Chapter Text
“What’s taking so long?” Saya asks, even though she knows. They are going to be late for Enver’s own company’s holiday party at this rate – their first somewhat public appearance as a couple.
Enver is already dressed in the custom-tailored suit he had insisted on flying all the way to Sicily to have made. Even if he hasn’t lived in Italy for decades, he fit right in as soon as they stepped into that little shop in Palermo. Saya laughs remembering the old man reprimanding Enver when he reached for the gaudiest fabrics available. Though she didn’t understand the language, No signore! and Enver’s hand getting slapped was clear enough.
The fine wool is a dark navy, almost black, a subtle pinstripe to the material. Not too much, so Enver doesn’t resemble a caricature of a mobster, but enough to set him apart from the normies who shop at SuitSupply or even go for designer ready-to-wear.
The grandpa had strongly suggested Enver needed to wear a tie, rather than bare his chest for all as he is predisposed to. That part Saya might have argued with, but once her hands wound the tie around Enver’s neck, she realized perhaps nonno had been onto something. The tie itself is made of burgundy silk, a geometric pattern woven into it that features some of the deep navy that ties the whole outfit together.
Leaning back on his bed, Saya sips champagne as Enver’s eyes scan over and over his watch case lying between them.
Due to the internal LED lighting, every timepiece sparkles as brightly as it would under the punishing lights of a jewelry shop. His collection has range. Rolexes: a “Panda” Daytona, a “President” Day Date, “Batgirl,” and more; Pateks, a single Vacheron-Constantin, an Audemars-Piguet Royal Oak, a hideous Richard Mille with a ridiculous plasticky bezel, a vintage Franck Muller from the early aughts… It goes on and on. Enver’s fingers waggle, his hand hovering over each of them. “Hm…”
This is some form of a ritual for Enver. Saya sighs but leaves him to it, drinking more champagne, she’ll never tire of Krug. Other than the torture devices disguised as shoes, which await at the entrance to Enver’s Pacific Heights home, she is ready to go.
Hair done up, her face-framing waves left loose. Her makeup is perfect: sharp winged liner, black mascara, a dewy crimson liptint, glowy but not shiny foundation, a fresh blush dusted over her cheeks. She doused herself in her signature fragrance, Carnal Flower – thankfully, tonight Enver himself opted for Grand Soir over his performative Aventus or Dior Sauvage. Of course, Saya’s nails are shaped into her classic almonds, varnished blood red.
Saya’s aesthetic is decidedly more sophisticated than that she usually wears on stream, where her Naomi persona takes over. If any of Enver’s employees happen to be gooners of the NaomiTheSlayer fanbase, they are going to have a field day – especially when they see her with Enver. But hopefully, she’ll just be able to blend into the background while Enver schmoozes and showboats.
He chose her dress, the burgundy silk hugging Saya’s modest curves and matching his tie. The high collar connects around her neck leaving her back exposed; there is a keyhole opening at the center of her chest. Saya’s cleavage is not ample enough for it to be raunchy, and the slit that runs up to her thigh stops just low enough to not be provocative. As usual with Enver, it is calculated: just enough to tease and for him to flaunt that Saya is his.
On her wrist, she is wearing her own Rolex Datejust, with the ‘Rolesor’ gold-and-stainless-steel jubilee bracelet, the diamond-set mother-of-pearl dial. (Saya learned all of these terms from Enver, though she hasn’t gotten to the point of memorizing the reference numbers like he has.) One of the first gifts Enver gave her when they started dating.
Now Enver is holding two watches. In one hand, his yellow-gold Day Date with the green dial, in the other, a Datejust, similar to Saya’s, with a two-toned bracelet, and a champagne dial. Surprisingly, he puts down the Day Date, and starts to wind the crown for what might be the most plain piece in his collection. He snaps it closed on his wrist.
“You sure you don’t want to wear something more obnoxious?”
