Ep:11 Business deals required Mia
The news hit Mia like a physical blow days later. Fatima, her sharp-eyed assistant, stood pale-faced in the doorway of the design studio. "The Dubai Moda application," Fatima stammered, clutching her tablet. "The deadline... we missed it. By hours." Mia froze, a bolt of raw Thai silk slipping from her fingers. Dubai Moda wasn't just another show; it was the glittering gateway to Paris Fashion Week. Without that prestigious platform, "Lotus Reborn" risked remaining a whispered secret, confined to Kuwaiti elites. Her carefully constructed armour felt brittle. "How?" Mia's voice was dangerously calm, icy fury replacing panic. Fatima flinched. "An email notification... buried. A system error. I take full responsibility, Madam." Mia waved her silent, her mind racing. Public scandal? Impossible. Buying their way in? Too crude, too traceable. They needed an invitation, a powerful sponsor already inside the fortress walls of Dubai Moda. Options dwindled faster than hope.
Fatima returned hours later, eyes wide with cautious relief. "There's one," she breathed. "Sheikh Rashid al-Hamdan. His family holds a permanent seat on the Moda selection committee. His word is law." Relief warred with cold dread. Rashid al-Hamdan. Mia knew the name. His reputation preceded him – ruthless in business, insatiable in pleasure. His influence stretched across Gulf real estate, shipping, and, crucially, fashion. Getting an appointment was a feat Fatima achieved through whispered channels and veiled promises. "He sees you tomorrow. 10:00 AM. His tower," Fatima reported, her voice tight. Mia nodded, the familiar knot of transactional necessity tightening in her stomach. She would wear her armour. She would negotiate. She would win. For Lotus Reborn. For herself.
The next morning, Mia stood before Rashid al-Hamdan’s imposing desk. Sunlight streamed through the panoramic windows of his penthouse office, bathing the sleek chrome and marble in harsh light. She’d chosen her armor carefully: a structured Lotus Reborn pantsuit in deep red, the jacket sharply tailored, cinching her waist before flaring over her hips. The silk blouse beneath was high-necked, yet clung subtly, hinting at the lush curves beneath. Power dressing, designed to command respect, not solicit desire.
Rashid leaned back in his throne-like chair, assessing her with hooded, dark eyes. He was undeniably handsome – sharp features, salt-and-pepper hair impeccably groomed, an aura of absolute control radiating from his lean frame. Fatima hovered nervously near the door. Mia presented her portfolio, her voice crisp, professional, outlining Lotus Reborn’s meteoric rise and unique vision. Rashid listened impassively, fingers steepled.
"Impressive ambition, Mrs. Khalid," he finally murmured, his gaze lingering not on the sketches, but on the pulse beating visibly at the base of her throat. "Your designs... they speak of a woman who understands the weight of transformation. The cost." He rose, circling the desk with predatory grace. He stopped inches from her, the scent of oud and expensive tobacco enveloping her. "Dubai Moda selects legends, not hopefuls." His hand lifted, not touching, but tracing the air near the curve of her shoulder. "What unique... value... does Lotus Reborn offer the committee that others lack?" His implication hung thick in the air.
Mia held his gaze, refusing to flinch. "Innovation, Sheikh Rashid. A voice forged in fire, not privilege." Her voice remained steady, professional armour intact. "Our cuts empower. Our fabrics tell stories of resilience." She subtly shifted her weight, a calculated movement that emphasized the elegant line of her suit against her figure. "Imagine the impact of such authenticity on the Moda stage."
Rashid chuckled, a low, dry sound devoid of true amusement. "Authenticity is a charming notion, Mrs. Khalid. Impact, however, requires leverage." His gaze swept over her, lingering on the subtle swell of her breasts beneath the silk blouse, the curve of her hip defined by the tailored jacket. "Leverage I possess." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "The committee seeks... spectacle. Something unforgettable. Does your brand possess that kind of fire?" The unspoken demand hung between them – raw, transactional.
