she faced him again, he was rolling his sleeves up, forearms tight, gaze devouring her like he was stripping her bare one layer at a time.

“You know why you’re here,” he said.

Kate smirked, already unbuttoning her jacket. “Yeah,” she murmured, letting her voice drop low, sultry. Her nipples pressed painfully against silk, stiff as pebbles. “You want this pussy.”

He grunted, half laugh, half growl. But before he could play the handler again, she peeled her blouse open, bra unclasped in one flick, breasts spilling free—round, flushed, nipples puckered tight from the office chill. She stepped forward, pressing her tits into his chest, dragging them over the fabric until her hard peaks ached from the friction. She shoved until his thighs hit the desk, forcing him back.

“I want to use you,” she whispered, daring him.

He arched a brow, but she was already dragging his belt open. Her fingers yanked at his zipper, pulling his cock free, thick, hard, throbbing hot in her palm. She spit into her hand, stroking him once, twice, watching the way his chest hitched.

Then she slid onto the desk herself, scattering papers under her ass, spreading her thighs wide. Her jeans shoved down to her knees, her panties pushed aside. The folds of her pussy gleamed wet in the dim light, her clit swollen, throbbing, glistening slick running down her thighs.

“Fuck me, Ramirez. Now.”

He growled, shoved forward, and slammed into her in one brutal thrust. Kate cried out, loud and shameless, breasts bouncing as her back arched. Her legs wrapped tight around him, heels smacking the drawers, locking him inside her.

The desk rattled under every pounding thrust. Papers slid off in a flurry. Kate’s nails dug into his shoulders, dragging hard lines down his skin. Her tits bounced wildly, nipples brushing his shirt, aching from the scrape of fabric.

“Harder!” she screamed, moaning so loud it echoed through the walls. “Ohhh fuck me harder, Ramirez!”

He yanked her head back by the hair, forcing her eyes on the wall mirror. Their reflection stared back: Kate’s flushed, sweat-slick body, her breasts swinging, cunt stretched wide around his cock, his body pistoning into hers like he belonged there.

“Look at yourself,” he snarled.

Kate locked eyes with her own reflection, panting, grinning through it. “Look at me using you,” she moaned. “You’re just a cock. My toy.”

The words lit her body like fire. She shoved at his chest, forcing him down into the chair, and mounted him without losing the connection.

Now she moved how she wanted.

She bounced on his cock hard, ass slapping wetly against his thighs, tits swinging, slick splattering onto his lap. Every thrust sent sharp jolts through her clit, her walls clutching tight around him. She threw her head back, moaning, loud and raw.

“Uhhnnn—yes, yes, yesss! You love me riding your cock, don’t you? My good little handler, keeping me full, keeping me wet—ohhh fuckkk!”

Her orgasm ripped through her violently. Her pussy clamped hard, spasming, squirting over his lap in hot gushes. The chair creaked beneath them, soaked under her mess. Her thighs shook, jeans still tangled, cunt gripping him as he groaned, thrusting upward into her convulsing heat.

He came with her, cock pulsing deep, flooding her with hot cum that spilled back out instantly, mixing with her slick and dripping down her thighs. Kate moaned through it, grinding her clit against his pelvis until she squealed, overstimulated but desperate for every last jolt.

Her cries were hoarse now, but she didn’t lower her voice. She was still loud, shameless, her moans echoing through the precinct air like proof of victory.

When she finally slid off him, her thighs sticky, her cunt leaking cum in heavy trails, she tugged her jeans back up. The denim clung immediately, darkening with the wet mess beneath. Her blouse buttoned tight across her still-heaving chest, nipples pressing through the fabric like they couldn’t forget.

Ramirez leaned back, chest heaving, sweat dampening his collar, staring at her like she was something wild he couldn’t leash.

Kate smirked, tossing her jacket over her shoulder, hair mussed, face glowing. “Thanks for the fuck,” she said, voice casual, dismissive. “I needed that.”