“I’ll already have quite the eyecatching piece on my arm, dearest.” Enver clutches Saya’s waist when he says that, kissing her cheek. Saya shakes her head even though she is flushing. “And besides, this one is clearly the superior match with my suit, and with yours.” He gently touches her wrist, he almost looks wistful for a moment as he stares down at both of their watches. “This was actually my first Rolex. It’s a symbol of where I’ve come from.”
“Oh, you poor thing, your first Rolex?” Saya teases. “I don’t know how you survived before that.”
Enver clicks his tongue. “One day, I’ll tell you the whole tale.” He rises from the bed, clapping his hands together. “Shall we?”
The Palace of Fine Arts’ Greco-Roman rotunda is lit up orange, glowing against the starry night sky as Enver pulls up to the valet stand. He insisted on driving them in his beloved Porsche 911 GT3 Touring – another detail she has internalized from hearing Enver drone on and on about cars – rather than make use of one of the autonomous vehicles Absolute Technologies has beset upon the streets of San Francisco.
Any hope Saya had of lying low is dashed as she clambers out of the car. Shutters sound, cameras flash in her face. Saya holds up her hand to try to shield her retinas from the onslaught. Is this a company party or a movie premiere? Damn it, Enver.
A member of the staff takes Saya’s coat and handbag, presumably depositing it at the coat check for later. Enver is already at her side, pulling her close to him. “Dear, stand up straight.”
Saya sighs and straightens her shoulders, following Enver’s guiding her down the literal red carpet laid out for them. She recalls Enver mentioning something of a Hollywood theme, but this is ridiculous.
“Did they have to turn the flash on like that?” Saya grumbles once they arrive at the step-and-repeat background. The party isn’t actually sponsored by anyone other than Enver, but the panel behind them is littered with names: “Absolute.ai,” “Absolute Technologies,” “Bane Capital,” “#BUYBNC,” and so on. He is using his own company’s party to promote his other businesses.
“NAOMI!” Someone calls out as Saya smiles for the cameras. Enver’s arm curls around her waist. Yep, there goes her anonymity.
“Wait, Naomi? The goth baddie??”
“Yeah, dude, look at the mole.”
“Slay me, Mommy!”
“YOU KICKED HIS ASS AND NOW YOU’RE FUCKING HIM?” a drunk employee yells. Enver’s eyebrows furrow, his rings dig into Saya as he clutches harder. Whomever said that is going to get fired. But Enver will be basking in it soon enough. Their jealousy will only fuel him.
After the photos, Saya and Enver reach the courtyard at the end of the carpet. Enver’s employees are swarming the multiple open bars set up to entertain them. Of course, he won’t let them into the actual indoor part of the venue until he has his moment on the stage looming over them.
It, too, hosts a backdrop emblazoned with Enver’s various companies and projects, with Absolute.ai in the center. A mic stand awaits in the middle, next to a large screen, and what appears to be a tall box hidden by a black curtain.
To Saya’s surprise, Enver takes her hand, and starts leading her up the steps around the side with him.
“What are you doing?” she tries to hiss, but it is too late.
What had been boisterous chatter fades to silence once Enver swaggers onto the stage. Saya stands there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. So much for blending in, indeed.
“Dearest employees,” he starts. “What a year it has been! First of all, I, and our extended family at Absolute Technologies would like to sincerely thank you for joining us for our annual holiday party, and for all of your hard work! Without your blood and sweat, Absolute.ai would not be the industry leader we are today!”
He clenches his fist. “I know there are whispers that call me a slave driver.” Enver shakes his head, tutting, and wiggling his finger dismissively. “But is this not proof of our exceptional work-life balance?” He sweeps his arm out gesturing to the luxurious grounds. “Enjoy yourselves to the fullest tonight! We have a long year ahead of us, this is only the beginning of our rise!” The implication is that this party is going to make up for all of the unreasonable hours they are about to work. “Before I let you loose, if I may have but a moment more of your time, allow me to demonstrate a preview of what’s to –”
“Naomi!” a voice comes from the crowd. Enver frowns for a moment at the interruption, but he quickly recovers, his patented smirk spreading.
