Description

Monica hadn't been touched in the way she craved in years.

Not admired — that happened daily.

Not complimented — she heard those like passing wind.

She needed something heavier.

Something that left her still.

She wore power like a second skin. Silk blouses that barely contained her full breasts. Pencil skirts that wrapped tightly around her hips like control itself.

And yet, under all that style — beneath the curves and confidence — she was tired of holding herself together.

She wanted someone who wouldn't praise her, but bind her.

Someone who didn't melt at her commands but tested them.

That someone arrived in the form of Malik — a security trainer with arms like walls and a presence that made crowded rooms shrink.

She met him during a corporate retreat she was forced to attend.

She didn't expect her first memory of him to be the exact moment she bent over a conference table to reach her laptop, and he murmured from behind:

"You bend like you're used to being watched."

She turned sharply — and he didn't flinch. Just watched her body the way a man does when he's not afraid to imagine more.

It wasn't flirtation. It was assessment.

She could feel it in his silence.

Later that week, they shared coffee, then silence, then one simple moment in the security demo room — a rope in his hands, her wrists extended out of curiosity.

And when he pulled it gently around her arms, firm but not tight…

Her thighs clenched.

And she couldn't stop thinking about the way he looked at her curves while he tied her down.