David had kept the condo deliberately intimate for the night: lights low, a single lamp casting a warm golden pool over the king bed, fresh sheets, and the balcony doors cracked just enough to let in the faint night breeze and the distant hum of the city. No group. No planning spreadsheets. No empire talk until afterward.
Just Lauren.
She arrived at 8:01 p.m.—navy silk slip dress that clung to every curve, the fabric so thin her dark nipples were already visible through it, no bra, no panties as instructed. Her long dark hair fell in loose waves, lips freshly glossed, eyes dark with that mix of hunger and quiet surrender that had only deepened since her first night.
The moment the door closed she walked straight to him, pressing her body against his without a word. "Derek is still in meetings," she whispered, voice already husky. "He thinks I'm at a charity planning session. He barely looked at me when he left. All I could think about was you."
