Chapter 13: This is my Company
The penthouse suite was a cage of reflected light. Christian stood at the window, a glass of whiskey untouched in his hand, watching the city pulse. The board meeting was a tumor in his gut, growing heavier with each passing minute. Behind him, Lana emerged from the bathroom, a vision in a severe black dress that hugged every curve, her hair a controlled cascade of dark curls. She looked like a weapon he’d forged himself.
“Ready?” she asked, her voice steady.
He turned. The hollowness from the jet was gone, burned away by a cold, sharp focus. This was the edge he needed. He walked to her, cupped her face, and kissed her—deep, claiming, a transfer of intent. He could taste her mint toothpaste and the underlying heat of her.
“Do you know what you’re going to say?” she whispered against his lips.
“Yes,” he said. It was the truth. He knew. The method was still forming, a dark liquid rising in his veins.
They rode the elevator down in silence. The doors opened not onto the corporate floors, but into the hushed, carpeted hallway leading to the primary conference room of the Cyclopse towers. The air smelled of money and lemon polish. Lana adjusted his tie, her fingers lingering for a second on the fabric that hid the mark she’d left. Then she pushed the double doors open.
The room was a tableau of expectant greed. The long mahogany table gleamed under harsh downlights. All the big investors were there, a council of vultures pretending to be eagles.
Heather Vance, 39, sat front and center. Her blonde hair was a helmet of expensive highlights, her face tight with subtle work. A shockingly low-cut crimson silk blouse showcased the impressive, unnaturally round shelf of her augmented breasts. A pen tapped impatiently against her collagen-enhanced lips.
To her right was Marcus Thorne, 68, a relic in a tweed suit that smelled of pipe tobacco and disdain. His liver-spotted hands were clasped before him, his eyes rheumy but sharp as broken glass.
Next to him, Amit Patel, 45, sleek and restless, constantly checking his gold smartwatch. His arguments were always delivered in a calm, logical murmur that masked a viper’s strike.
On the other side, Gerald “Gerry” Brickman, 52, a bull of a man with a flushed face and a perpetual sweat stain on his custom shirt. He represented the old-guard manufacturing money, skeptical of anything that didn’t have a tangible blueprint.
And finally, Eleanor Shaw, 60, her silver hair in a ruthless bob, her gaze analytical and devoid of warmth. She never spoke first, but her silence was always the most expensive thing in the room.
Christian took his seat at the head of the table. Lana sat just to his left, tablet ready.
“We’ll begin,” Marcus Thorne croaked, not waiting for Christian. “This trip to Costa Rica. This… deal. It reeks of impulsivity. We saw the preliminary numbers from the Delgado acquisition. They’re soft. And now you want to jump into bed with Hawk Technology? A company known for aggressive restructuring and asset-stripping?”
Amit Patel nodded. “Their valuation is inflated by thirty percent, Christian. The server-sharing facility you’re proposing… it’s a capital drain with shared control. We dilute our autonomy. We absorb half the risk for, at best, sixty percent of the reward. The math is unconvincing.”
Gerry Brickman leaned forward, his chair groaning. “I don’t get it. We build servers. They build servers. Now we build one server building? Like kids sharing a sandbox. Who gets the shovel when we both want it? It’s a mess waiting to happen.”
Heather said nothing. She just watched Christian, her eyes crawling over his face, his shoulders, his hands.
Christian let the objections hang. He steepled his fingers. “The Delgado numbers are soft because we’re digesting them. They’ll firm up by Q4. The Hawk deal isn’t about one server building.” His voice was calm, a flat plane. “It’s about a coastline. It’s about laying fiber-optic cable under the Pacific with a partner who controls the permits we don’t. That facility is the nexus. The math isn’t about the building, Amit. It’s about the pipeline. We share the dock, but we own the ocean.”
Eleanor Shaw spoke, her voice like ice cracking. “And if Hawk decides to torpedo the dock?”
