The library breathed around him, slow and ancient.
Moonlight bled through the tall east windows in silver sheets, cutting across the Persian rug and striping the endless shelves of leather-bound books.
The air was thick with the scent of old paper, wax polish, and something darker--Melissa's lingering musk from nights before, soaked into the leather chair and the very grain of the oak desk.
It clung to the back of Phei's throat like smoke.
He stood motionless in the corner where two towering bookcases met, swallowed by shadow so complete it felt like drowning.
From here he could see everything: the massive desk dominating the center of the room, the high-backed chair turned slightly away from him, the black screen of the curved monitor waiting like a blind eye. The cheval mirror still stood at its obscene angle, reflecting the empty seat in a slice of moonlight.
He closed his eyes, and the memory painted her there anyway.
Melissa, naked, thighs spread wide over the arms of the chair, spine arched, sweat sliding down the groove of her back. The wet glint of her cunt in the mirror. The way her fingers had plunged and curled and dripped.
His cock remembered too (thickening, pulsing against the seam of his jeans until the teeth of the zipper bit into him). A low throb started, steady and insistent, pre-come already wetting the cotton of his boxers.
Phei dragged in a slow breath through his nose and forced it out through his mouth. Again. Again.
Shoulders rolling back, spine straightening until the line from crown to tailbone felt like steel. He imagined the weight of real power settling on him the way the sites had described: not loud, not aggressive, just inevitable.
A quiet gravity that made other people orbit without realizing they'd already surrendered.
He practiced it now in the dark.
Feet planted shoulder-width apart. Weight low. Chin level, eyes half-lidded. The kind of stillness that looked lazy but could explode into motion without warning. His hands hung loose at his sides, fingers relaxed--predator calm.
He let the Charm Speech coil in his chest and throat, warm and humming, ready to pour into every word when the moment came.
Don't flinch. Don't apologize. Don't ask.
Own the room before she ever steps into it.
12:43 AM.
Minutes.
His pulse was a war drum, but he kept his breathing even, kept his body perfectly, terrifyingly still. The erection ached, hot and heavy, but he welcomed the discomfort; let it sharpen him.
Twelve forty-four.
Then a faint click of a door somewhere.
Soft footsteps--bare feet on marble, the whisper of silk against skin.
Phei's heart slammed once, hard, then settled into a predator's rhythm: slow, deep, patient.
The library door eased open.
First came her shadow--long, liquid, stretching across the floor like spilled ink as the hallway's dim sconce backlit her.
It slid over the rug, over the desk, over the chair that would soon hold her naked body again. Then the scent: that spiced perfume now heated with sleep and anticipation, threaded with the sharper note of fresh arousal already blooming between her thighs.
She stepped inside, robe hanging loose and open, moonlight catching the bare curve of one breast, the shadowed dip of her waist. The door clicked shut behind her.
The room swallowed her silhouette.
And Phei waited in the dark, hard, silent, and finally (terrifyingly) ready.
Melissa stepped fully into the moonlight and the sight punched the air from Phei's lungs.
Forty-five years old and she looked like sin poured into living skin.
The black silk robe hung open, useless, framing her body instead of covering it. Heavy, perfect breasts swayed with each breath, nipples already drawn tight and dark, the color of merlot against pale cream.
A thin sheen of anticipation glistened along her collarbones, slid down the deep valley between her tits, and disappeared beneath the silk. Her waist cut in sharp, then flared into hips that could make a man beg.
The robe parted lower, revealing the neat, trimmed strip of dark hair above her cunt (already swollen, lips visibly flushed even in the silver light, a single bead of wetness catching the moon like a jewel before it slipped down the inside of one toned thigh).
Her legs were endless. Strong calves, sleek thighs that flexed as she walked, the faint shimmer of older stretch marks only making the skin look more expensive, like marble veined with gold.
Every step made her ass shift beneath the silk--round, high, the kind of curve that looked soft until you remembered she could probably crush a man's skull between those thighs if she wanted to.
Her face.
Christ, her face.
High cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. Full mouth painted a bruised red that looked wet even when it wasn't. Eyes were dark, predatory, that could strip flesh from bone in daylight and were now heavy-lidded with raw hunger. Her hair was a black waterfall, tousled from the pillow, clinging to damp skin at her temples and throat.
She moved like she owned gravity itself. Shoulders back, tits thrust forward, hips rolling with lazy arrogance.
The robe slipped off one shoulder entirely and she didn't bother fixing it. Why would she?
She was the most dangerous thing in any room she walked into, and she knew it.
Melissa crossed to the desk in three unhurried strides, let the robe slither down her arms and pool on the floor like discarded skin.
Naked. Unashamed.
Moonlight licked every inch of her: the soft underswell of her breasts, the faint silver lines on her lower belly from carrying a child once upon a time, the way her cunt lips parted slightly when she breathed, slick and ready, already flowering open for whatever depravity she'd queued up tonight.
She dropped into Harold's chair with a slow, feline stretch--back arching, arms overhead, breasts lifting high--then let her thighs fall wide, knees hooking over the armrests exactly the way Phei remembered.
One hand drifted down her body, nails dragging red trails over her own skin, and settled between her legs without hesitation.
Two fingers slid through her slit, came away gleaming, and she brought them to her mouth--tasting herself with a low, filthy hum that vibrated straight into Phei's cock.
She clicked the monitor awake with her free hand.
Blue-white light bathed her, turning sweat into liquid mercury on her throat and chest. Her nipples tightened harder. Her cunt visibly clenched, another slow trickle of arousal slipping free to darken the leather beneath her.
Melissa leaned back, spread wider, and smiled at whatever appeared on the screen.
The perfect, untouchable goddess of every sleepless night Phei had ever endured.
And tonight, she was going to be his.