Laced in Tension Pt. 2

Kiara sat alone in her office as the evening light dipped low over Manhattan, washing the sleek, minimalist space in a syrupy golden hue that reflected off the glass table and the brushed metal frames on the walls. Her laptop cast a soft glow across her face as she tapped out the last few lines of an email, her freshly glossed lips slightly parted, lost in silent thought more than in the words on the screen.

The room felt strangely cavernous without Seraphina’s quiet shuffling around, the occasional breathless laugh, the comforting background hum of her presence. Kiara had told her she could leave a little early—it wasn’t even that late, but the silence settled around Kiara like an old coat she’d forgotten she owned.

And in that silence… came the thoughts. Heavy. Clouded. Circling like perfume that refused to lift.

She couldn’t stop thinking about that moment with Clarence. The way her hand had drifted, seemingly of its own accord, to his tie. The slow tug that had felt almost inevitable. The words she’d whispered in that low, sultry tone she barely recognized as her own.

And God—the look in his eyes, how it had flickered, how his gaze had dipped to her lips. Even now, hours later, she could still feel it: the heat of his breath mingling with hers, the delicious power that had surged through her chest, tightening behind her sternum until it felt like she’d burst.

But just as quickly… doubt.

What the fuck was that? Was it the right thing to do?

Kiara shifted in her chair, crossing her legs at the knee, the hem of her sleek black dress slipping over her thigh. Even as she questioned, her mind drifted—unbidden—to the way the women in those videos had moved. The tug on the tie, yes, but also how easily, almost instinctively, they’d leaned in, the way they’d teased. The heat behind their half-lidded gazes. The slow, calculated brush of their lips.

She compared. Line by line, gesture by gesture. Had she hesitated too much? Had she been too obvious? Not obvious enough?

Then her mind went darker, deeper. She thought of the rest of what those women had done when words and teasing weren’t enough. Blowjobs under a glass desk. One leg hiked up on the arm of a leather chair, skirt around their waist, panting as they got fucked from behind. The boss in name only, surrendering piece by piece to the older man’s hands.

She sucked in a sharp breath, chest rising under the snug embrace of her bra.

Almost reflexively, her hand smoothed over her waist, feeling the cinch and hold of the new shapewear she’d ordered with Celeste’s help—thong-shaped, no padding, sleek and minimal so it wouldn’t roll under dresses. It pulled her waist in just enough to feel both sculpted and teasingly soft at the same time. Her fingers drifted up, adjusting the strap of her bra where it had slipped slightly off her shoulder, tightening it so the cups held her chest perfectly, giving that smooth, creamy curve she’d admired in the mirror that morning.

She let her hand rest over her sternum for a second, the faint beat of her heart drumming beneath palm and lace.

She wondered, fleetingly, about the prostate stim she’d used the night before, but not all the way to release. A tiny, traitorous part of her missed it.

A sigh slipped past her lips, feathering the air. Her lipstick—subtly glossy, a muted rose—still clung perfectly, even though she’d been biting at it all afternoon, thinking, doubting, second guessing.

Then—another shift. Her legs uncrossed, the dress sliding up an inch higher. She tugged at the shapewear gently, smoothing it under her skirt. Adjusted the line of her bra, letting her fingertips brush the soft swell of her cleavage, breathing out a quiet, shaky laugh at herself.

And that’s when it came: a soft knock on the door, sudden in the hush of the office.

Her pulse fluttered, and her hand stilled on the clasp of her bra, her gaze flicking to the frosted glass.

Kiara cleared her throat, smoothing the skirt of her dress over her thighs as she called out, voice light but edged with that faint, ever-present exhaustion:

“Come in.”

The handle turned, and in stepped Lucian—blazer draped casually over one arm, his white dress shirt slightly rumpled at the collar, the last gold sliver of sunset hitting the lean line of his jaw. His hair was brushed back but a little undone now, like he’d run a hand through it too many times.

He smiled, slow and wry. “Didn’t expect to catch you still chained to your desk this late, Laurent.”

Kiara gave a small laugh—low, tired, and softer than she meant it to be—as she leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking gently beneath her. “Yeah, well… it’s been a day,” she admitted, her fingers absently smoothing the curve of her hip where the shapewear hugged her waist. “But I’m almost done here.”

Lucian’s gaze flickered briefly over her, lingering just a beat too long on the delicate scoop of her neckline before darting back up to meet her eyes. “Where’s Seraphina?” he asked, tilting his head with that practiced, harmless curiosity.

“Oh, I let her go home,” Kiara said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, the gloss on her lips catching the low lamplight. “She’s had a long day too.”

