Mirror, Mirror: Signed. Sealed. Owned. Chapter 9

Workplace perks: free coffee, paid leave, and a CEO who bends over for him.

HOUR 15 - Mirror, Mirror: The Research Files No. 9

This is Chapter 9. You can dive in right here if you just want the filthy edge—but trust me, starting at Chapter 1 is worth it. There’s more than just heat here; there’s a power shift, a slow unravelling, and two people breaking each other open one order at a time.

You can find it below:

Itching to dive into this new chapter? Enjoy, and don’t forget to stay hydrated! ;)

---

His hand finds my face and tilts up my chin. He studies the wreckage: hair snarled, skin flushed, eyes dark as bruises. He smirks like an artist admiring his masterpiece. “Perfect,” he murmurs. “Nothing left but nerve and want.”

I reach for a quip, something to prove I’m not undone, but he swallows it with his mouth. It is not a kiss, just gravity wiping away whatever mask I had left.

A knock at the door, soft as a moth’s wing. He does not break the seal between us. He wraps an arm around my waist and drags my naked body tight against his clothed chest. “We’ll be out when we’re ready,” he calls, his voice rougher than I have ever heard.

“Where are we going?” I manage.

He does not answer. He grabs a white towel and drags it across my skin. Waist, the slick inside of my thighs, the trembling backs of my knees. He wipes down the lacquered toy, tosses the towel onto the ottoman, and then looks at me.

I stand there, bare, nipples peaked, skin humming with what he did to me. He lets me stay like that, the cold licking my rawness. The air reminds me I am still open.

“Ready for more?”

I want to say no. Wait. But it is written all over me. Open, ruined, wanting.

He peels off his shirt. Muscle flexes in the half-light, sharp lines of his chest and arms. I have fucked this man for months but always on my terms. Quick. Hidden. Fully clothed. Now I see the wolf under the suit.

He catches my stare and notices how my breath catches. His mouth curves into a knowing half-smile. He steps closer, abs brushing my fevered skin.

“I’m not finished with you,” he breathes against my shoulder. “Not by half.”

He drags me backwards, deliberately and roughly, toward a tall mirror that I had not noticed. Framed in black. Angled, so all you see is flesh, shadow, ruin.

He positions me. One hip cocked, his arm iron around my waist, my head tilted until I have no choice but to meet my own wrecked reflection.

It is a double assault. There is me, hair in chaos, knees bruised, a trail of bites climbing my throat. And there is him, shirtless, jaw sharp, hunger laid bare on his face. I watch his hand clutch my breast, thumb flicking my nipple raw. I watch my mouth fall open at the first sharp pinch. Lips bitten. Pupils blown wide.

He keeps me like that. A living portrait. He lets the seconds pass while the awareness of his control seeps in. The longer I stare, the clearer it is. He wants me to see what he has made of me. The office shark turned prey.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, lips brushing my ear. “Prey that forgot she ever had teeth.”

His hand drifts lower, palm cupping my sex. Even spent, I shudder. My nerves spark, muscle and bone alive with it. He holds my eyes in the glass, daring me to look away.

“I wish I didn’t want you this much,” he whispers, his breath hot on my throat. “Spread your legs for me.”

I do. Watching myself open breaks the last flicker of defiance. My body is proof that I have been possessed, and he is still starving.

He hooks his chin over my shoulder. One hand flat on my belly, the other strokes my clit, lazy and cruel. “Two jobs, pet,” he murmurs. “Watch yourself come apart. And do not look away.”

The dare slides under my skin, silk over a blade.

His thumb circles until I tremble again, nerves raw and twitching. Then two fingers push inside, sharp and confident, like he is planting a flag. The sound I make is animal. Hungry. Mindless. He scissors deep, thumb pressing relentless circles, mouth brushing my ear.

"I’m—" I try to gasp, but his hand clamps over my mouth. My next whine dissolves against his palm as pleasure tilts into pain and swings back again. It scrapes along bone and cuts straight through thought.

The second orgasm comes fast, a thin blade that splits me from collarbone to pussy. My body tries to fold, to flinch, but he holds me upright and forces me to watch. Shoulders shuddering, breasts quivering, the violence of my want made real. I stare into the mirror, as if it were a confession booth, and he is the only priest I will ever kneel before.

He lets go of my mouth. I drag in the air like I have been underwater for hours. My lips hang slack. My eyes shine with tears that blur us into one ruined shape.

"Such a messy pet."

He lets me sag. His palm strokes my arm with careless tenderness. The trembling eases, but not enough. There is no time for enough. His hands are on my hips again, spinning me to face him.

He kisses the bridge of my nose, quick and sharp, like a reset for the static still alive in my veins. Then he drops to his knees. It is so sudden, so complete, that for a breathless second, it almost feels like he is the one submitting.

But he is not. He is just closer to the part of me that matters most.