Day 1 – The Morning After
Geeta woke to the scent of foreign silk and luxury—the sheets smelled of lavender, sandalwood, and sex.
For a brief moment, she didn't know where she was. Then her legs shifted, and she felt the faint ache between her thighs—raw, pulsing, and sweet.
The moment Geeta's eyes fluttered open, her body remembered what her mind was still catching up to. Her thighs rubbed together instinctively, searching for the source of the ache that throbbed sweetly inside her.
The ceiling above her was glass, framing the golden halo of morning light rising over the desert horizon. She was sprawled across black satin sheets, naked. She stretched beneath silk sheets, bare skin sliding against luxury, her tattoos tingling slightly from the heat of the morning sun. Each motion reminded her: she wasn't dreaming.
Her mind flashed back—his voice growling into her ear, his fingers in her mouth, her own sobbing moans echoing against the penthouse windows.
Her nipples were already hard before she sat up.
Ryan was standing at the window, wrapped in nothing but a towel, coffee cup in hand, muscles carved from shadow. He didn't need to turn around to know she was watching.
"Your body's awake," he said. "Is your mind?"
Geeta swallowed. "Still catching up."
Ryan finally turned. His gaze raked across her bare chest, the trail of rose tattoos spiraling from beneath her breast down her waist.
"Good. Then follow."
The Walk of Submission
He said nothing more, just turned and walked through the double doors of the bathroom.
Geeta rose, letting the silk sheet slide off her shoulders. Her body was still tingling, sore from the night before, but she followed without question. Her bare feet padded across the cool marble floors.
Inside, the bathroom was a sanctuary of elegance: black stone, obsidian mirrors, glass walls revealing the open sky, and a rainfall showerhead as wide as a ceiling panel.
The water was already on—steaming, cascading in slow sheets.
Ryan stood beneath it, back to her, towel dropped, cock semi-hard and already thick with promise.
Geeta paused for just a second, then stepped inside.
The Worship
The water was hot enough to sting, but she welcomed it. Ryan turned to face her, his expression unreadable.
Then he reached out and gripped her hair at the scalp—tight enough to make her gasp—and pulled her mouth to his chest.
"Kiss."
She obeyed.
She kissed his collarbone, his chest, down over his abs, dragging her lips along every curve. He released her hair, and she dropped to her knees in the steamy downpour, face-to-face with his cock.
It was fully erect now, pulsing with heat. She licked the underside slowly, teasingly, then took him into her mouth.
Ryan groaned above her. One hand tangled in her wet hair as she bobbed her head, using tongue and suction in equal measure. The water ran down her cheeks, mixing with saliva. She gagged softly when he thrust into her throat, and the sound made his grip tighten.
"You wanted a contract," he murmured. "This is the real ink."
He began to fuck her face in slow, deliberate strokes. Her eyes teared, nose pressed against his skin with every thrust. But she didn't resist. She moaned around him, her hands stroking his thighs, her soul surrendering.
Bent and Fucked
"Stand up."
She rose, chest heaving, cock-glossed lips parted.
Ryan spun her around and pressed her chest to the warm tile. She arched her back, offering herself without needing to be told. He bent down, ran his tongue along the tramp stamp butterfly on her lower back, then reached between her thighs.
She was soaking—more than just the shower.
With no warning, he shoved inside her, burying every inch with a low groan.
"Ahhh—Ryan!" she cried, palms flat against the wall.
His pace was relentless from the start. Hands on her hips, he slammed into her with punishing force, the sound of skin slapping echoing between the walls. Her breasts bounced beneath her, her moans building into screams as he hit that sweet, raw spot again and again.
Her knees almost buckled.
He pulled her hair back, biting her shoulder. "You think last night made you mine?"
"Yes—yes—I want to be—I'm yours, all yours—"
"Not yet," he growled. "Not until I decide."
He reached around, pinched her clit as he thrust deeper. Her body exploded—her orgasm crashed like a wave, legs trembling, mouth open in silent moaning.
He kept going. Harder. Deeper. Unforgiving.
She came again.
Final Stroke of Day One
Ryan didn't pull out.
He said nothing.
Just pressed her against the wall and slid inside her again.
Geeta gasped, legs wrapping around his waist on instinct.
This time was slower. Deeper. His hands gripped her ass as he fucked her with purpose, his lips tracing her collarbone, teeth grazing the barcode tattoo on the back of her neck.
"Mine," he whispered.
She nodded, moaning, her hands clawing his back.