“Then they drown with us,” Christian said. “It’s mutually assured destruction. That’s the brilliance of it. They need our European distribution. We need their Asian foothold. It’s a marriage of convenience.”
“A marriage,” Heather finally purred, “that seems to have involved a rather extended honeymoon. We were told this would be a forty-eight-hour trip. You were gone for ninety-six. Care to detail the… negotiations?”
The room stilled. It was a direct challenge, wrapped in a sexual insinuation.
Christian looked at her. Then he looked at Lana. A current passed between them, electric and understood. The liquid darkness in him solidified into a single, brutal impulse.
He pushed his chair back. The sound was loud in the quiet room. He stood up.
“The negotiations,” he said, his voice dropping, “were exhaustive.”
He walked to Lana. Her brown eyes were wide, but not with fear. With a fierce, terrifying recognition. He held her gaze as he pulled her up from her chair by her arm. He turned her, bending her over the polished mahogany table, right between Amit’s tablet and Gerry’s sweating water glass. Her cheek pressed against the cool wood.
Gasps rippled through the room. Marcus Thorne made a sound of strangled outrage.
Christian didn’t hesitate. He gathered the sleek material of Lana’s dress in his fists and yanked it up to her waist, revealing the black lace of her thong. He hooked his fingers in the sides and tore it down her thighs with a sharp rip. He unzipped his trousers, freeing his cock, already hard and angry. He spat into his palm, slicked himself roughly, and positioned the head at her entrance.
“Christian!” Amit Patel stood up.
“Sit down,” Christian growled, not looking away from where his body met Lana’s. He pushed forward, invading her in one deep, relentless stroke. She gasped, her back arching, her fingers splaying against the table. She was tight, wet, clenching around him instantly. He buried himself to the hilt, the slap of his skin against hers echoing in the stunned silence.
He began to fuck her. Hard. Deep. Each thrust drove her forward on the table. Papers fluttered. A pen rolled to the floor.
“The deal with Hawk,” he said, his voice strained with the rhythm of his hips, “is finalized. The contracts are signed. The server facility breaks ground in sixty days.” He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in. Lana moaned, a low, helpless sound. “We own forty-nine percent of the physical structure. We own seventy percent of the throughput. That’s the clause on page fourteen. Did you read it, Amit?”
Amit Patel was frozen, his face ashen. He slowly sank back into his chair.
Gerry Brickman looked like he was having a stroke. Marcus Thorne had closed his eyes.
“The capital drain,” Christian grunted, snapping his hips, “is offset by the tax break from the Costa Rican government. A twelve-year holiday. Gerry, run those numbers. You’ll find them… satisfying.”
Lana was pushing back against him now, meeting his thrusts, her moans growing louder. “Papi,” she whispered, the word swallowed by the wood.
Heather Vance hadn’t moved. Her pen was motionless, pressed between her lips. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her eyes were locked on the junction of their bodies, on the glistening, brutal act of possession.
Christian changed his angle, driving up into her. Lana cried out, her nails scraping the mahogany. “The autonomy is not diluted,” he said, his breath coming in hot bursts. “It’s focused. We control the code. They control the steel. That’s the separation.” He reached around, his hand finding her clit, rubbing rough, circles through her wetness as he plunged into her. “This is my company. You provide the money. I provide the vision. The guts. The fucking will.”
He pulled her up by her hair, her back against his chest, still impaled on him. He looked at the horrified, mesmerized faces around the table. His hands groped her breasts over her dress, squeezing roughly.
“If you don’t like it,” he panted, fucking up into her from this new angle, watching her head loll back on his shoulder, “you can take your money and leave. Sell your shares. Get out. The door is right there.”
No one moved.
He turned them again, bending Lana back over the table. He fucked her from behind with renewed, animal fury. The sound was wet, rhythmic, obscene. “This is my company,” he repeated, a mantra with each thrust. “Mine.”
