Chapter 2

The suite door shut behind us with a soft, expensive click.

Victor didn't give me time to look around. One hand stayed locked around my wrist as he walked me straight across the dark living room and stopped me in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror that took up half the wall. My skirt was still wrinkled from the car. My thighs were still sticky. The unfinished pulse between my legs hadn't faded at all.

He released my wrist and stepped back just far enough to watch.

"Take it off."

I blinked. "What?"

"The skirt. All of it except the panties. Do it yourself."

My hands moved before my brain could catch up. The zipper slid down, and the fabric pooled at my feet. I stepped out of it, left in nothing but the thin, soaked scrap of lace that barely covered anything. In the mirror, I already looked wrecked—flushed cheeks, messy hair, and the obvious dark wet patch between my legs.

Victor's eyes stayed on that wet patch for a long moment. Then he reached up and loosened his tie, pulling the black silk free from his collar in one smooth motion.

He turned me so my back faced him, then pulled his tie free from his collar. He brought my wrists together behind my back and wound the silk around them, wrapping it several times before tying it off.

The knot wasn't painfully tight, but it was secure enough that I couldn't pull free. When he finished, he rested both hands on my shoulders and turned me back to face the mirror.

"From now on," he said, voice low and even, "you only call me Daddy. You want something, you ask for it. You don't get to hide. Understand?"

I swallowed. The word felt too big in my mouth.

"…Yes."

His fingers tightened on my shoulder. "Try again."

Heat flooded my face. "Yes, Daddy."

The moment the word left my lips something inside me clenched so hard I almost swayed. Victor's reflection smiled, slow and dark. One of his hands slid down my front, over my stomach, and settled between my legs. He didn't push the panties aside yet. He just pressed two fingers flat against the soaked lace and rubbed slow, deliberate circles over my clit.

"Look at yourself," he ordered.

I tried to drop my eyes. He pinched my chin and forced my face back up.

"I said look."

So I looked. I watched his thick fingers working over the thin fabric, watched the way my hips kept twitching forward even while my brain screamed that this was my stepfather, that I should be horrified. Instead I was dripping through the lace, the wet sound growing louder with every pass of his fingers.

"You're soaked," he murmured against my ear. "Were you this wet in the stall thinking about me?"

I bit the inside of my cheek. The honest answer was yes. The honest answer was that I had been this wet for months every time he walked past me in a hallway or said my name on stage. I didn't say any of that. I just nodded, small and shaky.

Victor finally hooked a finger into the side of my panties and dragged them out of the way. Cool air hit my bare cunt for half a second before two of his fingers pushed inside me in one smooth, deep stroke. I gasped. My knees almost buckled. He was thicker than my own fingers, longer, and he knew exactly where to curl. The pad of his middle finger found that swollen spot on the front wall and pressed hard while his thumb settled over my clit and rolled it in tight, filthy circles.

"Good girl," he said, voice almost gentle. "Take it."

I hated how fast my body answered him. My cunt clenched around his fingers like it had been waiting for this exact pressure. Juices ran down his hand and over the inside of my thigh. The wet sound of him working me was obscene in the quiet suite. I tried to stay still. I failed. My hips started rolling, chasing every thrust of his fingers even while my wrists strained uselessly against the tie.

In the mirror I watched myself come apart. Watched my mouth open on silent, desperate sounds. Watched the way my tits rose and fell faster under the thin top. Watched Victor's dark eyes never leave my face while he fucked me open with just two fingers.

"You're allowed to come," he said. "But you look at yourself while you do it. Don't you dare close your eyes."

The order pushed me over.

The orgasm hit hard and sudden, ripping through my core so violently my legs gave out. Victor's free arm locked around my waist, holding me upright against his chest while my cunt pulsed and squeezed around his fingers in helpless waves. I came with my eyes wide open, staring at the ruined, flushed girl in the mirror who was still calling him Daddy under her breath like the word itself was the only thing keeping her standing. Clear, slick fluid spilled out around his fingers and ran down both thighs in thick streaks. I was still trembling when the last aftershock faded.

Victor slowly pulled his fingers free. He brought them up and wiped them across my lower lip, the same way he had in the stall, forcing me to taste myself.

Then he reached behind me and loosened the tie—just enough to free my wrists—but he didn't take it off completely. He left a loop of it around my left wrist like a temporary collar and tugged once, testing the weight.

"That's enough for now," Ethan said quietly, his fingers still holding the loop of tie. "Don't think we're done. The real training starts soon."