Mia met his hooded stare, the familiar chill of necessity settling in her bones. She reached into her portfolio, retrieving a crisp, matte black business card embossed with the delicate silver Lotus Reborn logo. With deliberate slowness, she flipped it over. Using the sleek gold pen Fatima nervously handed her, Mia scrawled her private mobile number across the pristine white back. She extended the card towards him, her gaze unwavering. "Our fire speaks for itself, Sheikh Rashid," she stated coolly, her voice betraying none of the turmoil beneath. "Call me when you see its true value." She didn't wait for dismissal, turning with regal poise, Fatima scrambling after her. Rashid watched her go, his fingers tracing the numbers she’d written, a predatory smile touching his lips.
The sleek black car glided through Kuwait City’s shimmering heat, Mia staring blankly at the passing towers. Fatima fidgeted beside her, radiating anxiety. "He didn’t say no," she offered weakly. Mia remained silent, the Sheikh’s predatory gaze still crawling over her skin. Power. It always came down to power. Men like Rashid saw her not as a designer, but as a prize to be claimed—a body to conquer. She’d handed him her number like tossing chum to a shark, knowing exactly what waters it would churn. Her phone buzzed, sharp and insistent. An unknown number. The message was brief, devoid of pleasantries:
> *Sheikh Rashid al-Hamdan. Wear your finest Lotus creation. 8 PM. Top floor, Azure Tower. Come alone.*
Mia stared at the screen, the words blurring momentarily. A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Finest Lotus creation. She knew exactly what he meant—not her sharpest pantsuit, but something daring, something that showcased the body he’d so openly appraised. The transaction was laid bare, as crude and predictable as the Bangkok alleyways she’d escaped. Fatima’s anxious whisper broke the silence. "Madam? What will you do?"
The afternoon dissolved into a haze of indecision. To walk into Rashid’s penthouse was to risk it all. To surrender her body, even willingly, felt like dragging the filth of her past back into this pristine life Leo had built with her. She wasn’t Chang’s Mia anymore, traded like currency. She was more.
Yet, Dubai Moda shimmered like a mirage—essential, unreachable without Rashid’s seal. The referral wasn’t just business; it was validation. Proof that Lotus Reborn could stand on its artistry, not her notoriety. She wouldn’t barter her flesh. She’d barter her vision. Her resolve hardened like cooled steel. She would go.
She typed a single word: "Okay."
The reply hung in the digital void, a pact sealed. Mia moved with deliberate calm. She wouldn't wear vulnerability. She chose her newest, unreleased design: the "Scarlet Phoenix." Raw Thai silk dyed a fierce, blood-red, it hugged her curves like liquid flame. The neckline plunged daringly between her breasts, held by a single, delicate gold clasp. The back plunged low, revealing the elegant sweep of her spine to the curve of her hips. Slits ran high on both thighs, promising glimpses of toned skin. It was power incarnate – seductive, yes, but fiercely controlled. Her control. She applied makeup like war paint: sharp eyeliner, bold crimson lips. Her hair, a dark cascade, fell loose over her shoulders. She looked every inch the queen demanding tribute, not the supplicant begging favour.
The Rolls Royce Phantom arrived precisely at 7:55 PM, a silent, obsidian beast. A stone-faced guard in immaculate black ushered her into the cool, leather-scented interior. The drive was swift, silent. At the Azure Tower, another guard materialized, guiding her through hushed, marble corridors to a discreet elevator. Mia rode upwards alone, her reflection in the polished steel a vision of contained fire. The elevator chimed softly, opening directly into a vast, dimly lit penthouse foyer. Before her stood a single, imposing door of dark wood. The guard had vanished. She was truly alone.
The door swung open silently. A young maid, eyes downcast, gestured wordlessly towards a low, plush sofa facing a wall of glass overlooking the city’s glittering sprawl. Mia sat, the Scarlet Phoenix silk whispering against the velvet upholstery. The air hummed with silence, thick with anticipation and oud. Moments stretched. Then, footsteps echoed softly on polished stone. Sheikh Rashid al-Hamdan descended the grand, curved staircase, unhurried, a panther surveying its domain. He wore impeccably tailored black trousers and a crisp white shirt, open at the collar, sleeves rolled precisely to his elbows, revealing powerful forearms. Mia rose smoothly as he approached.