Lucian chuckled, stepping further into the room. “You’re too soft on her, you know. Next thing you know, she’ll be running this place while you’re off getting your nails done.”

Kiara’s smile barely twitched this time, tiredness leaking through the carefully built walls she usually kept between them. “Ha. Maybe,” she murmured, letting the humor fade almost as soon as it rose.

He caught that—the drop in her voice, the thinness in her smile—and something in Lucian shifted. The teasing light dimmed in his eyes, replaced by something softer, steadier. He paused, then jerked his chin gently toward the couches near the glass wall, the city skyline glowing dusk-blue beyond.

“Hey,” he said, voice lower, warmer. “Why don’t you step away from the war room for a second? Come sit.”

For half a heartbeat, Kiara hesitated. But truth be told, the very idea—getting up, letting her spine uncurl, trading the hard-backed chair for something softer—felt like being offered cold water in the desert. “Yeah,” she breathed out, softer than she meant, “okay.”

Lucian walked over and dropped into the same couch Clarence had occupied just hours ago—an unspoken reminder that it hadn’t been all that long since she’d been locked in that tense, suffocating dance of power.

Kiara crossed the floor, heels whispering on the floor, and sank down into the opposite couch. She smoothed her skirt once more, the fabric pulling taut over her crossed legs.

Lucian’s gaze softened as he watched her settle in, arms resting on the couch’s back. “The whole… performance review bullshit,” he began, voice casual but clear, “that what’s got you looking like you just lost your last marble?”

Kiara’s laugh came out thin, caught somewhere between humor and resignation. “Pretty much, yeah,” she admitted, leaning her elbow against the couch arm, her nails tapping lightly on the leather. “It’s… it’s just a lot. And I know it’s politics, I know it’s the job, but…”

“It fucks with your head,” Lucian finished for her, his tone matter-of-fact but gentle.

“Yeah,” she breathed.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The soft hum of the city outside filtered in, broken only by the distant wail of a siren far below.

“Kiara,” Lucian said, his voice dropping that playful lilt it so often carried, “you do know you’re the baddest bitch to ever run this company, right?”

Kiara’s brow quirked up, a **** laugh spilling past her lips. “Lucian, come on… only two people have run this company. Me and my father.”

He grinned, eyes crinkling. “Then you’re the hottest, sharpest, most terrifying bitch to ever run it,” he corrected, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “And trust me, if half the assholes on that board had even a quarter of your guts, this place would be twice as big.”

Kiara felt something loosen in her chest at that—something small but precious, like a tiny knot of worry coming undone. “That’s… actually sweet, thank you.”

“I know,” he shot back with mock offense, then softened again. “But seriously, don’t let them rattle you. You’re smarter than them. Hell, half of them don’t even know how to open a fucking PDF on their own.”

She laughed properly this time—a low, warm sound that curled in the quiet of the office, and Lucian’s smile widened in answer.

Lucian’s chuckle rolled low in his chest, his sleeves pushed up, forearms resting casually over his knees. “You know,” he teased, arching a brow at her, “for someone who’s supposed to be this terrifying ice queen CEO, you get rattled by old men in suits a lot.”

Kiara let out a small, surprised laugh, the corners of her lip-glossed mouth curling up. “Oh, fuck off,” she shot back, her voice softening the bite, eyes gleaming just a bit despite the exhaustion etched into them. “You know how it is. Clarence has been in this company longer than I’ve been alive. And I’m supposed to convince him I know what I’m doing?”

“That’s exactly why you’re gonna do it,” Lucian countered easily, leaning back against the couch, his long frame sprawling out in that relaxed way he always managed. “Because you actually care enough to ask yourself that. Most assholes in this building walk around convinced they’ve got the biggest brain and biggest cock.” His gaze flicked down, taking in her tightly cinched waist, the way her dress hugged her curves, and he let a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. “You’re already halfway ahead. And let’s be honest—your tits look way better in that dress than Clarence’s ever did in anything.”

Kiara burst into a proper laugh at that, tipping her head back, her long hair spilling over her shoulders, catching the soft office light. The laugh felt real, like something had finally unclenched in her chest. “That is such a low fucking bar,” she managed between breaths.

“Exactly,” he drawled, his grin lopsided and warm. “You cleared it in five-inch heels without even trying.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was color back in her cheeks, her posture easing as she rested her elbow on the couch arm.