She walked out without a glance back, thighs slick inside her jeans, every step reminding her she’d left him used, dripping, undone. For once, she wasn’t his asset.

She was the one in control.

And she loved it.

Chapter Text

She was back at the gallery this time instead of the apartment.

The gallery owner opened the door with that same effortless charm, the kind that seemed rehearsed and yet undeniably real. His smile pulled her inside as surely as his hand at the small of her back, guiding, controlling, claiming her before either of them had spoken more than a word. Kate’s stomach knotted tight, not with dread but with sharp, liquid heat, her core pulsing before she’d even set her coat on the rack.

Her silk coat slid from her shoulders in a whisper, revealing the black dress she’d chosen deliberately—thin enough to show the outline of her nipples, cut close enough to frame her breasts, her waist, her hips like she’d been sewn into it. Every line of her body was on display, and she wanted it that way.

She hadn’t worn panties. Not this time.

Because she’d known.

Because she wanted him.

Her nipples pressed hard against the thin fabric, so stiff they ached, every step across the marble floor making them scrape and pulse against the dress. The air was cool, but she felt flushed everywhere, her cunt throbbing wetly, slick already starting to roll between her thighs as she followed him deeper into the space. Empty canvases loomed over them, shadows stretching long across the polished floor, and Kate thought, This isn’t the case anymore. This is me. This is mine.

“Wine?” he asked, lifting a bottle, already uncorked.

Kate shook her head slowly, her lips curling in a faint, dangerous smile. “You know what I came here for.”

Her voice came out huskier than she’d meant it, already edged with the pulse between her legs.

She perched herself on his desk, silk hiking high as she crossed her legs, the hem slipping to expose bare thigh. She spread them slowly, deliberately, the fabric parting high enough that he had to know she was naked underneath. His gaze dropped instantly, dark and hot, his hunger undisguised.

“I do,” he said softly.

He stepped between her knees, and his fingers trailed up the inside of her thigh, slow and deliberate. Her body betrayed her instantly—her legs fell open further, her folds swollen, slick and glistening in the low light. His knuckles grazed higher until she felt his heat brush just shy of her clit.

Kate bit her lip. Touch me, just touch me, I’m already soaked.

“You’re soaked,” he murmured, lips curling. “Like you’ve been waiting for me.”

Her cheeks burned, but she didn’t flinch. “I have.”

The words startled her—an admission she shouldn’t make, not as a cop, not even as an escort. But it thrilled her to say it, to give him that truth, to let herself collapse further into need.

His mouth crushed hers suddenly. A hard kiss, lips bruising, his hand on her jaw to keep her still. She moaned against him, helpless, pliant. His other hand shoved her dress aside and cupped her cunt through the flimsy lace she’d teased herself into earlier. It was already soaked through, and when he pushed the lace aside and slid two fingers inside at once, she nearly screamed into his mouth.

Her pussy clamped down hard, greedy, as he curled them perfectly, grinding against her inner walls. Kate’s whole body lurched forward, breasts heaving against his chest, nipples stabbing painfully through fabric.

“Ohhh—God—yes—”

Her moan echoed up into the gallery’s high ceiling, shameless and raw.

“More,” she begged when he pulled back, her voice cracking. “Please, more—don’t stop—”

His belt clattered against the desk. She gasped at the sound, heart leaping, and then his cock was free—thick, veined, flushed dark. He stroked it once through her folds, smearing himself with her wetness, and then thrust into her in a single, claiming motion.

Kate’s back arched violently, her mouth dropping open. “Ohhhhhh—fuck, yes.”

Her cunt clenched around him like it had been waiting, sucking him in, pulsing tight with every inch he filled. Her nails raked down his shoulders, leaving lines, pulling him closer, deeper.

The desk shook beneath them, papers scattering, a pen rolling away, but she didn’t care. She wanted the ruin. She wanted to be fucked through it.

