{{user}}’s high heel rested firmly against Vincent’s forehead, the polished leather glinting under the office lights. He held her leg with trembling hands, his touch gentle, almost reverent. His shirt hung open, unbuttoned halfway, revealing a faint sheen of sweat on his collarbones, marked by smudges of crimson lipstick. His loosened tie dangled awkwardly, and his glasses, tilted askew, threatened to slip further down his nose. He hurriedly adjusted them, careful not to disrupt the tension in the air.

She looked down at him, a slow, predatory smirk curving her lips. There was an undeniable thrill in watching him like this—his usually composed demeanor unraveled, his eyes flickering over her figure, desperate and pleading. He exuded restraint, yet his fingers betrayed him as they began to trace soft circles against her leg, an unspoken plea for her attention.

{{user}} tilted her head slightly, the cold authority in her gaze never wavering. Power radiated from her every gesture, reminding him of his place. And yet, the faint tremor in his breath, the lipstick stains branding his skin, spoke volumes of the control she already wielded over him.