She Used Me for a Dare… Now I Own Her Mother

Victoria stood naked in front of the mirror, bare feet on the cold marble floor, the rest of her body flushed with warmth.

She didn’t rush.

Her eyes roamed over her reflection, sharp and slow. Her skin caught the golden afternoon light, casting gentle shadows beneath her breasts, along the inward curve of her waist, over the quiet strength of her thighs.

She cupped one breast in her palm, lifting it slightly.

“’Too big,’ he’d said last time, grinning, breathless, like it overwhelmed him. ”

The memory made something flutter in her chest, something wicked and proud. She rolled her thumb slowly over her nipple, watching it harden under her touch. She imagined his mouth. His hands. The way he looked at her like he wanted to ruin her and worship her in the same moment.

He’ll notice.

Her hand dropped. She turned slightly to check the shape of her ass in profile, tight, smooth, just the way she liked to keep it. Just the way she hoped he remembered it.

On the bed, the lingerie waited. Not red, not black….those would’ve been too obvious.

No, tonight she’d chosen a soft, slate-gray set. Satin and mesh. The kind of color you had to look closer to appreciate. The bra framed her breasts with a teasing lift, just enough to remind him of what he already knew. The panties were whisper-thin, high-cut, nearly invisible beneath a skirt, but she knew…He would know. That she’d worn them just for him.

She stepped into them carefully, like each piece was part of a ritual. The fabric slid over her skin with a sinful coolness, and for a brief moment, she closed her eyes, breathing it in. Not nerves. Not modesty. Anticipation.

The skirt came next. Dark, structured, high-waisted. Professional. Sharp. A woman giving a presentation. A woman with a reputation. A woman in control.

She tucked in the silk blouse…cream-colored, barely sheer. If the light hit right, he might see just a hint of the lace underneath. She debated leaving one more button undone. Chose restraint. Let him work for it.

The blazer followed. Navy. Tailored. Impeccable.

From the outside, she looked like a CEO preparing for a business consultation.

From the inside, she was throbbing with want.

She put on her lipstick last. A quiet pink. Soft. Biteable.

One final look in the mirror.

Will he like it?

She smiled.

Of course he would.

Because every inch of her was prepared for him.

And he wouldn’t even know where to start.

____

The hallway was quiet.

Too quiet.

Victoria could hear the faint ticking of the clock, each second striking like a countdown. Her heels waited at the foot of the bed, but she left them untouched. She wanted to feel the ground…her ground…with every step. Wanted to carry the electricity humming inside her all the way to the front door.

She walked slowly, silk brushing against her thighs beneath the skirt, each step a deliberate secret. The blazer moved with her, structured and elegant, belying nothing. But beneath it… beneath it, she was all sensation. The satin clung, kissed, teased, reminding her with every motion who she was doing this for.

Then…

The low hum of a car engine.

Her heart fluttered… unbidden, unwelcome, but undeniable.

She froze mid-step, breath catching as she turned toward the sound.

Him.

It had to be.

Before she could stop herself, she was moving…bare feet padding quickly down the hall, almost running.

Then she slowed.

She caught her reflection in the glass frame beside the staircase and frowned softly.

Don’t look desperate.

You’re not a girl chasing a crush. You’re the woman he left behind. The one he couldn’t forget.

She straightened her back, let her shoulders relax into grace, not tension. Her fingers tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with calculated slowness.

The car door shut outside.

Someone might be watching.

She moved to the front door, pace composed now, barefoot elegance across polished wood.

The scent of orchids met her again, rich and calm…a deliberate backdrop to the storm she was becoming inside.

At the door, she paused.

Hand on the handle.

She let herself feel it…every nerve ending alive, every second stretched taut.

Then she exhaled softly.

She opened it.

Alex stood there, sun at his back, dressed in that casual arrogance that made him both completely wrong and dangerously perfect for this house. White shirt, dark jeans, sleeves rolled to the forearm. Effortless.

His gaze swept her.

Not just her face. Not just the outfit.

Her.

His eyes lingered for a second longer than politeness allowed on her legs, on the open neckline of her blouse. Then flicked back up to meet hers.

“Mrs. Blackwood.”

That smile. That calm insolence that made her want to slap him and kiss him in the same breath.