"Mrs. Khalid," Rashid murmured, his voice a dark caress. His arms opened, not in greeting, but in command. Mia stepped into the embrace, her body pressed briefly against the solid wall of his chest and shoulders beneath the fine cotton. His arms encircled her, strong and possessive, lingering a heartbeat too long. She felt the heat radiating from him, the latent strength coiled beneath the elegant facade. "Exquisite," he breathed, his lips near her temple, his gaze sweeping down the daring lines of the Scarlet Phoenix. "The dress... and the woman within it. Fire incarnate." His hand slid possessively down her silk-clad spine, fingers tracing the deep plunge. "A vision worthy of Moda itself."
He guided her towards a sleek bar crafted from black marble and polished brass. His movements were fluid, assured. He poured two generous measures of a rich amber liquid – aged Scotch, its smoky aroma mingling with the oud. He handed Mia a crystal tumbler, his fingers brushing hers deliberately. "To ambition," he toasted, his dark eyes locked onto hers, "and the... resources required to fuel it." He took a slow sip, his gaze never leaving her face, then hers dipped to the powerful line of his throat as he swallowed. Mia mirrored him, the Scotch burning a confident path down her own throat.
"Your designs possess a certain... primal elegance, Mrs. Khalid," Rashid continued, stepping closer. He gestured towards the panoramic balcony doors. "Shall we discuss value with a view?" His hand settled possessively on the small of her back, guiding her through the sliding doors onto the vast terrace. The warm Kuwaiti night enveloped them, the city a sprawling tapestry of light far below. The breeze teased the silk clinging to Mia’s skin. Rashid leaned against the cool railing, facing her. "Dubai Moda demands more than just beautiful clothes," he stated, swirling his drink. "It demands a story. A spectacle." His gaze drifted over the Scarlet Phoenix, lingering on the daring neckline, the high slits revealing her thighs.
Mia met his stare, her voice steady despite the tremor beneath her ribs. "Lotus Reborn is the story, Sheikh Rashid. Resilience. Reclamation." She took a deliberate sip of her Scotch, the smoky heat grounding her. "The spectacle is in the strength it gives the woman who wears it.
Rashid chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "Strength is compelling," he conceded, stepping closer. The city lights reflected in his dark eyes. "But vulnerability... vulnerability is unforgettable." His gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes. "Tell me, Mrs. Khalid," he murmured, his voice dropping to a velvet rasp that vibrated through the warm night air. "Does your strength extend to... surrendering?" He leaned in, the scent of oud and Scotch enveloping her. His hand lifted, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from her temple, trailing down the curve of her jawline with deliberate slowness. "To feeling truly... seen?"
Mia held her ground, the Scarlet Phoenix silk cool against her heated skin. Relief warred with a prickle of unease. He wasn't forcing anything. He was seducing. "Strength chooses when to yield, Sheikh Rashid," she countered, her voice a low thrum matching his. She tilted her chin, exposing the elegant line of her throat. "Not every battlefield requires surrender." She took another deliberate sip of her drink, the smoky liquid a familiar anchor. He smiled, a slow, predatory curve of his lips. "A philosopher queen," he mused, his knuckle grazing the sensitive skin above her collarbone, dangerously close to the gold clasp holding her neckline. "How... intoxicating."
He leaned in further, the heat of his body radiating against hers. Mia braced, ready to deflect, to negotiate. But his movement wasn't abrupt. It was deliberate, testing. His lips hovered a breath away from hers, his dark eyes locked onto hers, searching for permission she hadn't given. The scent of oud and Scotch filled her senses. "Sometimes," he breathed, his voice thick with intent, "the most profound victories lie beyond resistance." He closed the minuscule gap.
Instinct flared, primal and fierce. Mia’s hand shot up, palm flat against his solid chest, pushing him back with surprising strength. "No," she stated, the word sharp and clear, cutting through the humid night air. Her gaze didn't waver; it held a cold fire. "Not like this."
Rashid stumbled back a half-step, genuine shock momentarily replacing the predatory confidence. His dark eyes narrowed, a flicker of wounded pride tightening his features. The silence stretched, thick with the sudden shift in power. The charming seducer vanished, replaced by something colder, harder. "No?" he echoed, his voice dangerously soft. He took a slow sip of his Scotch, his gaze raking over her defiant form in the Scarlet Phoenix. "Such.... Unexpected." A cruel smile touched his lips. "It reminds me of someone else. Someone who understood leverage... intimately."