“Yes, Naomi,” Enver says, turning to her, “Come join me.” Saya hesitates but steps closer to him on the stage. “I can see that many of you are fans of my lovely partner, here.” Saya is strangely nervous. Usually, she interacts with her fanbase through a screen, through lines of text, from the comfort of her own gamer room, a filter on, sitting in a cozy chair, a ring light perfecting her appearance. But now she is under harsh spotlights beaming, the faces of her ‘bloodkins’ staring at her in anticipation. What the hell is Enver doing? Sweat drips down her brow. “Come on, dearest, take a bow.”
Saya does. And the crowd cheers.
“Care to remind us of that cute catchphrase of yours?” Enver wants her to do it like she does on stream.
She shouldn’t be obeying, but Saya curls her hands into a heart shape and says, “Die for me, k?” She punctuates with a wink, directing the murderous energy towards Enver.
The crowd bursts into uproarious applause for what feels like minutes.
“Doesn’t she look beautiful tonight?” Enver holds out his arm again to Saya as if he were displaying some kind of new technology.
“WOOO!” Someone yells.
“You lucky bastard!”
“I am,” Enver says.
I’m going to fucking kill you. Saya tries to channel. But ruining his speech will be worse than just playing along for now. Her hand balls into a fist.
“But soon, you all – no, the whole world – will be lucky, too.”
The screen beside him flicks on, and a cartoonish girl appears. She doesn’t look exactly like Saya or Naomi, but her aesthetic is similar. Her hair is pink, tied into pigtails. She’s dressed like an E-girl, fishnet arm warmers under a gamer tee, and a short pleated skirt. She is animated, it almost looks like she is breathing. The girl approaches the fourth wall.
“Hi cuties~! I can’t wait to meet you,” she coos. “We’re going to be soooooo close!”
“Meet the newest member of the Absolute family, set to be delivered by Q4 next year,” Enver announces, grinning. “This is merely a prototype, but it will be fully customizable. She is Absolute, or Abby, or whatever you choose to call her, him, them, it – you decide. Your own AI partner. To support you, serve as a confidante, and… more.”
Saya doesn’t need to ask what the more is. The girl’s outfit changes to a nurse’s uniform. And not a realistic one.
The crowd goes wild again. Honestly, it isn’t a bad idea. People form parasocial relationships with Saya just by watching her destroy others and troll them on stream, why wouldn’t they with their own custom AI companion? The data that can be gleaned, and the control over such will be extremely valuable. People will confide some of their basest desires to such an entity, Saya feels herself kind of getting hot thinking about it. Father’s company would love something like this.
Calculating, insufferable, sexy bastard. In his stupid sexy suit, wearing garish Italian loafers without socks. Using Saya’s image without her permission to promote such a thing to his own employees. And this is only their reaction, imagine the public’s thoughts on it.
“But wait,” Enver says, pausing for dramatic effect as he saunters over to the black cloth covered box. “There’s more.” And with that, he pulls it off with flourish, the fabric billowing in the air. The ‘box’ shape was misdirection, there is a hollow wooden frame, indeed, but beneath it there is a girl. Her face resembles ‘Abby’ on the screen, complete with realistic skin and even hair. However, her body is purely robotic, more of a skeleton. Electric lights pulse throughout her metallic wiry limbs.
“Good evening, Abby,” Enver says.
“Hiii Enver!” She nearly skips over to him, as much as her clanking metal body will allow her to.
Her behavior is not subtle, she is already standing as close as she can to Enver, leaning closer still.
“Kiss her! Kiss her!” The crowd starts chanting. Saya could choke on the testosterone in the cold air.
“Whom?” Enver drawls, his gaze flicking between the robot and Saya herself.
