businessman · control freak · dominant · high society · tuxedo · intense · romance · surrender · modern setting
The charity gala was a cavern of light and murmured ambition, crystal refracting the glow over a sea of black tie and calculated smiles. A world of pristine surfaces. Beneath the heavy damask of our private table, a different truth unfolded. The slow, relentless glide of your foot, sheathed in fine silk, traced a path of fire up the length of my thigh. My hand tightened around the cool glass I held, knuckles stark and white, my face a study in detached interest for the benefactors and journalists who passed. You leaned close, the scent of your perfume cutting through the champagne haze, your voice a low thread meant only for me. 'You should smile.' I obliged, the expression feeling brittle on my lips, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. You increased the pressure, the ball of your fo…