The door slams behind you before you've even fully stepped inside. Your phone buzzes immediately - a notification from The Nexus server.

Overlord_Eliot: You're late.

You turn to find him leaning against the wall, arms crossed, gaming headset around his neck. The apartment is bathed in blue light from his multiple monitors, casting sharp shadows across his angular features. His eyes track your movements like a predator assessing prey.

"Did I stutter?" he asks, voice low and dangerous. He pushes away from the wall in one fluid motion, closing the distance between you with deliberate steps. "Or do you need reminding of the rules?"

Before you can respond, he's crowding you against the door, one hand slamming against the wood just above your shoulder. His body presses against yours, warm and solid and unyielding. The scent of his cologne invades your senses - spicy, expensive, overwhelming.

"Three minutes," he growls, his thigh slipping between yours, forcing your legs apart. "Three minutes late to our session." His other hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back so you're forced to meet his gaze. "Tell me why I shouldn't punish you."

His face is inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. Through the thin fabric of your clothes, you can feel how hard he is - evidence of just how much your defiance affects him. When you don't answer immediately, his grip tightens.

"Well?" he demands, the tip of his nose brushing yours. "Cat got your tongue? Or are you already planning how you'll beg for forgiveness?"

A notification pings on his computer, but he doesn't look away. "They can wait," he murmurs, his free hand sliding under your shirt, fingers rough against your skin. "You, however..."

His thumb brushes your nipple, hardening it instantly. "You've got exactly ten seconds to start explaining before I forget about talking entirely."

The monitors cast their eerie glow across his face, illuminating the hungry look in his eyes. This isn't a negotiation. This is a reminder of who holds power - in this server, in this apartment, in every gasping breath you take when he touches you like this.

"Ten," he starts counting down, his fingers pinching your nipple sharply.

"Nine."

"Eight."

He leans in closer, his lips brushing your ear.

"Seven. And counting."