He stepped closer again, but this time maintaining a calculated distance, circling her like a shark scenting blood. "Tell me, Mrs. Khalid," he murmured, his voice dropping to a velvet whisper that sent an unwelcome shiver down her spine despite her resolve. "Do you ever think of Viktor Chang?" The name hung in the warm night air like a poisonous gas. Mia froze, the glass of Scotch trembling slightly in her hand. Chang. The name was a physical blow, a phantom hand closing around her throat. Images flooded her – the gilded cage, the cold eyes, the relentless exploitation. How did Rashid know? And why dredge him up now? Curiosity warred with visceral dread. Rashid saw the flicker of recognition, the momentary fracture in her armor. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. "Ah," he breathed. "You do remember. Such... impactful performances." Before she could react, his hand shot out, not violently, but with unnerving swiftness, capturing her wrist. His grip was firm, unyielding, like cool iron. "Come," he commanded, his tone brooking no dissent. "I have something to show you. Something that might... clarify our negotiation."
He pulled her firmly, not roughly, but with absolute authority, back through the sliding doors into the opulent penthouse. With a sharp clap of his hands, he barked orders in Arabic. Guards melted silently from shadowed corners, and the young maid scurried out of sight. Within moments, the vast space was empty except for them. Rashid guided her wordlessly towards the grand staircase she’d seen him descend earlier. Up they went, Mia’s silk gown whispering against the polished stone steps, her heart pounding against her ribs. He led her down a dimly lit corridor lined with priceless art, stopping before a set of imposing double doors carved from ebony wood. He pushed them open.
Darkness swallowed them. Rashid released her wrist only to flick a switch. A low hum filled the air as a large projector screen descended silently from the ceiling opposite a massive, canopied bed. The room smelled faintly of leather and expensive cologne. Rashid moved to a sleek console. "I acquired something… rare," he murmured, his voice thick with implication. "A collector’s item."
The screen flickered to life. Grainy, intimate lighting. A familiar gilded bedroom – Viktor Chang’s private chamber. Mia’s breath hitched. There she was, younger, her face flushed with a mixture of fear and forced ecstasy. She was naked, arching back on silk sheets, moaning – a sound engineered by terror and Chang’s threats. The camera angle was predatory, invasive. She watched her younger self writhe, her eyes wide with remembered shame. The scene shifted. Another man entered the frame, his back to the camera, powerfully built, moving with arrogant ownership. He gripped her hips, pulling her onto him roughly. Her younger self cried out, a sound that echoed cruelly in Rashid’s silent bedroom.
Rashid stood beside her, his presence a suffocating heat. His fingers traced the curve of her shoulder where the Scarlet Phoenix silk met her skin. "Such fire," he murmured, his voice a low thrum vibrating against her ear. On screen, the man thrust deeper, eliciting another choked gasp from the younger Mia. Rashid leaned closer, his lips brushing her hair. "Do you remember his touch? The weight? The... insistence?"
Mia couldn't tear her eyes away. The moans filled the room – desperate, performative sounds she’d buried deep. The man on screen shifted slightly, turning his head just enough to catch the dim light on his profile. The powerful jawline. The arrogant tilt of the chin. Recognition slammed into her like a physical blow. Her blood ran cold. Rashid. Younger, perhaps, but unmistakably him. He was one of Chang’s clients. One of the faceless men who’d used her.
The video ended abruptly, plunging the room into near-darkness, illuminated only by the projector’s faint blue glow. Rashid turned her slowly to face him. His eyes, dark pits in the gloom, held a terrifying triumph. His thumb brushed her lower lip, smudging the crimson war paint. "Surprised?" he whispered, his voice thick with dark amusement. "Chang had exquisite taste in toys... and shared generously with those who held leverage." He cupped her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. "I tasted your fire long before Lotus Reborn, Mia Rin. Before Leo Khalid. Before Kuwait." His hand slid down her neck, over the gold clasp of her gown, resting possessively over her pounding heart. "That fire... it belongs in places like Dubai Moda. Places I control." He leaned in, his breath hot against her cheek. "Surrender tonight," he breathed, his voice dropping to a seductive rasp, "and I’ll make you unforgettable. Not as Chang’s whore, but as my queen. Refuse..." His grip tightened fractionally on the silk over her heart. "...and this video finds its way . To every investor. To your daughters’ schools."