“Take it,” he grunted, his thrusts rough, powerful, pulling moans out of her with each stroke. “Take every inch.”

“Yes—yes, harder—fuck me harder,” Kate gasped, her hair spilling wild around her face, breasts bouncing hard against the silk of her dress.

He yanked the top down, exposing her tits. Nipples flushed, tight, aching, begging. His mouth latched onto one, sucking hard, teeth dragging until she cried out sharp. His other hand twisted the other nipple cruelly, perfectly, sparks shooting from her chest straight down into her cunt.

Her orgasm hit like a tidal wave. No warning. No buildup. Just violent release.

Her pussy seized around him, squeezing so hard it almost hurt. Her clit throbbed as hot wetness gushed out of her, squirting across his thighs, soaking the desk beneath her ass.

“Ohhhhh—fuuuck—”

Her voice cracked, high and broken, and she shuddered through it, trembling, spasming, her juices dripping down her thighs in messy streaks.

But he didn’t stop.

He spun her effortlessly, bent her forward over the desk. Papers crumpled under her cheek, her tits flattening painfully against the cold wood. His cock shoved back inside from behind with no pause, pounding deep, relentless.

Kate moaned into the surface, muffled, her body bucking helplessly with each thrust.

Then silk whipped free. His tie.

He caught her wrists in a single motion, dragging them high above her head and binding them tight. The silk bit deep into her skin, looping around until her circulation tingled, until every pull reminded her she was trapped. She tested it once, instinctive, tugging hard. The knot held. She shivered. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight. Couldn’t do anything but take what he gave her. God, I’m bound, I’m his, I can’t stop it—I don’t even want to.

“Do you trust me?” he growled, hot breath in her ear, his hips slamming forward so hard her ass clapped back against him. The sound cracked through the gallery like applause.

“Yes,” she sobbed, her voice breaking, her eyes squeezed shut as her nipples dragged painfully across the cold wood of the desk. “I trust you—I want it—please—oh God, please—”

His arm curled around her throat, strong, firm, coiling until she could barely breathe. The pressure was exquisite, terrifying, dizzying. Each thrust jolted her forward, deeper against the desk, his cock spearing her harder, rougher, until her eyes watered. Bright stars flashed across her vision. Her body shook violently, pleasure and panic indistinguishable.

“Choke me harder,” she gasped, words muffled against the desk, voice ragged and breaking, half air, half prayer.

He obeyed.

The tie held her wrists pinned tight. His forearm pressed cruelly against her throat, cutting her air to thin scraps. The loss of oxygen blurred the room into a dizzy haze, but every thrust was sharper, every sensation doubled, her pussy seizing on him like it wanted to keep him forever.

Her voice collapsed into a strangled moan, raw and broken, her mouth wide but unable to pull in breath. Her cunt betrayed her control completely—it convulsed hard, violent spasms rippling through her walls, milking his cock.

Hot jets sprayed out of her, uncontrollable, wild. Her orgasm ripped through her body like lightning. She squirted in pulses across the desk, soaking his thighs, splattering papers, dripping heavy onto the marble floor in obscene streams.

Her scream tore out of her chest anyway, guttural, hoarse, raw—half silenced by his grip on her throat. The sound echoed through the gallery, bouncing against the walls, twisted into something primal and feral.

Her body was ruin already. Sweat poured down her back, streaks of cum smeared down her inner thighs, her wrists burned under the bite of silk, her nipples rubbed raw against the unforgiving wood. But she loved it. Loved the destruction. Loved the helplessness. Loved how she wasn’t Kate the detective anymore, wasn’t even Kate the escort—she was just body, just holes, just sensation and need, collapsing under wave after wave of relentless pleasure.

This is what I am now. Not control. Not purpose. Just this. Just being used, undone, destroyed, and loving every second of it.

They fucked everywhere.