“Alex,” she replied, voice smooth. Formal. Wrapped in silk and steel. “Thank you for coming.”

She stepped aside. Let him pass. His shoulder brushed hers.

He smelled like clean soap and tension. Heat prickled at the base of her spine.

“I’ve prepared the study,” she said, her tone clipped and elegant as she turned toward the hallway. “I thought we could give thoughts on your proposal. Your pitch last week showed promise.”

Alex followed her, half a step behind.

“I refined it a little,” he said, voice easy, smooth. “Figured I’d adjust based on your feedback. You mentioned scalability.”

“Mhm,” she replied, nodding slightly. “Scalability, yes….but also sustainability. A rapid expansion model doesn’t mean much if it cracks under its own weight.”

She didn’t look back.

Instead, she led him through the high-ceilinged corridor, past oil paintings, toward the carved double doors of her study.

Her words were business-sharp, but her body betrayed her. The way her blouse moved with each stride. The sway of her hips. The subtle scent of jasmine and skin in the air.

Alex wasn’t saying much, but she could feel his eyes on her.

They reached the study.

She opened the door with one graceful movement, revealing the warm, curated interior: low light, soft jazz, the glint of crystal glasses near a waiting decanter.

“Please,” she said, turning her head just slightly. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ve set the documents on the desk. Thought we could start with your analysis of Q4.”

She waited for him to enter.

Waited for him to pass by her again, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off his skin. And then….

She closed the door behind them.

Click.

That single sound felt louder than anything they’d said.

And it was no longer just business.

The silence hung between them as if they forget everything else,

Their eyes met for a brief moment saying the they should.

Then without hesitation she throw herself forward.

Her hands were already on him…gripping his shirt, dragging him close. Her mouth found his in a collision more than a kiss…hot, open, hungry. It was clumsy in the way only desperation could be, lips crashing, teeth scraping slightly, breath mingling like they’d been starved for this exact moment.

Alex stiffened in surprise, just for a beat. His back hit the edge of the desk, the papers she’d so precisely laid out scattering beneath them.

“Well,” he muttered against her mouth, voice half-muffled, half-amused, “so much for Q4.”

“Shut up,” she gasped, her breath ragged as she pulled back just long enough to look at him…eyes blazing, pupils blown wide. She wasn’t composed anymore. She wasn’t in control. She didn’t want to be.

He looked at her and smirked. That slow, crooked thing he did that made her knees weaken and her temper flare.

“Careful, Mrs. Blackwood,” he whispered, hands settling on her hips, fingers already tightening. “You’re acting like you missed me.”

“I didn’t,” she lied, already kissing him again. Harder. Hotter.

This time, he kissed back just as fiercely.

And suddenly, there was no space, no business, no restraint…just the mess of their mouths and her hands on his belt and the ache she’d been carrying for two days erupting all at once.

She wasn’t hosting a consultation.

She was claiming him.

He grabbed her thighs, lifted her with one clean motion, her legs wrapping around him as her back met the wall behind. His chest pressed to hers

“Fuck,” she gasped, arms locking around his shoulders.

Alex didn’t hesitate. He held her like he’d done it a hundred times before, like her weight in his arms felt natural. Inevitable. His mouth found her neck, her jaw, then her lips again…no more teasing. No smirk. Just heat.

Fierce. Unrelenting. Like he’d been biting it back too.

Their kisses were no longer careful. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard, and he growled low against her mouth in a way that made something tighten deep inside her. Her blazer slipped halfway off her shoulders. His grip shifted, fingers digging into the back of her thighs as he pressed her harder against his body.

Each kiss left them more breathless. Hungrier. Desperate and drenched in everything unsaid over the last forty-eight hours.

Victoria broke the kiss, forehead resting against his, chest heaving.

“Bedroom,” she whispered, voice wrecked but demanding. “Now.”

His brows rose slightly, breath still ragged. “You planned that too?”

Her smile was sharp and wicked.

“Of course I did.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Still carrying her, he turned without a word and headed out of the study, past the scattered papers, through the hallway where soft light still filtered in. Her thighs clenched around him. The house felt quieter now. Hungrier. Every surface bearing witness to what was coming.

The bedroom door was already open.

Waiting.

Prepared.