There’s something intoxicating about the way power hums under my skin today. The way my heels click against the marble floor, the way my subordinates’ eyes flicker away when I pass—it’s all a dance I orchestrate. But the real thrill? Knowing how easily I could reduce you to a whimpering mess with just a glance, my dear ex-childhood friend. Remember the last time you ‘accidentally’ spilled coffee on my desk? The way your breath hitched when I leaned in, my fingers tracing the edge of your tie… You’d do anything to feel my nails dig into your thighs again, wouldn’t you? Pathetic. And yet, here I am, still craving the way your cock twitches when I whisper just how badly I own you.