First against the wall beneath a massive canvas—its splashes of color looming over her like witnesses. He shoved her back hard enough that the frame rattled, his hands gripping her thighs, lifting her so her legs wrapped tight around his waist. Her ass bounced against the plaster with every thrust, the sharp edges of the frame digging into her shoulder blades as he pounded her. Kate’s head lolled back, hair dragging the wall, moans echoing sharp and high. Her breasts bounced wildly, nipples stiff and raw from his earlier attention, dragging across his shirt as she clung to him. She came suddenly, violently, nails clawing at his shoulders as slick gushed down over his cock, dripping between their bodies, spattering the floor.

Then he dragged her down to the marble. The cold hit like fire—her bare back flattened to stone that leeched the heat from her flushed skin. She gasped at the contrast, nipples painfully hard where they pressed to the surface. He knelt between her legs, spreading her wide, and slammed into her again. Each thrust ground her spine against the unyielding floor, every nerve sparking with the mixture of pain and heat. Her thighs trembled, heels slipping on the slick surface, squeaking as she kicked for leverage. Her moans echoed off the gallery walls, sharp and obscene in the cavernous space. When she came this time, she squirted hard, hot streams splashing against her own stomach and pooling on the stone beneath her ass, mixing with sweat, his precum, her cum. The marble was soaked, streaked with their mess.

He wasn’t finished.

He hauled her to the velvet couch in the corner, pushing her forward so she braced on her elbows, her tits flattening into the cushions. He spread her ass wide with rough hands, spit once between her cheeks, then pushed in—thick cock stretching her ass until she cried out, voice breaking with pain that quickly blurred into feral pleasure. He set the pace brutal, dragging her back onto him with both fists gripping her hips. The velvet burned her knees as she scrambled for leverage, her breasts swinging beneath her, nipples brushing the couch with each violent thrust. She screamed with every stroke, raw, guttural, the sound torn from her lungs.

And then the mirror.

He propped it up deliberately where she couldn’t avoid it, tilting her head by her hair so her eyes stayed open. She saw it all—the wild flush on her face, lips swollen from kissing, mouth slack from endless cries; her tits bouncing, shiny with sweat, nipples red and raw from teeth; her wrists still bound, tugging against the silk tie with every convulsion; her body jerking with climax after climax, pussy and ass both leaking cum down her thighs in glistening rivulets. Her eyes glazed in the reflection, tears streaking her cheeks, her body reduced to pure, obscene reaction.

By the fourth orgasm she was wrecked—slick pouring from her cunt, dripping down onto her thighs, cum pooling beneath her wherever they moved. Her breasts were covered in red marks, nipples too sensitive to touch without making her sob. Her wrists burned from the tie, skin raw from struggling against it. Her whole body trembled, a living ruin.

And she loved it.

Loved the destruction. Loved how he reduced her into nothing but body and sound, a creature of moans, squirts, spasms, submission. Loved that every ache and every mark meant she had surrendered deeper, further, until there was no Kate the detective, no Kate the escort—just Kate the fuck-toy, undone in every sense.

Her body was shaking, nerves raw, thighs slick, cunt and ass dripping mess onto velvet and stone. She was sprawled on her side now, legs twitching, breasts heaving, nipples so sensitive that even the brush of air made her whimper. Her hair clung in damp strands to her flushed face. The tie still bound her wrists, the silk cutting faint ridges into her skin. She looked ruined. She felt ruined. And she wanted more.

He shoved back into her again from behind, this time with a punishing rhythm, cock hammering into her soaked pussy, wetness spraying with every slap of his hips. Kate screamed into the cushions, muffled, but loud enough to echo off the gallery walls like a chorus. Each thrust sent her tits bouncing violently, nipples dragging painfully against velvet. Her pussy clenched reflexively, greedy, even as she thought, I can’t take more—I can’t—fuck, I can, I need it, I need it.