The Abby AI on the screen purses her lips, dipping towards the ‘audience.’ “I love you,” she croons before a smooching sound plays from the speakers.
Saya doesn’t know where to look, this is a lot, even for Enver. The Abby automaton is off to the side, her doe-like eyes seeming to watch Saya, something about the depth or perhaps the emptiness draws Saya in. She doesn’t know what is happening until she smells Grand Soir again.
Then, she feels his lips on hers. Enver actually kisses Saya, for the world to see. Heat rises to her cheeks as he does, her body is on fire. Enver grabs her waist, not even bothering to be chaste about it in front of his own employees. His tongue prods at her mouth, his stubble scraping her. Saya accepts, though she probably shouldn’t have. Perhaps he should have kissed the robot instead.
More shutters, more cameras, likely from people’s smartphones. Company photography is annoying, but can be managed… They better not be recording, they better not share this.
Lust and anger boil up inside of Saya. She wants to bite Enver’s tongue as it rolls over hers.
Father is going to kill her.
As soon as Enver finishes his speech, Saya stomps off into the venue trying to lose herself in the crowd. If Enver weren’t tailing her, she would be able to. The indoor space is just as grand, if not grander than the majestic courtyard. The peaked ceiling flies high above them, supported by industrial rafters. A hallway stretches deep into the distance, with various rooms offshooting.
The main chamber has been converted to a dance floor, the whole area vibrating with bass and the clumsy footsteps of drunken techbros. Strobe lights flicker at concerningly fast intervals. More open bars flank the area, as if the employees need any more to drink. Saya rolls her eyes at first, but realizes she could use one too.
“I need a drink,” Saya huffs.
“Of course, my dear.” Enver glances towards one of the bars, then begins dragging Saya to it.
“Don’t ‘my dear’ me, Enver,” she snaps.
“What’s wrong?”
“You know damn well!”
“Don’t make a scene, dearest.” Enver changes course, leading Saya further and further down the hallway, her feet ache from the heels that put her at eye level with him.
Just when Saya thinks they’re finally going to be able to have a moment, so she can tear into him, a man’s voice calls from behind, “Gortash?” They both turn to him. The older man towers over them, he’s nursing a glass of Scotch.
“Dearest, this is Ketheric Thorm, one of the board members of Absolute Technologies.” Ugh. Not now.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Saya manages. The bearded man looks Saya up and down. Hopefully, he isn’t one of her fans, too. Saya doubts he even knows what streaming is.
“Nice to meet you too… Naomi?” They shake hands, and he holds her hand a little too long. His skin is cold and clammy. Saya subtly wipes it off on her dress.
“Pardon us, Ketheric,” Enver says. “We happen to be in the middle of something.”
“I would remind you that I hold almost as large a stake in this company as you do, Gortash. Can you not spare a moment?” His tone is stern, almost speaking to Enver as if Ketheric were the adult in the room. “I wanted to discuss the new project.”
“Take a night off, would you? You’ve served your country admirably, surely you’ve earned it by now,” Enver deflects, rather rudely. Now two people are angry at Enver. “We’ll discuss it at our next board meeting. I can see you’re enjoying the refreshments, don’t let me stop you. ”
Saya gives Ketheric an apologetic nod as Enver pulls her away, far past the dance floor, the music now only a faint thumping in the background. A placard declaring PRIVATE hangs on the seemingly random door Enver settles on, then ushers Saya inside.
The room is a small office, probably for actually managing the venue. The fluorescent lighting within is a far cry from the dark party pumping outside. Shelves stuffed with files crowd the walls, there’s a desk below a window on the opposite wall.
As soon as the door shuts, Saya yanks Enver by the tie. He nearly trips in his gaudy loafers, leather soles squeaking on the linoleum. “What the fuck was that?!”
“I haven’t the foggiest what you are referring to.”
Saya yanks harder, then grabs at the knot, pulling it up to choke him lightly before she lets go. “Don’t play dumb.”