Heather’s pen cracked between her teeth. A tiny splinter of plastic fell onto the table. She didn’t look away. Her lips were parted. One hand was in her lap, pressed tightly between her thighs. Her chest was flushed, the crimson silk straining. She watched, biting what was left of the pen, as Christian Hayes fucked his secretary on the boardroom table, and she watched as Lana Rodriguez came apart, a shuddering, screaming climax that shook her body and silenced the last pretense of protest in the room.
Christian followed, driving deep, holding himself there as he emptied into her with a raw, guttural shout, his claim absolute, his terms non-negotiable.
The scene ended there.
The scene ended there. For a long moment, the only sounds were Christian’s ragged breathing and Lana’s soft whimpers against the wood. The investors were statues, frozen in various poses of shock, disgust, and illicit fascination. The air was thick with the smell of sex, expensive perfume, and cold sweat.
Marcus Thorne was the first to break.He cleared his throat, a dry, papery sound. He didn’t open his eyes.“The… twelve-year tax holiday. You have the paperwork?”
“In the dossier,” Christian said, his voice hoarse as he slowly pulled out of Lana. He helped her stand, her legs wobbling. She smoothed her dress down with trembling hands, not looking at anyone.Amit Patel nodded slowly, his eyes darting from Christian to the wet spot on the table. “The throughput clause.Seventy percent. That… changes the risk profile significantly.”
“It does,” Christian said, zipping his trousers.He didn’t apologize.He didn’t explain. He stood there, exposed and victorious.Gerry Brickman wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “I’ll re-run the numbers with the holiday. Could be… agreeable.”
Eleanor Shaw stood.She gathered her things with precise, clinical movements. She looked at Christian, then at Lana, her expression unreadable.“The vision is clear.The method is… singular. You have my continued support.” She walked out without another word.One by one, they acquiesced. Marcus muttered an apology for his earlier doubts. Amit offered a stiff, formal assurance of his fund’s commitment.Gerry grunted his agreement, his face still flushed. They filed out, avoiding the damp patch on the mahogany, their eyes averted from the torn black lace on the floor.
Only Heather remained.She hadn’t moved. Her pen was gone, likely swallowed by her clenched hand in her lap.She watched the others leave, her breathing still shallow. The door clicked shut, leaving the three of them in the charged, ruined room.The silence was different now.Expectant.
Heather stood. Her heels clicked on the polished concrete as she walked around the table, not toward the door, but toward Christian and Lana.She stopped a foot away. Her eyes, a cool arctic blue, locked onto Christian’s.
“That was the most fucked-up, effective thing I’ve ever seen,” she said, her voice a low, smoky rasp. “You animal.”
Christian said nothing.He just watched her, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips.
Her hands went to the buttons of her crimson silk blouse. She didn’t look away as she popped them open, one by one. The fabric fell open, revealing the impressive, surgical swell of her breasts, capped with pale pink nipples already hardened. She shrugged the blouse off her shoulders, let it slither to the floor beside Lana’s torn underwear.“They apologized. I’m not sorry.I’m hungry.”
She looked at Lana. “You’re a good actress.Or you really are that crazy for him. Either way, it worked.” Her gaze dragged down Lana’s body. “I want in.”
Christian’s smile widened.He nodded toward the long, abused conference table. “Sit.”
Heather hoisted herself onto the edge of the table, her bare breasts gleaming under the downlights. She leaned back on her palms, legs slightly parted, a queen on a tarnished throne.
Christian turned to Lana.He sat in one of the heavy leather chairs, unzipping his trousers again. His cock, still wet from her, was already hardening again. “Come here,” he said, his voice a command.Lana stepped out of her ruined throng. She climbed onto him, straddling his lap, her back to his front. She guided him into herself, sinking down slowly with a sharp, hissed intake of breath.She was still swollen, sensitive, achingly open from the earlier pounding. He filled her completely, a deep, stretching ache.