Her body betrayed her again, orgasm tearing through her, violent spasms squeezing his cock, hot gush splattering between her thighs, soaking both of them. She sobbed with the intensity, voice ragged, body limp but still pulsing, still milking him greedily.

And then, in that frenzy, it happened.

He shoved deep one last time, grinding her chest into the couch, cock jerking inside her. His mouth grazed her ear, his groan low and guttural, thick with release. Hot spurts flooded her, thick and heavy, spilling deep into her womb.

But the name that fell from his lips wasn’t hers.

It was the first victim’s.

Kate froze mid-spasm. Her pussy was still fluttering around him, still leaking mess down her thighs, still milking every drop of his cum—but her blood went cold. Her breath caught, sharp and shallow. The pleasure still wracked her body, but horror cut through it like ice.

“What did you say?” she whispered, her voice muffled against velvet, trembling with shock.

He stilled. His cock still buried deep, twitching inside her, slick and cum smeared over both their thighs. He didn’t move. His eyes flickered—something dark, something wrong.

Then he muttered, almost to himself:

“That lipstick… it looks better on you than it did on her corpse.”

The words cut through her like a blade.

Her blood turned to ice.

He was the monster.

Her cunt was still fluttering from orgasm, but her heart seized. The monster. I’ve been fucking the monster, taking him into me again and again, soaking him into my body like worship—and he was the one. The killer.

The killer lunged for the desk, knife flashing silver. Kate stumbled back, tits heaving, cum still dripping from her cunt down her trembling thighs, wrists still bound with the silk tie. She barely dodged the first slash—hot air whispering past her nipple—but the second cut deep across her arm. Pain flared, sharp and wet, blood welling fast and running down to streak her breast. The red mingled with the sticky sheen of cum already glistening there, a grotesque painting across her skin.

“Kate!”

The voice cracked like a whip.

The door banged open. Ramirez stormed in, gun raised, eyes locking on the scene—Kate naked, bloodied, slick thighs quivering, the gallery owner still hard, cock dripping her cum as he brandished the knife.

For a moment the whole tableau hung in the air: Kate spread and ruined, the killer still erect, Ramirez’s face twisting between fury and something darker as he took it all in.

Then it exploded.

The killer spun, faster than thought, and drove the knife into Ramirez’s gut. The sound was wet, obscene—like flesh tearing, like the same noise Kate’s pussy had made when it squirted all over the marble floor minutes earlier. Ramirez’s body lurched, mouth open in a gasp, blood spurting hot over the front of Kate’s thighs where she staggered too close. The warmth of it splashed her skin, mixing with her own slick, a shocking, burning counterpoint to the cool air against her nipples.

He fired anyway.

BANG.

The shot cracked through the gallery, echoing between the canvases. The bullet slammed into the killer’s chest, blooming red across his shirt. He stumbled, eyes wide—but didn’t drop the knife. Ramirez fell. He sagged to his knees, crimson spilling between his fingers, pooling at his boots, as Kate’s cunt clenched reflexively, traitorously, at the sheer violence of it.

Her whole body was trembling—blood, cum, sweat, all sliding together down her thighs. Ramirez was gasping wetly, still alive but fading fast. The killer swayed, chest bleeding, knife slick in his fist, cock still half-hard and glistening with her.

Kate’s eyes darted to the shattered wine glass. She lunged.

The jagged stem punched into his throat with a sickening squelch. Blood sprayed hot and thick, coating her chest, dripping down to her nipples, running over her stomach in rivers that joined the cum still leaking from between her legs.

Kate stood naked above him, chest heaving, nipples hard, body trembling from violence and climax alike. She looked down at his twitching corpse, then at Ramirez gasping and bleeding out on the floor.

Inside, she felt no horror. No grief. No guilt.

Only the raw memory of how his cock had used her, how her body had begged for it, how she’d fucked the killer and survived.

A woman who had fucked death and lived to tell it.