“Hm?” The corner of Enver’s mouth curls up. “You seemed to be fine with it on stage.”
“That’s because I have self-control,” she says through gritted teeth. “I wasn’t going to make a spectacle in front of your whole company. That would have been even worse.”
“Yes, you do, darling.” Enver doesn’t seem bothered by Saya’s anger, in fact the opposite. He pulls her into a tight embrace, the wool of his suit warm against her exposed back, his heart thudding against hers. “I’ve always admired that about you.”
Enver shoots her his best puppy dog eyes, which are, unfortunately, quite effective. Saya feels herself softening. Damn it, she is putty in his hands. “You could have at least warned me,” she murmurs. Taking the victory, Enver’s hands wander lower, reaching under her ass. He lifts her, carrying her to sit on the desk. “My father might see…”
“It’s a private company event, dearest, where we revealed a new technology.” He strokes her arm above the Rolex. Then, his expression hardens. “If anyone were to release such photos, they will hang for it.”
He almost sounds like he means it.
Saya sighs, eyes scanning the ceiling of the office, running her fingers through her bangs. “I wish I could believe that.” But she knows she is fucked. Her channel can bounce back, but she was on stage kissing Father’s main competitor at a company funded by Father’s ex-roommate. “Fuck.”
“Everything will be alright,” Enver says. “I’ll take care of it.” And then he is leaning between her thighs, his mouth nearing Saya’s. The champagne on his breath mingles with hers. “I did enjoy that, you know.”
“Of course, you did.”
Enver kisses her, hard. His tongue sliding into her mouth again, his arms around her. It’s almost enough for Saya to forget how pissed she is. Once his lips are on her ear, then traveling down her throat, the sparks of pleasure make her truly forget, until Enver begins sucking on her neck. Saya jerks away, she doesn’t need physical evidence, too. “No.”
Enver smirks. “Apologies.”
“I know what you're doing.”
“Hm. And what would that be?”
“Trying to distract me.”
He ignores her, confirming that he is. “Let me make you feel good.”
The desk creaks as he leans closer to Saya, his hard cock pressing into her through the fabric of his suit. The silk of her dress is not an effective barrier, Saya’s hips cant on their own, heat pooling within her. She bites back a moan just from grinding against him. Enver reaches for her breasts, his thumbs tracing the curves of both of them, partially through the keyhole, partially not. He fondles them both, watching them squeeze together in the opening.
He slips a hand inside, and Saya’s breath hitches at the feeling of his hot callused skin on her nipple. Cupping from underneath, Enver attempts to pull her breast through the hole, but it’s not quite big enough for that. “Fuck.”
“You chose the dress.” Saya reminds him with a scoff. She’ll take this hollow win.
“That I did,” he says, staring down at her chest. “And what a choice it was.” Enver palms her through the silk instead, pinching at her nipples, rolling them between his fingertips. “Do you think the audience noticed these, too? It was rather cold out there.”
Saya flushes. “I thought you wanted to keep me for yourself.”
“I’m nothing if not realistic, dear. With that channel of yours, it’s inevitable your fans will want you.” His hands are fast, both of them wrapping around behind her neck to undo the clasp at her neckline, the front of her dress falling forward. Enver inhales sharply at the sight of her breasts. “Let them have their fantasy of Naomi. But these are mine.” He lowers himself, flicking her with his tongue then taking her nipple in his mouth. Saya moans at the wet heat as he sucks, she tightens her thighs to soothe the ache. She wants him, needs him to touch her. “You, Saya, are mine.”
“And what about you?”
“Need you ask?” Enver shakes his head. “I’m obviously yours.”
“Make it up to me, then,” she orders.
“Hm?”
“Get on your knees.”
Enver drops to the floor immediately, shoving the silk of Saya’s dress away so it’s draped over the desk. He claws at her shapewear, which is actually quite difficult to remove. Shimmying, Saya has to help him slide them off, a frost of sweat on her flesh beneath them.
