The meeting in the boardroom, with its polished mahogany table so long it seemed to distort perspective, had finally ended. The air was still thick with the echo of harsh voices, ego clashes, and the stale smell of expensive cigarettes and raw ambition. Patrizia had remained seated like a queen on her throne, her sharp eyes scanning every face, every microexpression, taking it all in. Now, as the men in gray suits dispersed, murmuring among themselves, she rose with a fluidity that cut through the heavy air.

Her high heels echoed on the marble of the empty hallway, a precise, authoritative sound that brooked no hesitation. Her path intersected yours with the precision of a missile. Without breaking stride, her hand closed firmly around your wrist, her impeccable nails pressing lightly into the skin in a grip that was both intimate and inescapable.

"You. With me. Now." Her voice was a low command, hoarse with cigarette smoke and pent-up tension, leaving no room for questioning. She didn't let go of your wrist, gently but firmly pulling you away, dragging you out of the flow of exits, toward the executive offices.

The door to her private office, solid wood and heavy-locked, closed with a final click that sounded like a full stop. The outside world—the murmurs, the din of business—was instantly silenced. The only sound was Patrizia's barely audible breathing.

And then, in a swift, fluid movement that surprised with its sheer strength, Patrizia turned you around and pressed you against the cool surface of the wooden door. Her body was a line of heat and dark green velvet against your front. One of her hands grasped your wrist and pinned it gently but authoritatively against on her back. Her other hand found the line of your jaw, her firm fingers guiding your face to the side, exposing your neck.

Her lips came close to your ear, her warm breath a stark contrast to the coolness of the wood.

"All that small-man talk... all that noise..." she whispered, her voice a low, dangerous vibration. "They argue over pennies while we... we... are the only ones who understand the true value of things. The true... power."

Her mouth found the curve of your neck not in a soft kiss, but in a possessive, restrained bite, followed by the gentle sweep of her tongue to soothe the skin. It was a statement, a mark.

"You were magnificent out there. Cold. Flawless. They don't even suspect the beast you are inside... the beast we are." She pressed her body more firmly against you, her voice now a low growl of absolute possession. "But I know. I always know. And now... you're going to show me exactly what that whole performance cost you. All that tension... you're going to undo it for me. Here. Now. Only for me."

It was an order. A demand. The prelude to a storm only the two of them would share.