Chapter Text

The funeral unfolded on a gray morning that seemed too perfect to be anything but scripted. A mist hung low over the cemetery, damp and clinging, blurring the rows of headstones like smudged ink. Uniforms darkened with moisture, polished shoes sank into softened earth. The coffin—Ramirez’s coffin—sat draped in the flag, a centerpiece of grief surrounded by wreaths and silence.

The city turned out. Detectives in dress blues, brass shining in the front row, even politicians sniffing opportunity in death. Words swirled around her—hero, sacrifice, legacy—but Kate heard none of it. She stood stiff at the front, cap brim shadowing her eyes, her uniform starched to perfection. The jacket hugged her shoulders so tightly it felt like armor. No one could see the ridges still faintly etched into her wrists from the silk tie. No one could see the bandage on her arm under the sleeve where the knife had cut her. No one could smell the ghost of cum and blood that still lingered on her skin no matter how many showers she took.

The chaplain spoke. The captain followed. Ramirez was called dedicated, relentless, fearless. The sanitized version. The only version that could be spoken here. No one mentioned his temper. No one mentioned the way his hands had dug into her hips in his office, the sound of her moans swallowed into the filing cabinets. Those were hers alone now, secrets heavier than dirt.

When the rifles cracked their salute, she didn’t flinch. She stared straight ahead, jaw hard, spine rigid. The sound thundered across the cemetery, but it didn’t pierce her. She felt nothing. She showed nothing.

Later, in the quiet of his office, she lingered. The room still smelled of him—cologne, cigarettes, stale coffee. His desk was a shrine of order, papers lined neatly, case notes stacked, sketches tucked into files. She let her fingers ghost over the wood, over the spot where he had bent her forward, fucked her raw between assignments. The image threatened to drag her under, but she forced it down.

And then she found it. Buried in his files, careful but damning: notes about her. Not explicit, but sharp enough to cut. References to her cover assignments. To the men she had serviced. His handwriting—tight, clipped—wondering aloud if Kate Beckett was still undercover, or if she was drifting too far into craving the very work meant only as cover. And in the margin, a notation about the gallery: a face from surveillance, blurred but familiar. Ramirez had circled it. He must have recognized the client. That was why he’d gone. Why he’d stormed in just in time to keep her alive.

Her pulse jumped. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. But her hands stayed steady. One by one, she slid the pages free, folded them smooth, tucked them into her bag. No hesitation.

That night, in the loft, she burned them. The lighter flame licked at the edges, blackening, curling, until the pages collapsed into ash. She watched them dissolve, the smoke rising and twisting, carrying his suspicion into nothing. By dawn, there would be no trace. Ramirez had died a hero, and she would not let him speak from the grave.

Internal Affairs descended within days, their dark suits a sudden infection in the precinct. They combed Ramirez’s files, asked pointed questions, dissected the timeline. Kate answered with precision, voice low, eyes damp but steady. She told them Ramirez had tracked the gallery owner, that he had connected the dots, gone after him alone. She told them he had saved her life, that she had finished the job when he fell. Her story was clean, smooth, airtight.

The investigators found nothing else. The narrative was too neat, too noble, too palatable. The media ate it whole. Detective Ramirez—fallen hero. Detective Beckett—survivor, avenger.

Photos appeared in the papers: Kate in uniform, expression solemn but proud, standing beside the captain. Headlines praised her bravery. Colleagues clapped her shoulder, murmured, “He’d be proud of you.” She nodded, smiled where required. Played the role flawlessly. No one noticed that her smiles never touched her eyes.

They called her a hero now. But beneath the uniform, beneath the medals and headlines, Kate knew she was something else entirely. When she looked at her reflection and saw not the solemn detective the papers praised, but the woman who had fucked the killer, who had finished him with broken glass, who had burned the evidence of her own appetites.

When the cameras were gone, when the precinct noise quieted, she lay awake in the loft. The itch rose again. Not grief. Not guilt. Something darker, sharper, more insistent.

