Chapter 2: The Aftermath
The elevator ride back up to Harding's penthouse felt different this time. Annie's pulse didn't race with fear—it throbbed with something darker, hotter. The memory of Red's fingers in her hair, the way her body had arched under Annie's hands, sent an electric current down her spine.
The doors opened.
Harding was waiting, backlit by the cityscape, a fresh drink in hand. His tie was loosened now, the first two buttons of his shirt undone. He didn't look surprised to see her.
"Changed your mind?" he asked, voice smooth as the whiskey in his glass.
Annie stepped forward, her heels sinking into the plush carpet. "No."
His eyebrow arched.
"I didn't change my mind," she clarified, stopping just inches from him. The scent of his cologne—spice and something expensive—wrapped around her. "I just realized something."
Harding's lips twitched. "And what's that?"
She reached for his tie, winding the silk around her fingers. "I don't like owing people."
For the first time, she saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes. Good.
She tugged.
He let her lead him through the penthouse, down a hallway she hadn't noticed before, to a door shrouded in shadows. The Red Room.
It lived up to its name.
Crimson velvet clung to the walls, swallowing sound, swallowing light. A four-poster bed dominated the space, its silk sheets the deep red of fresh blood. The air smelled faintly of leather and something musky, primal.
Harding's fingers grazed the small of her back. "You sure about this?"
Annie turned, catching his wrist. "You don't get to ask me that."
His laugh was low, rough. "No?"
"No." She pressed his hand against her throat, felt his pulse jump against her palm. "You don't get to pretend you care about consent now."
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes.
Good.
She wanted him angry. Wanted him to *try*.
Harding's grip tightened slightly, just enough to make her breath hitch. "You're playing a dangerous game, Annie."
She smiled. "I know."
Then she kissed him.
It wasn't gentle. It was teeth and tongue and the sharp bite of his nails digging into her hips as he backed her toward the bed. She let him push her down, let him crawl over her, but when his fingers went to her waistband, she caught them.
"Not yet," she murmured.
Harding's breath was ragged. "What do you want?"
Annie flipped them, straddling him, her skirt riding up her thighs. "I want to try something."
She reached behind her, undoing his belt with practiced ease. His cock was already hard against her palm, hot and heavy. She stroked him once, twice, just to hear him groan.
Then she leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. "Tell me what you really want."
Harding's hands tightened on her waist. "You know what I want."
She nipped at his jaw. "Say it."
His exhale was rough. "I want to fuck you. Every way I can."
Annie's stomach clenched, but not with fear. With anticipation.
She sat back, meeting his gaze. "Then do it."
For a second, he just stared at her, like he was waiting for the punchline. Then his hands were on her, stripping her bare, his mouth following the path of his fingers. He didn't ask again. Didn't hesitate.
When he flipped her onto her stomach, her pulse spiked.
This was it. The line she'd drawn.
She could still stop him.
She didn't.
Harding's fingers traced the curve of her ass, slow, teasing. "Last chance to back out."
Annie dug her nails into the sheets. "Shut up and do it."
He laughed, dark and pleased, before reaching for the nightstand. The click of a cap, the slick sound of lube. Then his fingers were pressing inside her, stretching, preparing. It burned, just a little, but the pain was sharp, bright—*real*.
She gasped.
Harding stilled. "Too much?"
Annie shook her head, her breath coming in shallow pants. "No. Keep going."
He did.
When he finally pushed into her, it was slow, deliberate. The stretch was intense, almost too much, but then he was fully seated inside her, his chest pressed against her back, his breath hot on her neck.
"Fuck," he muttered, voice strained.
Annie grinned, even though he couldn't see it. "Problem?"
Harding's hips snapped forward, driving a shocked moan from her lips. "No."
Then he was moving, each thrust sending sparks up her spine. It wasn't just the physical sensation—it was the *power*. The way he groaned when she clenched around him, the way his fingers dug into her hips like he was afraid she'd disappear.
She’d thought this would make her feel small.
Instead, she felt *invincible*.
Harding’s pace faltered, his rhythm breaking as he got closer. Annie arched back against him, relishing the way his breath hitched.
"Come on," she taunted, her voice ragged. "You gonna finish, or do I have to do that too?"
He growled, one hand fisting in her hair, pulling just hard enough to sting. Then he was coming, his body shuddering against hers, his mouth pressed to the nape of her neck in something that wasn’t quite a kiss.