“Move,” he growled into her ear, his hands gripping her hips.
Lana began to ride him, reverse cowgirl, rising and falling in a slow, grinding rhythm. Her eyes were on Heather, who watched, enthralled, one hand coming up to squeeze her own breast.
“Look at that tight little ass bounce,” Heather murmured, her voice dripping with voyeuristic pleasure.“Take every inch of him. You can feel him in your throat, can’t you?”
“Fuck yes,” Lana moaned, arching her back, driving herself down harder onto Christian’s shaft.“He’s so deep. Stretching my fucked-out cunt wide open again.”
Christian’s hands slid up to roughly knead Lana’s breasts through her dress.He watched Heather watching them. “You like the show, Heather? You like watching my secretary get used?”
“I love it,” Heather breathed, her other hand drifting between her own legs, moving in small circles over her trousers. “She’s a perfect little fuck-toy.Look how her pussy grips you. Milk that cock, you slut.”
Lana’s rhythm became more frantic, more desperate. “She wants your cock too, papi,” she panted, bouncing fiercely. “She wants this dick that’s splitting me in half.But it’s mine. You’re cumming in my pussy again. She just gets to watch.”
“Damn right,” Christian grunted, his thrusts meeting her downward plunges.The chair screeched against the floor. “This cunt’s mine.You’re just window dressing, Heather. A spectator.”
Heather’s head fell back, a soft moan escaping her.“Just let me watch. Just let me see you own it.Fuck her harder.Make her scream.”
Christian obliged. He hammered up into Lana, his pelvis slapping against her ass.The sound was lewd, brutal. Lana cried out, a raw, ragged sound that echoed in the sterile boardroom. She climaxed around him, her body seizing, her internal muscles clenching in violent spasms.
That pushed him over. With a final, powerful surge, he buried himself and erupted, pumping another load of cum deep into her already-filled channel. Lana shuddered through the last waves of her own orgasm, collapsing back against his chest, spent.Heather’s hand stopped moving. She was breathing heavily, her face flushed with a vicarious satisfaction. She looked at them, at the sheen of sweat on their skin, at the mess they’d made, at the absolute conquest of it all.
Christian gently lifted Lana off him. He stood, tucking himself away, the embodiment of spent power.He walked to Heather, leaned down, and kissed her roughly on the mouth. She kissed back, hard, a taste of ownership and complicity.
“The vote is unanimous,” he said against her lips.Then he pulled back, gathered his jacket, and offered a hand to Lana. She took it, standing on unsteady legs.
They left Heather Vance sitting half-naked on the boardroom table, surrounded by the ghostly imprints of their violence and the solid, unchallenged reality of his control. The door closed softly behind them, sealing the deal.
The door closed softly behind them, sealing the deal.
In the elevator, Lana leaned against the mirrored wall, her breathing still uneven. Christian stood beside her, adjusting his cufflinks, his reflection a mask of calm exhaustion.The numbers climbed silently toward the penthouse suite.
“That was… insane,” she finally said, her voice hoarse.“It was necessary,” he replied, not looking at her.
“I know.” She pushed off the wall, standing straight as the doors opened into the private foyer.“But her… Heather.She wasn’t just watching. She was consuming it.”
He unlocked the suite door.“She’s always been a predator. She just found a new kind of prey.”
The suite was a silent expanse of glass and steel. The city glittered, a cold galaxy beneath them.Christian poured two glasses of water, the ice cracking in the quiet. He handed one to Lana.She drank, watching him over the rim.“What happens Monday?” she asked.
“Monday,” he said, walking to the window, “we consolidate.” He turned. A new current, electric and deliberate, charged the space between them.“Heather proved her loyalty today. In her own twisted way.She saw the core of it. The real power.”
Lana set her glass down.“What are you saying?”
“I’m promoting her. To Chief Operating Officer.”