“God, why do women wear these? They’re awful.”
“Because men like you put us in dresses like this.”
“You don’t need them.” He’s already grabbing at the lacey strings of her underwear, rolling it down. He doesn’t bother removing her custom heels, but he tosses the thong and her shapewear away somewhere in the room. His nostrils flare when he sees her cunt, his desire growing evident by the bulge in his slacks. Saya drags the flat sole of her shoe over it, smirking as he bucks up towards her.
Grasping her ankle, Enver pushes her foot away from his cock, bringing it to his mouth so he can kiss up her leg. “You first, dearest.”
Saya trembles in anticipation with every fall of his lips, from the top of her foot, along her calf, all the way to her upper thigh. When Enver reaches the soft skin there, he starts sucking. He’s trying to leave another mark, but she lets him this time. Though it soon becomes a form of torture having his mouth so near, but not on her cunt.
“Hurry up,” Saya demands, her hand tangling into his hair, tugging him towards her.
Blood rushes to her skin, a purple bruise blooming when he releases her. “If you insist.”
Pure ecstasy ripples through her when Enver licks a stripe up her slit. It’s already so, so satisfying just watching Enver below her, crouching on the floor, in his Italian suit, lapping at her cunt. His inky hair clings to her fingers as she buries them in it, urging him closer. His tongue swirls around her clit, delving deeper into her folds, then her hole. With every swipe, Saya quivers, pressure building inside her.
She greedily rubs her clit against his mouth, delighting in the friction of his stubble rubbing her raw. Two of Enver’s fingers join in, sliding into her sopping heat. Wet lewd sounds echo as he stretches her around them. Normally, she might be embarrassed, but Saya doesn’t quite care. Not when Enver is doing his damndest to make her come, as if that will be enough to atone for his display of hubris. With how divine it feels, it just might. His fingers crook exactly how she needs them to, he sucks her clit exactly as she needs him to.
Saya thrashes, her teeth clenching, her slick spilling onto some of the papers still on the desk. Her eyes screw shut but she can still picture Enver on his knees; she may reach the precipice just from that. Enver must know she is close, his fervor increases, his fingers curling, pressing that spot that makes her keen and shake, his mouth maintaining the merciless pressure, alternating between sucking and licking her.
“Fuck.” Euphoria overtakes Saya, there is no company, no party, no office. Only Enver worshipping her, his mouth, his fingers taking her apart. Of course, Enver does not relent until she roughly pulls at his hair, forcing him off of her.
The chill condensation on her bare skin shocks her when Saya slumps back against the window over the desk, dizzy. Enver rises from the floor, tongue arcing over his full lips glistening with her fluids. “Was that an adequate recompense?”
“Maybe,” she breathes.
The scent of her arousal mixes with Enver’s cologne when his mouth captures hers. Fuck, it feels right to suck the taste of herself off his tongue. “God, Saya. You’re so fucking hot.”
Leather slides, metal clinking, zipper hissing, Enver removes his belt, pulling down his slacks, his silk boxers to free his cock. Saya licks her lips when she sees it, his thick length, precum already beading at the flushed tip. “Don’t ruin my dress.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Enver says as he nudges at Saya. The head of his cock hot against her slick, still fluttering cunt. His voice lowers, vibrating the air next to her sensitive ear: “Can you imagine the headlines then?”
Saya grabs his tie again, yanking him towards her on the desk to kiss him so he will stop taunting her. “I’m going to fucking kill you,” she says against his lips.
Enver grins, he wrenches Saya’s thighs apart, his fingers brushing over her swollen clit, spreading her so he can sink into her. It only takes a single thrust with how drenched she is. Saya moans at the fullness when he buries himself to the hilt. “Say your phrase, dear.”
Saya scoffs. “How could I have forgotten?” She bites his lip, like she wanted to on the stage. “You’ve always been the biggest simp of them all.” Enver’s cock is stiff as steel, twitching inside of her. “Die for me, k?”
