She didn’t call for a week.
No messages. No signal. No command.
Gabriel paced his apartment like an addict in withdrawal. His body was on fire. He couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t think. His c**k ached for permission it hadn’t received.
He obeyed her silence. He didn’t touch himself. Didn’t break the rules.
He was no longer in control of his own desire. She was.
Then, on the seventh night, his phone buzzed.
One word.
Come.
No time. No address. Just a single drop pin.
He didn’t hesitate.
⸻
He arrived at an unfamiliar building — industrial, discreet. She met him at the elevator. Dressed in black leather, her face half-shadowed, her boots clicking sharply on the concrete.
“Strip,” she said.
He did. Right there in the hallway. Shirt. Pants. Shoes. Everything.
She grabbed his chin when he