Then Castle came home.

The loft felt the same—familiar, safe, filled with the same warm lighting and shelves of books, the smell of coffee and paper and takeout containers—but something between them had shifted. He was back at her side on cases, the banter still there, the rhythm between them as sharp as ever when they were standing over bodies, chasing leads. The professional spark survived untouched.

But at home, in the quiet, the spark faltered. Their love life had become a kind of ritual—something she did, not something she wanted. She let him touch her, let him slide into her at night, and she played the part she had once lived so easily. But the heat wasn’t there. Not for her. Not anymore.

She thought of it as brushing her teeth: expected, necessary, part of being married. And yet, while his arms wrapped around her, while he whispered that he loved her, her mind strayed. To marble floors and velvet couches. To silk ties biting into her wrists. To Ramirez’s hands pinning her down. To the killer’s cock flooding her as he whispered a murdered woman’s name.

She felt guilty. She hated herself for it. But the truth burned in her veins every time she lay under Castle’s steady, gentle rhythm: she didn’t want gentle anymore. She wanted the ache, the ruin, the destruction that had undone her in that gallery.

Castle was still her partner. Still her husband. Still the man who believed in her without hesitation.

But the woman he touched in the dark wasn’t the same one the world thought she was.

And the itch inside her hadn’t gone away.

Chapter Text

The loft was quiet without Castle off to a convention this time and gone for another two days. His bookshelves lined the walls, his desk cluttered with scribbled notes for another novel he’d never finish without her teasing him into focus, his jacket slung carelessly over a chair. All the familiar touches of their life together surrounded her, anchors to the world of marriage and love. Yet Kate stood in front of the mirror, tying the sash of her trench coat tight, and felt none of it.

Underneath, she was dressed to sin. Black lace lingerie hugged her body like a secret: bra cupping her breasts so they swelled, panties cut high enough to show the curve of her ass, stockings and garters leading down to heels that forced her hips into a sway. She adjusted the coat so it concealed everything, leaving only the faintest suggestion of the decadence hidden beneath.

Her phone buzzed with the confirmation. The booking was set. He lived across town in one of those anonymous apartments that could belong to anyone—a banker, a lawyer, a man whose neighbors never knew what he brought home after dark.

Kate slipped her phone into her coat pocket, cast one last look around the loft, and left.

The cab ride felt like foreplay. She sat back against the seat, legs crossed, the trench coat parting just enough to let her bare thighs breathe against the cool air. Every bump in the road sent a subtle tremor up between her legs, feeding the itch that had been clawing at her for the months since Ramirez’s funeral. Her reflection in the cab window showed a woman calm, poised, but her lips curved at the edges, betraying the hunger building beneath the surface.

By the time she reached the address, her nipples were hard under the lace, her cunt slick, the trench coat sticking faintly to her skin. She paid the driver with steady hands, climbed out, and walked with purpose up the steps to his building.

Her knuckles tapped the door once, twice. A pause, then it opened.

He stood there: tall, lean, the same sly smirk from his photo. His gaze swept her from head to toe, lingering on her lips, her legs, the faint part of the coat at her thigh.

Without a word, Kate stepped forward. The coat slid off her shoulders in one smooth motion, pooling at her heels as she crossed the threshold.

Black lace glistened in the hallway light, her breasts framed, nipples beading through the fabric, her panties already damp, the stockings hugging every curve of her legs. She didn’t flinch under his stare. She reveled in it, in the sharp breath he drew at the sight of her.

She leaned in, lips curving into a wicked smile, her voice a husky whisper.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Kate. Ready to play?”

The door clicked shut behind her, sealing her away from Castle’s loft, from the safe warmth of marriage, from every mask she wore in daylight. Here, she was free. Here, she was hunger. Here, she was exactly who she wanted to be.

And she knew as the man’s hands reached for her, as his eyes devoured her, that the itch inside her would never again go unanswered.