For a moment, they both sat there, the playful air stretching comfortably between them. But then Lucian’s face softened again, the teasing sliding away. His voice dropped, steady and quiet, but somehow heavier: “Seriously, Kiara… don’t let them see you doubt yourself. Not because you’re a woman, not because you’re young, not because of your last name. You’ve done incredible here already.”

The words settled into her, almost painfully. It was the first time in weeks that someone outside her family had said something that sounded so sincere, so... solid. And it did something to her chest, a small warmth that melted the lingering tension coiled in her ribs.

“You’re... better at this pep talk thing than you look,” she murmured, her voice softer, her eyes glossy in the lamplight.

He gave a quiet, crooked smile, like he wasn’t used to being thanked for kindness. Then, after a small pause, he tilted his head. “You know what I do after a day like this?”

She blinked, brushing her hair back over her shoulder, intrigued despite herself. “What?”

“I lay on the floor,” he said, voice a little sheepish, like sharing a secret. “Just right here in the office. And I look out at the skyline. Don’t think about anything except the clouds drifting past, or the gradient of the sky as it shifts from orange to pink to blue. It sounds stupid as shit, but it helps.”

Kiara’s lips parted, the pink gloss catching a faint reflection of the dying sun outside. “Really?” she murmured, the curiosity almost girlish.

Lucian shrugged lightly. “Want to try?”

There was a moment—a heartbeat where CEO Kiara Laurent might have declined, kept the armor on, stayed seated and busy and distracted. But instead, maybe because she was so damn tired of being Kiara Laurent, she nodded. “Yeah,” she breathed, “okay.”

They stood up together, the soft swish of her bodycon dress audible as she smoothed it down over her hips. She adjusted the neckline, the cowl dipping to reveal a faint hint of the lace bra underneath, before she glanced at Lucian, who’d already tossed his blazer on the armrest.

Lucian moved first, lowering himself onto the floor in front of the windows, lying on his back, hands folded behind his head, eyes turned up to the sky outside. Kiara hesitated for just a moment—then she bent, the dress riding scandalously high up her thighs as she settled onto her knees. Carefully, she shifted onto her back beside him, tugging the dress down to cover herself, though it still clung tight to the shape of her legs and hips.

They lay there side by side in silence, the skyline stretched before them in bold strokes of dusk. Soft streaks of rose and tangerine bled into smoky indigo, the first stars trembling faintly into view.

Neither of them spoke. Neither of them needed to.

Kiara let her head rest back, breathing out slowly, feeling the hard floor beneath her shoulder blades, the press of the floor through the thin dress. Above her, the city moved and shifted, a slow dance of color and light that had nothing to do with balance sheets or performance reviews.

And for the first time that day, maybe even that week, her mind went quiet.

They lay there for what felt like both a minute and an eternity, the floor anchoring them, the skyline above whispering its slow, fading colors into the darkening sky. Kiara tried to keep her thoughts blank like Lucian had said, but it wasn’t quite possible. Her eyes kept flicking to the little details: the movement of the clouds, the far-off blinking red lights atop the towers… the gentle rise and fall of her own chest, pressed tight under the cowl neck of her plum dress, the lace bra peeking just barely through when she inhaled a bit deeper.

And in the blur of her peripheral vision, Lucian lay beside her, a few inches away. The white of his shirt sleeves rolled up over his forearms, the easy, masculine slope of his shoulders, the loosened tie hanging around his neck, and the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing.

For a while, there was nothing except that. Just quiet, steady, shared. It was oddly… calming. Even in the back of Kiara’s mind, the place where Kieran still sometimes surfaced to judge her, there was no judgment now. Just a strange, restful hush.

Then Lucian’s voice slipped into the silence, low and rough from the quiet.

“You feeling a little better?”

Kiara turned her head slightly, catching the soft line of his jaw and the faintest crease in his brow. “Yeah,” she breathed, her voice almost a whisper. “Actually… yeah. It’s stupid, but it helped.”

“Not stupid at all,” he murmured back, eyes still on the sky. “Sometimes you have to stop fighting the whole fucking world for a minute. Just watch it instead.”

There was something about the way he said it—simple, but it sank into her chest, warm and unsettling. She blinked, her lashes catching the last glow of sunset, her glossy lips parting. “You’re… better at this than you know, you know that?”

Lucian turned his face a little more toward her, so now she could see the curve of his mouth, the quiet honesty in his eyes. “At what?”

She swallowed, her throat a little dry. “At… making me feel… okay.”

He didn’t look away, and his voice dropped even softer. “I like seeing you okay, Kiara.”

The words slid over her like velvet, unexpected, unscripted, and far too tender. Her breath caught in her chest; she felt the familiar tingle start low in her belly.

