She smirks. “I thought you liked this game.”
Ethan stiffens. She watches the shift in him, her eyes gleaming. A slow, cruel amusement unfurls inside her as she blows a cool breath over his exposed chest, giggling when his muscles twitch in response.
“I’m here for business,” he says roughly. “Name your price. Whatever you want—money, cars, real estate. Just drop the damn case.”
Mira's fingers trace his jaw, tilting his face up to hers. His breath stutters, and his pulse races beneath her touch. He wants to resist. She feels the tension coiling under his skin. But the moment her nails graze his throat, he swallows hard, his eyes betraying something darker—something desperate.
She watches him for a beat, then glances at the clock on the wall.
"The office closes by seven," she murmurs. "And you've come past it. We don’t talk about work post-seven… do we?"
Ethan clenches his jaw. She is difficult to please and harder to distract, so if he has to act, it must be quick. His gaze drops to the gold choker circling her throat, the ring pendant resting in the hollow of her collarbone.
He smirks.
She still holds onto it.
After everything.
“Looks good on you, Mira.”
She leans in, toying with a loose curl. Her scent of spiced vanilla and something headier clouds his reasoning. His fingers flex uselessly against the silk binding his wrists to the chair. He notices the change in her. She is no longer the meek, wide-eyed girl he once owned.
Mira unhooks the chain from her neck, sliding the ring free.
Ethan watches, intrigued, as she slips it onto her middle finger. Then, she raises it between them—and points the finger at him, with her smouldering gaze. She reaches for the gold chain, and slips it around his neck, fastening it with a quiet click.
A collar in disguise.
“Comfortable now?” she asks, tilting her head.
His jaw tightens. “Mira.” His voice sounds like a warning.
She hums, dragging her bare foot up the inside of his calf. The chair scrapes against the floor as she slowly pulls him closer. He is breathing heavily now, his wrists straining against the tie that binds them. Mira perches on the desk, legs crossed, watching him struggle.
“You always talked a big game, Ethan. “The powerful, ruthless man who never bows”, huh?
He exhales sharply through his nose, nostrils flaring. “This isn’t—”
“Shh.” Mira was in no rush. She takes her time, watching the way his muscles tense and tremble, and how his skin burns under her touch. She isn’t cruel—no, she is far worse.
Cruelty is easy. This is patience. And patience is devastating.
She presses her foot higher on his thigh and then down, her sole grinding against the stiff, aching bulge in his pants.
Ethan jerks, sucking in a harsh breath.
Mira laughs wickedly. “Oh… I felt that.”
She doesn’t stop. It is a slow, humiliating grind. Controlled. Precise. It is designed to break him.
He grits his teeth, his head tipping back.
“You were always easy,” she muses, dragging her foot away. “So quick… to fuck me. So quick to… use me.”
Ethan exhales through his nose, sharp and controlled. His arms flex against the restraints.
“Pathetic.” Mira only clicks her tongue.
His throat bobs.
Mira bites her lower lip, a sly curve teasing the corner of her mouth.
“I used to worship you.” She leans in, her breath fanning his lips. “I used to look at you like you hung the stars. And you? You treated me like a toy. Like a warm hole to fill.”
Ethan shudders. “Mira.”
“But guess what?” She trails a single toe down his chest, scraping over his nipple, watching his muscles twitch. "I thought this would be harder. That you'd fight me."
"Untie me," he grits out, jaw tight.
She smirks. Oh, that’s adorable. He still thinks he has leverage.
"Careful," she purrs, pressing down just enough to make his breath stutter. "Wouldn’t want to make a mess in those expensive pants, would we?"
His fingers twitch uselessly against the binds. "Mira—"
She tsks and lifts her foot—only to slap it back down over his hard length. The impact is controlled. Measured. Humiliating.
He groans, his head tipping back, body strung tight.
Mira chuckles, flexing her toes, dragging them along his clothed shaft with maddening slowness. She presses down harder, forcing another choked sound from him. His glare is dark, frustration and a familiar predatory hunger swirling in his eyes. "You're enjoying this too much."
She grins. "Oh, baby, I haven't even started."
Her foot moves again—teasing, barely touching. The silk binding his wrists keeps him from reaching down, from shifting, from doing anything but taking it.
"I remember how you used to tease me," she murmurs. “How you'd pin me down and make me beg for it like a desperate little bitch…” She presses a bit harder, circling with the tip of her toes, taunting.
Ethan groans, his hips jerking involuntarily. He is breaking beneath her.
Mira leans in, gripping his jaw between her fingers, nails digging in.
"Say it."
His breath is ragged, muscles straining.
"Say it," she repeats, her voice feeling velvety over steel.
A long pause. The chain around his throat glints under the dim light. His Adam’s apple bobs.
"...Please."
Mira exhales, tilting her head as if considering it.
Then, she leans in, lips barely an inch from his. "Not yet."
She smirks as his whole body trembles. And then, just to make him suffer, she pulls away. Her foot leaves his lap, leaving him hard, aching, utterly fucking wrecked.
She stands, smoothing down her shirt, brushing past him like he’s nothing more than an afterthought.
"You'll beg prettier than that before I’m done with you," she commands.
And god help him—he's never wanted her more. Ethan tries to speak, to bargain, to do something—because he knows if she lets him go now, he’ll walk out of here with nothing but the weight of her control wrapped around his throat like the chain she just put there.
But Mira doesn’t allow hesitation.
Then, without warning, she reaches up, fingers brushing the silk at his wrists. His fingers curl into fists against the silk binding him. She runs her freshly manicured nail along his forearm, pausing at the knot. Savouring.
She leans in so close that he can feel her breath ghost over his lips. And then, she undoes the silk binding his wrists slowly. His hands fall to his lap, flexing, shaking slightly. Mira basks in it, drinking in the sight of him—this man who commanded rooms, shattered opponents, and bent the world to his will.
Ethan exhales, body thrumming with unspent tension. He looks up at her, eyes stormy. "Mira—"
Mira grips his jaw again, pressing her thumb against his lower lip, silencing him. She sits back, completely at ease, watching him with the same unshaken confidence she’s held from the start.
“Get out.”
One word. Cold. Detached.
His whole body goes rigid.
For a moment, he doesn’t move. He just sits there with his fists clenched—like a predator caged.
She turns away, already dismissing him.
"Lock the door on your way out," she adds indifferently, already moving toward her desk like the past half-hour was nothing more than an amusing distraction.
Ethan swallows hard. His legs feel unsteady as he pushes himself up, his entire body feeling wrecked, ruined, and undone. Still, he forces himself to stand, to grab his shirt with hands that tremble far too much for his liking. He makes it to the door, his fingers hesitantly wrapping around the handle too tightly.
The door clicks shut behind him.
Mira finally exhales, running her fingers through her hair.
She glances at the clock.
A slow, satisfied smirk curls her lips.
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