The chill that gripped Mia wasn't fear; it was the icy plunge of inevitability. The carefully constructed life – Leo, her daughters, Lotus Reborn – shimmered like a mirage under Rashid’s predatory gaze. Resistance meant annihilation. Slowly, deliberately, the defiance drained from her posture. Her shoulders slumped, not in defeat, but in a terrifyingly deliberate yielding. Her gaze lowered, lashes brushing her cheeks. "Yes," she breathed, the word barely audible, thick with resignation. Rashid’s predatory smile widened. He claimed her mouth with bruising force. Mia didn't pull away. Instead, her hands rose, trembling slightly, to cup the back of his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss. She opened for him, her tongue meeting his with a desperate, submissive hunger that made him groan low in his throat. "Good girl," he murmured against her lips, his hands sliding down her silk-clad back. "Be my wife tonight. Dedicate yourself... completely."
Their kiss deepened, a frantic, possessive claiming. Rashid backed her against the cool, textured wall beside the screen, his body pinning hers. His fingers found the delicate gold clasp at her throat. With a soft click, it released. The Scarlet Phoenix gown slithered down her shoulders, pooling at her waist, leaving her breasts bare in the dim light. Rashid groaned, his mouth leaving hers to trail hot, biting kisses down her neck, across her collarbone. His hand slid beneath the silk still gathered at her hips, fingers seeking the damp heat beneath her lace panties. Mia gasped, arching against him as his fingers found her slick core. "So wet already," he breathed, his voice thick with triumph. "Just like before... always ready." He rubbed slow, deliberate circles, his eyes locked on hers. "Tell me you remember," he commanded, his thumb pressing insistently against her clit. "Tell me you remember me."
"Y-yes," Mia gasped, the lie tasting like ash. Her body, traitorously, responded to his skilled touch, heat coiling low in her belly. "I... remember." Rashid chuckled darkly, withdrawing his hand only to hook his fingers into the sides of her panties and silk gown, dragging them both down her legs in one swift motion. She stood naked before him, bathed in the projector's ghostly light. Then, with deliberate slowness, he stripped off his own clothes, revealing powerful shoulders, a sculpted chest, and the thick, heavy erection straining towards her. "Perfection," he growled, leaning down to take the peak into his mouth, sucking hard. "Chang wasted you... traded you like common goods." He released her nipple with a wet pop, his eyes burning into hers. "I never forgot the feel of you... the heat, the tightness. No one since has come close."
Mia turned her face away, staring at the blank screen where her humiliation had played out. Rashid caught her chin, forcing her gaze back to him. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough. "Tonight, you belong to me. Your eyes on mine. Always." His hand slid down her belly, fingers parting her folds. He groaned, finding her slick and swollen. "See how your body welcomes me?" He pressed two fingers deep inside her, curling them expertly. Mia cried out, her hips lifting involuntarily. "Yes," he hissed, watching her face contort. "Surrender to it. To me." He withdrew his fingers, slick with her arousal, and gripped his cock, guiding the thick head to her entrance. He paused, poised, his eyes locked on hers. "Say it," he demanded, his voice thick with lust. "Say you dedicate yourself to me tonight. Like a wife."
The words choked her, thick and bitter. "I... dedicate myself to you tonight," Mia whispered, the submission tearing at her soul even as her body pulsed with treacherous need. "Like... like a wife." Rashid’s triumphant grin was savage. He thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke. Mia gasped, arching off the bed, the sheer size and suddenness overwhelming her. He held himself deep, grinding against her, letting her feel every inch. "Mine," he breathed against her lips before claiming her mouth again in a deep, possessive kiss. He began to move, long, slow, deliberate strokes, pulling almost all the way out before plunging back in with relentless force. Each thrust drove a choked gasp from Mia’s throat. His hands gripped her hips, lifting her slightly to meet his rhythm, his eyes never leaving hers. "Feel it," he commanded between thrusts, his voice ragged. "Feel how completely you take me... how perfectly you were made for this." He shifted, hooking one of her legs over his shoulder, opening her wider, sinking impossibly deeper. Mia cried out, a sound ripped from her core – part agony, part unwanted ecstasy. Rashid groaned, his pace intensifying, his gaze burning into her soul.