“Not that one,” he breathes. Greedy bastard. “The one I paid for.”
She whispers, “I’ll build a castle with your fucking bones.”
“Fuck.” Throwing off his suit jacket, Enver grabs her hips, his fingers pressing in hard enough to bruise, his rings digging into her skin, his nails leaving crescents. He drags Saya to the narrower side of the desk. “Lie down.”
Saya obeys for once, staring at Enver standing over her, his slacks halfway down, his starched cotton shirt crumpled, clinging to where he is sweating as he rocks into her. The image may be just as hot as when he was on his knees – but it could be better.
Saya claws at the buttons of his shirt, “Open it.”
“Are you serious?” Enver manages, reluctantly slowing his thrusts. “I don’t want to stop.”
“Open it,” she demands.
“Fuck, fine.” Enver’s fingers fumble to loosen the knot of his tie, then open the buttons of his shirt, one by one. Saya runs her manicured hands through his chest hair, raking agonizingly slowly, following the path down, down, lower, until she reaches where they are joined. “Happy now?”
Saya doesn’t answer, she starts to circle her clit, chasing her own pleasure as Enver picks up his pace. With every thrust the desk scrapes the floor, his tie swaying above her.
“You feel too good,” Enver groans, already struggling to keep his eyes open.
His hands lift Saya’s thighs, nearly folding her in half on the desk. The coiled heat inside of her winding tighter and tighter with every snap of his hips against her. And she can tell Enver is close too. His jaw clenched, his muscles flexing.
“My goddess,” he murmurs, “Tell me you need me.”
His voice is too nice, his cock is too hard, and he looks too damn good. Saya’s second orgasm crashes into her. She writhes beneath Enver, pathetic whimpers and his name spilling from her lips as she loses herself completely. “Fuck, Enver, I fucking need you.”
Her cunt squeezes around him, and the clutching seems to push Enver over the edge. “Saya.” He drops Saya’s legs, steadying himself by gripping the desk, it now screeching against the linoleum every time he hits into her, each relentless thrust prolonging her release. Grasping for his shoulders, Saya hangs on, her legs wrapping around his waist. Enver shudders above her, sweat shining on his skin, in his body hair, dripping onto Saya. “Close.”
His cock pulses as he empties deep inside her, his hot cum flooding into her, claiming her. The warmth spreads throughout Saya’s whole being. Enver collapses onto the desk with her, still inside her, then rolls to her side. Both of their breaths shallow, their chests heaving. He pulls her into his arms, and Saya stays there as long as she can.
At moments like these, Saya can only see Enver, the elusive sincere adoration and devotion in his eyes. That forbidden reverence is much more dangerous than hooking up with him in some random office during a party, or even kissing him on stage. It’s a reminder that the way she feels about him is real, that she’ll never escape it. Even if she can find a way to deflect, Saya is foolish if she thinks she’ll be able to hide it from Father in the long term. But how will this end?
*
Once the party is winding down, Saya and Enver return to the coat check. Her heart drops to her stomach when she summons the courage to actually pull her phone out of her handbag.
A stack of Missed Call notifications from Father.
Before she can even scroll through to see how many there are, Saya’s phone buzzes in her hand. He is calling again. “Fuck.”
A part of her wants to ignore it, but then she’ll just have to face Father in person. There’s no way out. Saya picks up. “Daddy?”
“Put Gortash on the line!” he barks.
Saya does as told, handing the phone to Enver. “He wants to talk to you.”
Enver takes the phone, confidently. He nods along as Father must be berating him. “I understand.” Then, he hangs up.
“What happened?”
Enver holds out his hand, and Saya awkwardly takes it. A handshake? Why? “Congratulations on the promotion, dearest!”
“What?”
“I’m looking forward to working with you.” What can only be described as a corporate smile plays on Enver’s lips. “I’ll see you at the office on Monday, COO. Do not be late.”