Annie grinned into the sheets.
She’d won.
Harding collapsed beside her, his chest rising and falling rapidly. For a long moment, they just lay there, the only sound their mingled breathing.
Then he turned his head to look at her. "Well."
Annie met his gaze. "Well."
A slow smile spread across his face. "We should negotiate more often."
She laughed, rolling onto her back. The ceiling swam above her, the dim light casting everything in a reddish haze.
Her phone buzzed again.
Red.
*You coming back, or did he fuck you stupid?*
Annie’s thumb hovered over the screen.
Then she typed: *Both.*
She hit send.
Harding propped himself up on one elbow, watching her. "Plans?"
Annie sat up, reaching for her clothes. "Yeah."
She could feel his eyes on her as she dressed, but he didn’t try to stop her. Just watched, silent, as she straightened her skirt, smoothed her hair.
At the door, she paused.
"Same time next week?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
Harding’s smirk was all the answer she needed.
Harding’s smirk was all the answer she needed.
Annie stepped back into the elevator, the metallic doors sliding shut behind her like a guillotine. The scent of sex and leather still clung to her skin. She exhaled slowly, watching her reflection in the mirrored walls—hair mussed, lips swollen, the ghost of Harding’s hands still imprinted on her hips.
Her phone buzzed. Red again.
*You alive or what?*
Annie thumbed a reply without thinking. *More than alive.*
The elevator dinged. The lobby was deserted, the marble floors gleaming under sterile lighting. Her heels clicked too loudly, the sound echoing like gunshots in the empty space. The night air hit her like a slap when she pushed through the glass doors, sharp and cold compared to the suffocating heat of the Red Room.
Red was exactly where Annie had left her, still sprawled in the passenger seat of her car, legs dangling out the open door. The streetlight painted her skin gold, highlighting the smudged mascara under her eyes, the faint bruise forming on her collarbone where Annie’s teeth had been.
"Took you long enough," Red drawled, tilting her head. "He fuck you that good?"
Annie leaned against the hood, the metal cool through her blouse. "Better."
Red’s laugh was rough, edged with something dark. "Yeah? Prove it."
Annie reached for her, fingers tangling in Red’s hair, pulling just hard enough to make her gasp. "You first."
Red’s grin was all teeth.
---
Back in the penthouse, Harding hadn’t moved.
He lay on the blood-red sheets, one arm flung over his eyes, the other tracing idle patterns on his bare chest. The room smelled like sweat and sex and something darker, something primal.
Annie’s footsteps were silent on the plush carpet.
Harding didn’t open his eyes. "Forget something?"
She didn’t answer. Just climbed onto the bed, straddling him, her knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his hips. Harding’s hands found her waist automatically, his grip firm, possessive.
Annie leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. "You missed a spot."
Harding’s eyes flew open.
She shifted, just enough to let him feel it—the slickness between her thighs, the ache she knew he’d left behind. His breath hitched.
Annie smirked. "You gonna clean up your mess?"
For a second, he just stared at her, his gaze flickering between her face and where her body hovered over his. Then, slowly, he gripped her hips and flipped her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head.
His mouth was hot on her skin, trailing down her stomach, lower. Annie arched into the touch, her breath coming faster.
Harding paused, his breath ghosting over her thigh. "You’re sure?"
Annie tightened her grip on his hair. "Do I look unsure?"
He didn’t hesitate after that.
His tongue was rough, demanding, tracing the curve of her ass before dipping inside. Annie gasped, her nails digging into the sheets. It was too much—the heat, the pressure, the way he groaned like *he* was the one being ruined.
She came with his name on her lips.
Harding pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes were dark, hungry. "Happy now?"
Annie grinned, breathless. "Getting there."
He kissed her then, hard enough to bruise, his hands roaming her body like he couldn’t decide where to touch first. Annie let him, let him push her into the mattress, let him bite and claim and take.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Red.
*You coming back or what?*
Annie reached for it, her fingers brushing the screen.
*Be there soon.*
Harding caught her wrist, his grip firm. "Leaving so soon?"
She twisted free, rolling out of bed. "Duty calls."
He watched her dress, his gaze heavy. "Next time, you’re staying the night."
Annie paused, her blazer halfway on. "That a threat or a promise?"
Harding’s smile was all teeth. "Both."
The elevator doors closed behind her.
Annie leaned against the mirrored wall, her reflection smirking back at her.
She couldn’t wait.