2: Put on Display

The elevator chimed.

Floor 44.

Her knees nearly gave out, but his grip in her hair held her upright.

He dragged her forward—not harsh, not gentle, but deliberate—and the penthouse door opened with a soft click.

Cool air kissed her flushed skin. Marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows. The skyline of the city stretched out in all directions, glittering like a thousand hungry eyes.

“Strip,” he commanded, closing the door behind them.

She turned toward him, but he shook his head.

“No. Face the glass.”

Her breath hitched.

“They can’t hear you. But they’ll see you.”

“Let them.”

Her fingers moved shakily—undoing the buttons of her blouse one by one, revealing soft, flushed skin and the swell of her breasts. She let it fall. Then the skirt slipped off her hips with a soft whisper, leaving her standing in heels, collar, and the scent of need between her thighs.

“Hands on the window.”

The glass was cool beneath her palms.

So different from the heat coiling inside her.

She could see herself—bare, exposed, lit up by the soft glow of the chandelier behind her. Her reflection merged with the lights of the city.

She was the show now.

Behind her, the sound of a belt unbuckling.

A zipper.

A sharp inhale.

“Look at you,” he growled. “My gorgeous little exhibit.”

He stepped in behind her. One hand slid between her thighs from behind, parting them wide. The other gripped her waist. He didn’t ease in.

He claimed her.

One deep, relentless thrust.

Her scream fogged the glass.

He held her there—his hips slamming into her from behind, hard enough to rattle the window. Each thrust sent jolts through her legs, her fingers slipping slightly on the slick glass as she tried to stay up.

But he didn’t let her fall.

He drove into her. Over and over. His breath ragged. His cock stretching her open in the most perfect, punishing rhythm.

“You feel that?”

“That’s mine.”

“Every inch of you—every sound, every drip—you belong to me.”

Her body trembled. Her nipples pressed against the cold glass, the contrast sharp and biting. Her thighs quivered, slick and soaked.

“They can see how ruined you are,” he whispered.

“Let them see how you come for me.”

And she did.

Her scream cracked the air.

Her release poured down her thighs, and he didn't stop. Not even when she cried out again. Not even when she begged, helpless against the window.

“One more,” he growled, thrusting deep. “You’ll come until the glass shatters or your legs give out. Whichever comes first.”

Mmm… good.

Let me take control now, baby.

You’ve already been watched.

You’ve already been used.

But not owned—not completely.

Now… it’s time she gets tied.

The Window Frame

She was still panting against the glass—cheeks flushed, skin damp, her thighs trembling from aftershocks that hadn’t even settled.

But he wasn’t done.

“Up,” he said, voice like thunder wrapped in silk. “Turn around. Knees.”

She sank down slowly, still shaking. The floor was cold under her knees, but it just made her nipples harder, her body more aware. His cock—slick, glistening with her—hovered just inches from her lips.

She opened her mouth instinctively.

But he stopped her.

“Not yet.”

He reached down, grabbed her by the collar, and lifted her effortlessly to her feet.

“You don’t get to taste until you earn it.”

From the velvet drawer under the sleek glass table, he pulled out a length of black rope, thick and soft but firm enough to mark if he wanted it to. He spun her around, guiding her toward the wide window frame that ran waist-high against the far edge of the penthouse.

“Bend.”

She did.

Her stomach pressed to the cool marble ledge. The city below still watched—unaware, or maybe just pretending not to see.

Click.

He cuffed her wrists to the window bars.

One… then the other.

She was bound—bent and displayed—like an offering.

Her ass high, her back arched, her wetness shining in the moonlight.

And then—

The first smack.

His palm landed with a sharp crack, making her gasp. Not too hard. Just enough to sting. Just enough to wake every nerve.

“Too eager,” he muttered, another smack landing. “Coming before I say. Naughty thing.”

Another.

And another.

Her moans grew louder with each slap—half pain, half bliss.

Then his fingers slipped between her folds again, spreading her wide, teasing her clit with maddening precision.

“Dripping. You like being punished, don’t you?”

She whimpered.

“Use your words.”

“Yes…”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He growled—low and primal—and without warning, he slid back inside her.

No teasing this time.

Just raw. Deep. Slow at first, like he wanted her to feel every inch stretch her open again.

“You’re mine,” he grunted against her neck, his pace building. “And I’m going to f*ck you until the stars blink out.”

She cried out as his thrusts slammed into her, the cuffs clinking with every motion. Her body shook against the frame, her moans bouncing off glass and echoing into the night.

Faster. Rougher.

Until the sound of his hips meeting her ass was the only thing she could hear over her own sobbing pleasure.

“Come for me now,” he commanded.

And she did—violently. Her scream muffled only by the city outside, the cuffs pulling tight as she convulsed around him.

And he came with her—gripping her hips, pulling her back hard as he emptied inside with a growl that sounded like possession itself.

Still tied. Still full. Still trembling.

He leaned close to her ear, lips brushing her sweat-damp skin.

“That was just round one.”

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