Elena drifted through the day in a haze of stolen touches and half-spoken promises. The penthouse felt smaller now, corridors narrowing like veins pulsing toward a single heart. She polished the grand piano in the music room until her reflection stared back fractured across black lacquer. Every stroke of the cloth echoed the way Julian's fingers had learned her folds that morning, tentative then sure. She caught her own eyes in the shine and saw a woman changing shape, hunger reshaping bone.
Afternoon sun slanted gold through the skylight above the staircase. She climbed with the silver service on a tray, hips swaying deliberate. The family dined early tonight: Alexander closing a deal in Tokyo via hologram, Victoria at a private auction downtown, Julian locked in a virtual hackathon that bled into evening. The table would be hers alone to clear, hers to linger over.
She set each piece in the butler's pantry, crystal singing soft under her touch. Forks aligned by size, knives gleaming like small swords. The polish tin waited on the lower shelf, lemon oil sharp in the air. She opened it slow, rag dipped generous. The first fork slid between her fingers slick and cool. She rubbed in long strokes, imagining Alexander's cock instead, thick veins under her palm, the weight of him heavy on her tongue.
Heat flared instant. She glanced at the clock: eleven-forty-seven. House silent above. She carried the tray to the long dining table, heels clicked off hours ago. Bare feet now, stockings whispering over parquet. Moonlight poured through the wall of windows, city a scatter of diamonds below.
She worked methodical, fork by fork, spoon by spoon. Each piece received devotion. She bent low over the table, breasts brushing mahogany, nipples peaking against the uniform. The polish scent mingled with her own arousal, sharp and sweet. She spread her stance subtle, skirt riding thighs. Cool air kissed the damp patch on her thong.
Footsteps. Slow, deliberate. Bare feet on wood, heavier than hers. She did not turn. Heart slammed against ribs. Alexander rounded the corner in silk pajama bottoms and nothing else. Chest broad, dusted dark, abs cut sharp under moonlight. He carried a crystal tumbler, amber liquid catching light.
"Still working, Miss Reyes?" Voice low, dangerous velvet.
"Silver tarnishes if neglected, sir." She kept polishing, rag circling slow. Ass presented, back arched.
He approached silent, set the glass on the table with a soft clink. Stood behind her close enough for heat to radiate. "Dedicated."
She felt his gaze trace her legs, the curve where thigh met cheek. He leaned over her, one hand bracing on the table. The other settled on her nape, thumb stroking the fine hairs there. She shivered hard.
"Cold?" he murmured against her ear.
"No, sir." Breathless.
His hand slid down her spine, slow possession. Stopped at the apron bow, tugged gentle. The knot loosened. He peeled the apron away, let it flutter to the floor. Fingers found the zipper at her back, drew it down tooth by tooth. Dress parted like theater curtains.
She wore nothing beneath but the thong and stockings. He exhaled approval. Palms mapped her ribs, cupped her breasts heavy. Thumbs circled nipples until she whimpered. He pinched hard, rolled. Pain-pleasure shot straight to her clit.
"Hands on the table," he ordered.
She obeyed, palms flat on cool wood. He kicked her feet wider. Skirt bunched at her waist. Thong string disappeared between slick lips. He traced it with one finger, tugged. The fabric dragged over her clit, soaked instantly.
"Look at you," he growled. "Dripping for polish duty."
She pushed back shameless, seeking more. He denied, stepping away. She heard the clink of his glass, ice shifting. Then cold, shocking, against her nipple. She gasped, arching. He circled the peak slow, watching it tighten impossibly hard. Switched to the other breast, same torment.
"Stay." He moved behind her again. Ice trailed her spine, melting fast against fevered skin. Down the cleft of her ass, pausing at the thong. He hooked it aside, pressed the cube direct to her entrance. She cried out sharp, hips jerking.
"Too much?"
"More," she begged.
He laughed dark, pushed the ice inside slow. Cold burned, then melted into liquid heat. Water trickled down her thighs mixed with her own flood. He replaced it with two fingers, thick and callused. Curled immediate, stroking her front wall merciless.
She moaned loud, forehead dropping to the table. Silver rattled under her grip. He added a third finger, stretching. Thumb pressed her asshole gentle, circling. She clenched instinctive.
"Relax," he soothed. Thumb breached slow, knuckle deep. Double penetration made her sob with need. He scissored fingers inside her pussy, thumb fucking her ass in counter-rhythm. She rocked between them, chasing the edge.
He withdrew sudden. She whined loss. Then his mouth, hot and sudden on her clit. Tongue lashed brutal, sucking hard. Fingers returned to her pussy, four now, fist almost. She screamed muffled against her arm. He ate her like starvation, beard scraping thighs raw.
Orgasm crashed without warning. She squirted hard, arcs splashing the dining table, silver, his chest. He drank greedy, fingers milking every pulse. When she sagged, he rose, lips glistening.
He turned her rough, lifted her onto the table. Silver scattered, forks chiming like bells. He spread her wide, thong ripped away. Cock sprang free from his bottoms, thick and angry, head purple with need. Veins stood proud along the shaft.
"Watch," he commanded.
She did, eyes locked as he dragged the head through her folds, coating himself. Notched at her entrance, paused. "Beg."
"Please, sir. Fuck me. Fill me."
He thrust deep in one brutal stroke. She screamed, walls stretched to burning. He bottomed out, balls slapping her ass. Held still, letting her adjust. Then withdrew slow, slammed back. Table rocked under them.
He set a punishing pace, hips snapping. Each thrust punched her cervix, pleasure-pain exquisite. She wrapped legs around his waist, heels digging. He gripped her throat light, thumb over pulse.
"Mine," he growled.
"Yes," she gasped. "Yours."
He angled higher, hitting her spot relentless. Second climax built swift, coiling vicious. He sensed it, slowed to torturous grind. She clawed his back, nails raking.
"Come on my cock," he ordered.
She shattered again, pussy clamping vise-tight. He roared, thrust erratic. Hot floods painted her insides, pulse after pulse. He collapsed forward, forehead to hers, both panting.
Minutes stretched. He softened inside her, cum trickling out. He kissed her slow, tender now. Tongue lazy, tasting tears she had not noticed.
"Good girl," he murmured.
He lifted her gentle, carried her to the chaise in the corner. Laid her down, fetched a throw to cover her shaking body. Knelt, kissed her forehead.
"Rest. I'll clean the silver." Smile crooked, almost boyish.
She watched him gather pieces, naked and magnificent, cum still glistening on his thigh. He worked methodical, rag in hand, muscles flexing. When finished, he returned, scooped her up. Carried her to the staff elevator.
"Tomorrow," he promised at her door. Kiss lingering. "Midnight again."
She nodded mute, body humming. He left her at the threshold, door closing soft.
Inside, she stripped slow. Uniform ruined, cum drying on thighs. She left it puddled on the floor. Collapsed into bed naked, sheets cool against fevered skin. Fingers drifted lazy between her legs, spreading his release. She tasted them mixed, salt and power.
Sleep pulled her under. Dreams wove all three now: Alexander's cock deep, Victoria's tongue on her clit, Julian's shy fingers in her ass. She woke twice, coming hard with their names on her lips.
Morning light found silver gleaming on the table, not a streak to betray the night. She smiled secret, touching the faint bruises on her hips. The polish tin sat closed, lemon scent lingering like a kiss.
She rose renewed, uniform fresh. Elevator up. Another day of chores, another layer of want. The coil wound impossibly tight. Midnight waited, patient and hungry.