The clock on the wall of the design studio ticked toward 2:00 AM. The towering skyscrapers of Mumbai were still sparkling outside, but inside Khurana Enterprises, the only light came from the glow of Myra's computer screen and a single desk lamp
Myra's eyes were bloodshot. She had redrawn the seafront blueprints four times, her hands cramping from the precision work. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Shanaya's smug face and the way Reyansh had let her work be thrown into the trash.
"You're still here."
The deep, rumbling voice made Myra jump. She turned to see Reyansh standing in the doorway. He had discarded his suit jacket, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal his powerful, veined forearms.
"The 'client' demanded new drafts by morning," Myra said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she turned back to her screen. "I wouldn't want to disappoint the future Mrs. Khurana."
Reyansh walked into the room, the scent of his expensive cologne and aged whiskey filling the small space. He didn't stay back. He stood directly behind her chair, leaning over her until his chest was brushing her shoulder.
"She isn't the client, Myra. I am," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.
"Then why did you let her do that?" Myra spun her chair around, her eyes flashing with defiance. "Why let her humiliate me? You told me I was the best. You told me this project was mine."
Reyansh reached out, his hand gripping the arms of her chair, pinning her in place. "Because the world is watching, Princess. If I defend you, they look for reasons why. If I let her treat you like staff, they see a bored socialite and a hardworking architect. It keeps you safe. It keeps us a secret."
"Is that what this is?" Myra laughed bitterly. "Safety? It feels like a prison. You treat me like a queen in the penthouse and a slave in the office."
Reyansh's gaze dropped to her lips. The cold CEO persona was gone, replaced by the dark hunger that only appeared when they were alone. "A slave?" He leaned down, his face inches from hers. "A slave wouldn't be allowed to look at me with such hatred in her eyes."
He reached out, his fingers tracing the high collar of her dress. With a slow, deliberate movement, he unzipped the back just enough to see the faint, fading marks on her shoulder from the gala night.
"Reyansh, the security guards—"
"I turned off the cameras in this wing ten minutes ago," he rasped, his hands sliding up her thighs. "Tonight, you aren't an architect, and I'm not your boss. Tonight, you're just mine."
The drafting table was cold against Myra's skin, but Reyansh's touch was a brand of pure fire. As she lay back among the scattered pens and discarded drafts, the silence of the empty office was broken only by the heavy thrum of her heart.
Reyansh didn't give her time to breathe. His large hand slid up the length of her thigh, his fingers disappearing beneath the hem of her black dress. He found the lace of her underwear and pushed it aside with a ruthless efficiency.
"You're already wet for me, Myra," he growled, his voice a low vibration that seemed to echo in the hollow room. "Even after I was cruel to you today. Even after I let her throw away your work... your body still knows who it belongs to."
"I hate you," she gasped, her fingers digging into his forearms, feeling the hard muscle beneath his rolled-up sleeves.
"I know," he whispered.
He slid a finger inside her, a sharp, deep invasion that made her back arch off the table. Myra let out a shattered moan, her head falling back as she stared at the ceiling tiles, her vision blurring. He moved with a slow, agonizing rhythm, his thumb circling and rubbing against her sensitive core with a precision that drove her to the edge of madness.
"Gasp louder, Princess," he commanded, leaning down to bite the skin of her neck, right above the collar of her dress. "There's no one here to hear you but me. No investors. No Shanaya. Just us."
The sensation was overwhelming—the clinical, cold environment of the office clashing with the raw, primal heat of his touch. He increased the pace, his fingers working her until she was sobbing his name, her legs shaking as she tried to pull him closer.
He was breaking her down, stripping away her anger and replacing it with a desperate, hollow craving that only he could fill. By the time he finally pulled her upright, pinning her between his body and the edge of the desk,
He hadn't even taken off his trousers yet, but he had already conquered her. He looked at her flushed face and swollen lips, a dark, victorious glint in his eyes.
"Now," he rasped, reaching for his belt. "Let's see if you can be as loud when I'm actually inside you."
The shadows of the design studio flickered as Reyansh moved with a predatory hunger. He unbuckled his belt, the sound of his zipper cutting through the silence like a blade. He didn't just want to take her; he wanted to mark the very space where she worked.
He pulled Myra to the edge of the drafting table, her legs dangling as he knelt between them. His eyes were dark, fixated on the wetness staining her lace. Without a word, he stripped the fabric away and buried his face between her thighs.
Myra let out a strangled cry as Reyansh's tongue lashed against her pussy, tasting the sweet, heavy scent of her arousal. He wasn't gentle. He used his teeth to nip at the sensitive folds, making her hips jerk uncontrollably against his mouth. He drank her in, savoring the taste of her juice as if it were the finest wine in his collection.
"You taste like surrender, Myra," he growled against her wet skin, his breath hot and ragged.
He stood up, his massive deck thick and pulsing as he freed it from his trousers. It was a terrifying sight in the dim light of the office, a physical manifestation of his power over her. He didn't use a condom this time; he wanted to feel every inch of her, and he wanted her to feel him.
He gripped her waist, his fingers bruising her skin, and thrust his deck deep inside her pussy in one heavy, bone-deep motion.
The air left Myra's lungs. The sensation of him filling her so completely, so ruthlessly, made her head spin. He began to move—a brutal, rhythmic pounding that rattled the drafting table and sent her pens rolling onto the floor.
"Is this... what the Lead Architect... wanted?" he hissed, his pace increasing until the only sound in the room was the wet slap of their bodies colliding and Myra's broken, high-pitched moans
He fucked her with a primal intensity, claiming her in the middle of his empire. Every thrust was a reminder that no matter what happened in the boardroom, in this moment, he owned her body and soul. He pushed her legs back until her knees were near her shoulders, driving his deck into her until she was sobbing his name, her entire world narrowing down to the heat between her legs and the man who was systematically ruining her.
THE OFFICE IS REELING! 🥵🔥 Reyansh has completely lost his "Ice King" composure. To do this in the design studio... he is truly obsessed!