It started with a key.
A simple brass key, left on Maddie’s pillow after her shower. No note. No ribbon. Just gleaming there, catching the light.
But Maddie knew exactly what it meant.
She didn’t ask Vanessa. She didn’t show Graham. She didn’t whisper it to Lucien during dinner when his fingers grazed her knee beneath the table.
No. Maddie had begun to understand something.
This house—this life—wasn’t about asking permission. It was about following your hunger.
And hers was blooming fast.
That night, she waited until everyone had retreated to their respective corners of the manor. Then, barefoot and braless in a sheer white slip, Maddie padded through the darkened halls, down the back stairs, and out the double doors that led to the garden path.
The moon was high, casting silver across the stone.
The key was warm in her hand.
The greenhouse stood at the far end of the grounds—half-glass, half-wild, lush and glowing in the moonlight like a secret haven. Ivy curled up its frame. Thick tropical leaves pressed against the panes. It looked less like a garden… and more like a temptress’ lair.
She reached the door.
Slid the key in.
Turned it.
Click.
The heavy door creaked open—and the wave of humid, fragrant heat hit her at once.
Inside, it was paradise.
Overgrown vines. Exotic orchids. Ferns the size of her torso. The scent of jasmine, wet earth, and something… darker. Deeper. Animal.
Candles glowed low on the stone floor. A small table bore a silver ice bucket and a half-empty bottle of rosé. And beyond it, in the center of the room, on a low bed of soft furs and throw pillows—
He was waiting.
Cole.
Shirtless. Lean and dangerous. That same glint in his eyes like he was always one thought away from devouring her whole. His slacks were unbuttoned. His bare chest gleamed with a light sheen of sweat. He sat with one knee bent, watching her like a predator who had already laid the trap.
“You came,” he said simply.
Maddie stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind her with a soft thud.
“You knew I would.”
She didn’t wait. She walked straight to him, hips swaying, slip clinging to her every curve.
He reached out, fingers sliding up her thighs, under the hem of her dress. No panties. She saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
“Smart girl.”
Then he pulled her into his lap—one motion, strong and confident. Her thighs spread around him, her bare heat brushing his hard length through his slacks. She gasped.
His hands explored her slowly—palming her ass, tracing up her back, slipping under the thin strap of her dress and tugging it down, exposing one perfect, swollen breast.
He took it into his mouth without warning, sucking hard, his tongue flicking across the peak until she cried out.
“You’ve been thinking about me.”
She nodded, biting her lip, grinding on him.
“Say it.”
“Yes.”
“You touched yourself to it.”
“Twice,” she breathed.
That made him smile.
“Good girl.”
Then he stood, lifting her effortlessly, and laid her down in the center of the furs. He undressed her slowly, dragging the slip down her legs, kissing her skin inch by inch, until she was spread open beneath him—naked, flushed, eyes wide with need.
“You don’t get fucked tonight,” he said, crawling between her thighs. “You get worshipped.”
And he did.
For what felt like hours.
He kissed her everywhere. The soft skin beneath her jaw. Her inner thighs. The crease of her hip. His tongue teased the slick folds between her legs—slow at first, then deeper, then faster, until her fingers twisted in his hair and her moans filled the humid air.
He took his time.
Every motion designed to undo her.
When she came the first time, she sobbed his name. When she came the second time, her whole body shook.
Still, he didn’t stop.
He flipped her onto her stomach and kissed the line of her spine. Bit the soft flesh of her ass. Spread her open and licked her from behind, so filthy and slow her legs trembled.
She wanted more. Needed it. Begged for it.
Only then did he free himself from his pants, his cock thick and pulsing. He dragged the tip through her folds, coating himself in her slickness.
And slid inside her.
Slow. Deep. All the way.
Maddie gasped—hands gripping the pillows, back arching. He began to move. A slow rhythm that built and built, deeper, harder, until their bodies were slapping together in the heat, sweat mixing with the scent of orchids and sex.
She pushed back against him, meeting every thrust.
He pulled her up by the hair and whispered in her ear, “You’re mine when the door’s locked, Maddie. Say it.”
She was breathless. “I’m yours.”
“Louder.”
“I’m yours.”
He thrust deeper.
“Good girl.”
She shattered again.
He followed her seconds later, moaning into her shoulder as he filled her, his hips pressing tight to hers. They collapsed in a pile of tangled limbs and gasping breath, her body slick and humming.
They lay there for a long while.
The candles burned low.
Maddie stared at the glass ceiling above them, the moon casting long beams through the leaves.
“Why here?” she finally asked.
Cole traced a finger down her thigh. “No cameras in the greenhouse.”
Her lips curled. “That why you left the key?”
He smiled. “That’s why I’ll leave another.”
Maddie didn’t ask when.
Didn’t ask who else he’d brought here before.
Because in that moment, she didn’t care.
She had her own secrets now.
And she was just getting started.
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