Lana’s eyes widened, but she didn’t protest. She processed it, her sharp mind flickering through the implications.“Marcus will resign.”
“Let him. His votes will go to Heather now.And Amit will fall in line.Gerry will follow the money.” He finished his water. “It’s the logical move.”
A slow smile touched Lana’s lips. “Logical.Sure.” She stepped closer.“And what does she get? Besides the title and the stock options?”
Christian’s phone buzzed.He glanced at the screen. A single text from an unknown number.That was the best board meeting I’ve ever attended. I’m still in the building.My offer stands.He showed it to Lana. She read it, her smile turning knowing.“She wants a front-row seat,” Lana murmured.
“She wants more than that,” Christian said, his voice dropping. The hollowness was gone, replaced by a predatory focus.He typed a reply.My office.Ten minutes.He looked at Lana. “Are you in?”
She answered by pulling her torn dress over her head, letting it pool on the floor.She stood before him in only her heels. “I’m always in, papi.”
His private office occupied the southern corner of the Cyclopse tower. It wasn’t the corporate one downstairs; this was a sanctum. Floor-to-ceiling glass offered a panoramic void of city lights. The furnishings were minimal: a massive fossilized wood desk, two low leather sofas, a cabinet of rare whiskey.The only light came from the ambient glow of San Jose below.
Heather was already there when they entered. She had changed into a simple black wrap dress, her blonde hair damp as if from a shower.She held a crystal tumbler of amber liquid, swirling it slowly. She didn’t turn from the window.
“The view from up here is even better,” she said, her back to them.
“It’s the only view that matters,” Christian replied, locking the door behind them with a soft, definitive click.Heather finally turned. Her eyes, stripped of their boardroom calculation, held a raw, hungry glint. They traveled from Christian’s face to Lana’s naked body, lingering on the dark peaks of her breasts, the curve of her waist.“Congratulations on the promotion,” Lana said, her tone cool, challenging.
“Thank you,” Heather breathed, taking a sip.“I believe my first executive decision is regarding morale. I’ve identified a… recurring source of inspiration for our CEO. I think it requires closer analysis.”
Christian didn’t smile.He unbuttoned his shirt, methodically, his eyes on Heather. “Analyze.”
Lana walked to the center of the open space, near the desk, and turned to face them. She slowly ran her hands over her own hips, her stomach, cupping her breasts, a performance just for them.
Heather’s wrap dress came undone with a single pull of the silk belt. It fell open, revealing her naked body—the dramatically sculpted breasts, the flat stomach, the neat blonde triangle between her thighs. She let the dress fall to the floor and stepped out of it, moving to one of the low sofas. She sat, spreading her legs, leaning back against the leather.One hand went to her breast, pinching a nipple. The other hand slid down her stomach.
“Don’t mind me,” Heather said, her voice throaty.“Just due diligence.”
Christian, now bare-chested, unbuckled his belt. His trousers and briefs joined the pile of clothes on the floor. His cock, thick and already fully erect, jutted out aggressively.He walked toward Lana, a stark silhouette against the cityscape.
He didn’t touch her at first. He just looked at her, then glanced at Heather, who was already circling her clit with two fingers, her eyes wide and fixated.
“On your knees,” Christian told Lana.She sank down gracefully, her knees on the cool hardwood. She looked up at him, her dark curls framing her face. She opened her mouth, tongue resting on her bottom lip.He fed his cock into her mouth slowly, gripping the back of her head. She took him deep, her lips stretching wide around his girth. A gag reflex shuddered through her, but she relaxed her throat, taking him deeper until her nose pressed against his skin. Heather moaned from the sofa, her fingers moving faster.
“Look at her, Heather,” Christian grunted, beginning to piston his hips, fucking Lana’s face. “Look at this perfect, dirty mouth.This is what you wanted to watch?”
“Yes,” Heather gasped. “God, yes.Look how she chokes on it.Take it, you greedy little slut. Take all that fucking dick.”