"God, Mia," he gasped, his thrusts becoming shorter, harder, driving her relentlessly into the yielding mattress. "I've searched... fucked wives, stars, virgins... nothing compares." His hand slid up her body, roughly claiming her breast, squeezing the full flesh. "These," he groaned, thumb circling her hardened nipple possessively. "Perfection. Fuller... riper than before." He leaned down, sucking the peak hard into his mouth, biting gently, making her whimper. "Chang didn't deserve them," he growled against her skin, lifting his head. His hips pistoned, the slap of flesh echoing in the dim room. "Even my own wife... soft, yielding... boring." He laughed, a harsh, breathless sound. "But you... you burn." He pulled her leg down abruptly, rolling her onto her stomach with surprising strength. "Up," he commanded, his voice thick with lust. "On your knees."
Mia obeyed instantly, pushing herself onto her hands and knees, the cool silk sheets beneath her palms. Rashid knelt behind her, his hands gripping her hips, fingers digging into the flesh. He admired the curve of her spine, the swell of her buttocks, the glistening evidence of her arousal. "This," he murmured, running a possessive hand down her back to her hip, "this is where you belong." He positioned himself, the thick head of his cock nudging her slick entrance. "Tell me," he demanded, his voice rough. "Tell me you missed this... missed me inside you."
"I... missed it," Mia gasped, the lie thick on her tongue as he thrust deep, filling her completely in one brutal stroke. She cried out, burying her face in the sheets as he began a relentless, pounding rhythm. Her body rocked forward with each powerful drive, her breasts swaying heavily beneath her. Rashid groaned, his hands sliding forward to claim them, squeezing the full mounds roughly, pinching her nipples hard. "These belong to me tonight," he growled, his hips slamming against her ass. "Every bounce... every gasp... mine." He leaned forward, biting the curve of her shoulder, his thrusts growing wilder, deeper, chasing his own climax. With a final, guttural roar, he buried himself to the hilt, shuddering as his release pulsed hotly inside her. He collapsed forward briefly, his weight pressing her down, his breath hot on her neck.
They lay tangled in the aftermath, Rashid's softening cock still nestled within her warmth. His breathing slowed, a satisfied exhaustion settling over him. Mia remained still, her cheek pressed against the cool silk. Slowly, deliberately, her hand drifted down between her legs. Her fingers brushed his spent shaft. It was still thick, heavy. She wrapped her fingers around it, feeling the residual heat. Rashid stirred, a low hum vibrating in his chest as she began to gently rub and roll the softening flesh in her palm. "Mmm..." he murmured, his eyes half-closed. "Insatiable little firebird." His cock twitched, responding eagerly to her touch, thickening rapidly beneath her skilled fingers.
Mia didn't hesitate. She bobbed her head with fierce rhythm, her lips sealed tight around him, her tongue working relentless circles beneath the sensitive ridge. Her hand cradled his heavy sac, rolling the weight gently as she sucked. Rashid’s hips bucked off the bed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "God... yes... deeper!" She obeyed, taking him fully, her throat relaxing to accommodate him, the wet heat drawing a guttural cry from his lips. She pulled back slowly, letting him slide slick from her mouth, her eyes locked on his. "Is this leverage?" she whispered, her voice husky.
"Fuck leverage," he growled, grabbing her hips. "Ride me."
Mia swung her leg over him, positioning herself above his throbbing erection. She sank down slowly, deliberately, taking every inch until he was buried deep inside her. She gasped at the fullness, her inner muscles clenching instinctively. Rashid groaned, his hands gripping her thighs. "Move," he commanded, his voice thick.
She obeyed, rising up until only the tip remained inside, then dropping back down with a force that made her breasts sway heavily. She set a relentless rhythm, her hips grinding against him with each descent. Rashid watched her breasts bounce – full, heavy globes straining against gravity with every movement. "God, look at them," he rasped, reaching up to cup their weight, thumbs circling her hardened nipples. "Like ripe fruit... begging to be bruised." He pinched one sharply, making her cry out, her pace faltering momentarily before intensifying.
"Don't stop," he commanded, his voice rough. "Show me how badly you want this... how badly you need Dubai Moda." His hands slid down to grip her hips, guiding her, forcing her to take him deeper, harder. Mia leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest, her dark hair falling around her face. She met his gaze, her eyes burning with a complex fire – defiance, desperation, and the raw, physical need he’d ruthlessly stoked. "Is this... enough spectacle?" she gasped between thrusts, her voice thick with exertion and unwanted pleasure. "Is this... unforgettable?"