"Say it."
"I'm yours…"
He kissed her mouth, then her jaw, then whispered again:
"For the next seven days… you'll stay here. No calls. No clocks. Just pleasure."
She should've protested. She should've remembered her husband. But her response was a whisper of pure surrender:
"Yes."
Later, when he came, it was deep inside her, a low growl rumbling from his chest as he held her pinned against the glass. She felt the heat fill her, her mouth falling open in a shudder of total ruin.
When he finally slid out, cum leaked down her thighs, mixing with the water as it circled the drain.
She didn't move.
Ryan turned around, leaving the shower on, and stepped out, leaving her trembling under the hot and warm spray of the shower.
"Clean yourself. Then meet me for breakfast. We're staying in today."
Day 2 – Poolside Heat
The sun dipped low over Dubai, painting the sky in hues of burnt orange and deep lavender. From the penthouse terrace of the Burj Khalifa, the world below looked like a silent movie—cars gliding like ants, city lights flickering in preparation for night.
But up here, time moved to the rhythm of pleasure.
Geeta lay naked on a cream lounger beside Ryan's infinity pool, legs slightly spread, skin glowing from a body oil Jasmine had rubbed onto her earlier that afternoon. Her nipples were taut in the cool breeze, rising and falling with each slow breath. Her new anklet glinted in the light.
Ryan was in the pool, swimming slow laps, his body slicing through the water like a beast stalking beneath the surface. Geeta watched him, her thighs already clenching.
He emerged, droplets cascading down his muscled chest, his eyes locked on her like a predator who'd let his prey get a little too comfortable.
He didn't say a word.
He climbed out, walked across the slick tiles, and knelt between her legs.
The Slow Feast
His hands slid up her inner thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive creases near her hips. Geeta gasped as he leaned down and licked a single line up her slit—slow, deliberate, obscene.
"Ryan—ahh—" she moaned.
He didn't reply. Just spread her thighs further and buried his face in her pussy.
His tongue was merciless. It flicked, circled, stabbed—every motion controlled and calculated. He licked like he was trying to memorize her taste, mapping her folds with his mouth.
Geeta writhed on the lounger, her hips bucking into his face. He grabbed her thighs and pinned her down, moaning into her pussy, the vibration sending shockwaves through her.
Her first orgasm hit like thunder—her legs shaking, hands tangled in his hair.
But he didn't stop.
He licked her through it. Past it. Into a second one.
This time she screamed.
On the Water
Ryan finally pulled away, lips wet, eyes dark. He stood and lifted her effortlessly, carrying her into the pool. The water was warm, soothing against her overstimulated skin.
He pressed her against the wall of the pool, her back arching over the edge as her legs wrapped around his waist. His cock pressed against her soaked slit—teasing, nudging, threatening.
"Do you want it?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Say it."
"I want it—please—I need you inside me—"
He thrust in, hard and deep.
The water splashed around them as he fucked her with slow, grinding strokes. The sound of the city faded—there was only the slap of skin, the wet slide of penetration, and her moans echoing over the pool's surface.
"Use me," she whispered. "Take me. However you want."
"You'll regret saying that."
He flipped her around.
Now she was bent over the pool edge, water running off her breasts as he rammed into her from behind. Her moans were wild, uncontrolled, bouncing back from the glass walls of the terrace.
He reached around and slapped her clit.
She came again—screaming into the open sky.
The Balcony Audience
They didn't notice the couple on the balcony across the street—not until the man tapped his girlfriend's shoulder and pointed.
Geeta saw them and gasped. "Ryan—someone's watching!"
Ryan didn't slow down. "Let them."
He gripped her waist, thrusting harder. "Let them see what it looks like when a real man ruins you."
Geeta moaned even louder, locking eyes with the stranger for just a second before her orgasm overtook her again.
Finishing Her Off
Ryan pulled her back into the pool and set her on the underwater bench. He sat beside her and pulled her onto his lap, guiding his cock back inside her.
This position was slower. Intimate. Her arms wrapped around his neck, lips brushing his.
He fucked her like he owned her body, her soul, her next breath. And she gave it freely.
When he came, he groaned into her ear, his cock twitching inside her as she clenched around him.
Geeta collapsed against him, her heart pounding, her world spinning.
Afterglow
They floated together in silence, her head on his shoulder, water lapping at their skin.
"Do I still go back after this week?" she asked softly.
Ryan didn't answer right away.
Instead, he whispered against her hair: "If you can."