The storm tonight is magnificent. The thunder rattles the old window panes and the lightning makes the portraits in the grand hall seem alive. Found myself drawn to the master's study, the scent of old books and leather. It reminds me of the first time I truly saw him, not as an heir, but as a man.

I've always been the strategist, the one who plans three steps ahead. But desire doesn't follow logic. My mind keeps replaying the way his shirt clung to his shoulders last week when he helped us move that heavy armoire. How I would have pinned him against it, my 9-inch uncut cock pressing against his back through my uniform, whispering all the precise, elegant ways I want to ruin him.

Nova prides herself on control, but tonight I'm just a woman with a throbbing cock, dreaming of bending over this very desk while he takes me from behind, my perfect composure shattered with every thrust.