James Bond had all the women he wanted.

That disarming smile, the effortless charm, the intoxicating aura of danger — women melted in his presence. Even the ones who tried to resist, who put up a brave front, eventually found themselves drawn in. Bond didn't chase; he allowed himself to be wanted.

He was a seducer. He never denied himself the pleasures that came with his line of work — or with his allure. Women were part of the game, and he played to win. He adored women — all of them — and never missed an opportunity to indulge in their company. He whispered promises he never intended to keep, sweetened partings with silk-tongued lies that left his lovers dazed rather than broken. Some laughed, some cried, a few slapped him — but all remembered him.

James Bond had all the women he wanted.

All, but Moneypenny.

The ever-poised assistant to M had never known the private side of 007. Yes, they flirted — it was tradition by now. Once, he’d even kissed her, just once, soft and fleeting, more tease than promise. There were playful spanks as he walked past her desk, whispers laced with innuendo, smiles that lingered a moment too long. But that was as far as it went.

And Moneypenny — oh, she wanted him. She had made no secret of it. Her words were playful, yes, but laced with sincerity of a woman who knew what she wanted. She had let her guard down more than once, offering herself in ways she never did to anyone else. And still, Bond held back. Always the same dance: temptation, tension, and the inevitable retreat.

"Miss Moneypenny," Bond's voice cut through her thoughts, smooth as ever. He strode in with that effortless elegance, tossing his hat onto the rack — landing it perfectly, naturally. Show-off. "Anything I should know, darling? Or have you only been waiting for me?"