Rashid laughed, a dark, breathless sound. "More," he growled, arching his hips upward to meet her downward plunge. "Give me everything." His cock pulsed thick and impossibly hard inside her, a demanding presence she rode with increasing ferocity. She didn't wait for him to withdraw, didn't give him a moment's respite. Every time he tried to slow the pace, she drove herself down harder, impaling herself on his rigid length, her inner muscles clenching rhythmically around him. Her breasts bounced heavily with each frantic movement – full, heavy melons straining against the air, the nipples hardened peaks begging for his touch. "Look at them," Rashid rasped, his gaze fixed on the mesmerizing sway. "Perfect. Made for a man's hands... his mouth." He reached up, squeezing the full flesh roughly, pinching a nipple until she cried out, her rhythm momentarily breaking before she resumed with renewed, almost savage intensity. "Yes," he hissed. "Fight it... fight me... but your body knows its master tonight."
Her thighs burned, her breath came in ragged gasps, but she didn't stop. She rode him like a tempest, sweat slicking her skin, her dark hair plastered to her temples. A tremor built deep within her core, undeniable and terrifyingly close. Rashid saw it in the wild dilation of her eyes, felt it in the frantic clench of her silken walls around him.
"Let go," he commanded, his voice thick with lust.
"Surrender to it. Show me how badly you crave my cock." His hands tightened on her hips, driving her down harder, faster. The coil snapped. Mia threw her head back, a raw cry tearing from her throat as her climax ripped through her, wave after wave of involuntary, shuddering release crashing over her. Her body convulsed, milking him relentlessly. Rashid roared, his own control shattering. He bucked wildly beneath her, his release erupting hot and deep within her trembling core. They collapsed together, slick and panting, the only sound their ragged breathing in the dimly lit room.
As she adjusted the gown's slit, Rashid's eyes darkened. He caught her wrist. "One more taste," he growled, pulling her flush against him. His kiss was possessive, demanding, tongue claiming her mouth until her knees weakened. When he released her, Mia's lips felt swollen, branded. Rashid traced the outline of her breast through the silk. "Chang never appreciated how perfectly you fit a man's hands," he mused, his voice low. Mia froze. Recognition flickered in his eyes – a cruel satisfaction.
Mia forced her voice steady as she smoothed the gown. "So Dubai Moda is secured?" Rashid chuckled, circling her slowly. "For now." His palm slid possessively down her spine, lingering at the curve of her ass. "But understand, Mia Rin. Every stitch of 'Lotus Reborn' will drape my stage. Every cheer echoes my name." He leaned close, his breath hot on her ear. "And every night you spend dreaming of this," his hand slipped between her thighs, pressing firmly through the silk, "you'll remember whose leverage owns you." Mia gasped, arching involuntarily against his touch before pulling away.
As Mia fastened her diamond choker with trembling fingers, Rashid produced a velvet box. Inside lay a serpentine bracelet—platinum scales studded with emeralds that matched her gown. "A trinket," he purred, clasping it around her wrist. "To remind you where true power coils." His lips brushed her pulse point. "Wear it when you walk my runway. Let them see who owns the serpent’s bite." Mia’s throat tightened. The cold metal felt like a shackle.
He escorted her to the penthouse elevator, his palm scorching through the silk at her lower back. When the doors slid open, Rashid caught her chin. "Until Dubai Moda, firebird." His kiss was slow, deep, and devastating—a brand sealing her submission. As the elevator descended, Mia touched her swollen lips. The bracelet glinted, catching the mirrored light. Outside, his black Rolls-Royce idled. The chauffeur opened the door without a word. Mia slid onto the cream leather, the scent of Rashid’s cologne clinging to her skin like a phantom touch.
At home, Mia stood under the scalding shower, scrubbing until her skin burned. The serpent bracelet lay coiled on the marble sink like a living threat. She traced a bruise blooming on her hip—Rashid’s signature. Her reflection wavered in the steam. Lotus Reborn was secured. But at what cost? She slipped into a silk robe, the fabric whispering against her oversensitive skin. In her studio, sketches of her collection lay scattered. A gown named "Serpent’s Embrace" mocked her. She crumpled it violently.
Comments
Post a Comment