Lana’s eyes watered as he thrust. She pulled back, gasping, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his shaft. “He tastes like my pussy,” she coughed, grinning wickedly at Heather. “He tastes like me and that other bitch from the plane. You’re drinking our cocktail, Heather.”
“Fuck,” Heather hissed, her back arching. She plunged two fingers inside herself, fucking herself in time with Christian’s thrusts into Lana’s mouth.Christian pulled out of Lana’s mouth with a wet pop. He yanked her up by her arm, bent her over the fossilized wood desk, and positioned himself behind her. He spat once into his hand, slicked himself, and without another second, drove into her.Lana cried out, her hands slapping against the wood. He’d entered her hard, a deep, conquering stroke. She was so wet he slid in to the root in one brutal motion. Heather’s breath hitched, her own movements stopping as she watched, mesmerized.
“Talk to her, Lana,” Christian ordered, pulling back and slamming home again. “Tell your new COO what’s happening.”
“He’s… splitting me… open!” Lana screamed, pushing back against him. “His cock is so deep it feels like he’s in my stomach!This is my pussy, Heather! You can watch but you can’t have it!It’s his! He owns this cunt!”
“He owns the whole fucking company!” Heather shouted back, her composure shattering. She was frantically rubbing her clit now, her hips bucking off the sofa.“He owns you!He owns me! Fuck her harder! Make her scream!”
Christian obliged, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, a relentless percussion of skin on skin.The desk shuddered. Lana’s cries were incoherent, a mix of Spanish and English profanity.“Más duro, papi!Rompeme! Sí! Sí!”
He reached around, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing it in rough, tight circles.The dual sensation pushed her toward the edge violently. “I’m gonna come!” she shrieked. “I’m gonna come all over this fucking dick!”
“Do it,” Heather begged, her own body tensing.“Come for him, you whore! Let me see it!”
Lana’s orgasm ripped through her, a convulsive, shaking wave.She clenched around Christian, milking him, her screams echoing in the glass-walled room. The sight of it, the sound of it, tipped Heather over the edge. She threw her head back, a silent scream on her lips as she came, her body bowing taut on the leather sofa.
Christian didn’t stop. He rode out Lana’s climax and kept fucking her, his own release coiling tight in his balls.He was close, so close. He looked over at Heather, who was panting, spent, her eyes glazed but still fixed on him.
“Get over here,” he snarled at her.Heather stumbled off the sofa, her legs weak. She approached the desk, her skin sheened with sweat.
“Lick her,” Christian commanded, his rhythm never breaking.“Lick her clit.Taste her come. Taste my come.”
Heather, without hesitation, dropped to her knees behind Lana. She pressed her face into Lana’s dripping folds, her tongue lashing the swollen, sensitive bud. Lana whimpered, oversensitive, but Heather held her there, licking and sucking as Christian fucked.
The obscene, wet sounds, the submission, the absolute surrender of both women, broke the last dam in Christian. With a final, guttural roar, he plunged as deep as he could and erupted. Pulse after hot, thick pulse flooded Lana’s passage, mixing with her own release.
Heather pulled back, her chin slick. She looked up, meeting Christian’s eyes as he finished, a tangible transfer of power in her gaze.He slowly pulled out, his breath ragged. Lana slumped over the desk, utterly spent.Heather stayed on her knees, waiting.
Christian looked down at Heather Vance, his new COO, her mouth glistening with the proof of his control. He placed a hand on her head, a benediction.
“The office is yours at eight a.m.,” he said, his voice rough. “Don’t be late.”
He walked away, leaving the two naked women in the dark, one slumped over a desk, one kneeling on the floor, the city’s indifferent lights bearing silent witness. The hierarchy was now irrevocably set, the boundaries dissolved, the path ahead a dark and uncharted territory fueled by a hunger that only this raw, shared complicity could satisfy.