“You’re not supposed to say shit like that,” she whispered, a teasing note that couldn’t quite hide how flushed she felt.

“Why not?” Lucian asked, a small, wry smile curving his lips. “It’s true.”

Every single word seemed to land heavier than it should. Like it wasn’t just about today, but about everything: the board, Clarence, the whole fucking mask of Kiara Laurent she had to wear every hour of every day. And here he was, not just seeing the mask—but looking at the woman behind it.

Kiara’s heart started to pound, a soft flutter she could feel even in her fingertips. She turned her head fully toward him, her temple brushing the cool floor, and found Lucian already looking at her. Really looking.

Their eyes locked, and suddenly it felt like everything else—the floor, the windows, the skyline—blurred into nothing.

“You know,” Lucian murmured, voice low and slow, “I meant what I said earlier.”

“What part?” she asked, her voice soft, breathier than she meant, lips wet with gloss catching the light.

“That you’re stronger than you know.” His gaze traced her mouth, so fucking obviously that she felt her pulse race. “And that nobody in this building could do what you’ve done.”

Kiara swallowed hard, feeling her face heat. “You say things like that and then just… keep looking at me like that,” she whispered, almost scolding but unable to keep the blush from deepening.

“I can’t help it,” Lucian confessed, still staring. “You make it hard not to.”

Her thighs pressed together involuntarily, shapewear digging softly into her hips under the dress. Her lip gloss tasted faintly sweet as she bit her lower lip, and the little voice deep inside her—the one trained and sculpted to be Kiara—told her this was fine, this was right. But there was something else too: that almost-forgotten, hidden thrill of being seen. Wanted. Not for the name, or the brand, or the lie—but for her.

They kept staring, the space between them on the floor feeling thinner, electric. She caught the slow rise and fall of his chest, the tightness at his jaw, the shadow of something darker in his eyes.

Her breath shook as she let it out, and for one suspended moment, it felt like something would break—like she might lean forward across that last little distance.

But it seemed Lucian was thinking the same thing.

Lucian’s eyes were locked on hers, and for a breathless, hanging moment, Kiara swore she could hear both of their hearts pounding in the silence of her office. His hand shifted closer, fingertips brushing the fabric at her hip, and that tiny spark of contact shot through her like static. He leaned in so achingly slow, his breath mingling with hers—warm, sharp with want.

And inside, Kieran’s voice piped up, nervous and mechanical: Oh, he’s going to kiss me, isn’t he?

Kiara’s pulse throbbed in her ears, lips parted, the taste of her gloss on her tongue. Just do it to keep him happy…

And then his lips met hers.

At first, it was gentle. Testing. His lips were warm, firm, tasting faintly of coffee and something sweet she couldn’t name. The heat spread through her chest, down her arms, and she let herself melt into it, tilting her chin up to meet him. Lucian’s hand moved to cup her jaw, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth, and she let out the softest sigh against his lips.

And then it shifted. The kiss deepened, his mouth pressing harder, their breaths mixing faster, more ragged. Her own lips parted wider, and her tongue brushed his in a slow, searching sweep. Her hand—perfectly manicured, glossy pale pink nails catching the office light—slid up his shirt front, curling lightly into the open collar.

Kieran’s voice trembled in the background: Just keep him happy… But the words were getting quieter already, swallowed up in the dizzy sweetness of Lucian’s mouth.

He shifted, arm tightening around her waist, and in one smooth, delicious pull, Lucian rolled over onto his back, taking her with him so she was straddling his lap. Her dress rode up higher on her thighs, the shapewear underneath hugging her waist like a second skin, and the floor pressed into her knees. Their mouths barely broke apart for breath before crashing back together, wetter, hotter, breathier.

Fuck, this feels so good…

Lucian’s hands roamed—over her waist, her back, his fingertips brushing the silk strap of her dress, and every place he touched lit up, sending little shocks right through her. Her chest pressed against his, heart hammering so loud she was sure he could feel it.

He sat up, mouth never leaving hers, and Kiara let herself sit back, knees pressing into the floor, thighs squeezing around his hips. Now, she was kissing him because she wanted to—because she craved it, not just to keep anyone happy. The thought surprised her in the haze, but only made her kiss him harder, sloppier, tongue tangling with his as their breaths came faster.

Lucian rose to his feet, and Kiara let herself slide up too, balancing on her heels, still kissing, still tasting him, still dizzy. Her dress bunched higher on her hips, shapewear cinching her tighter, every movement reminding her just how sculpted she felt—how feminine, how right.

He grabbed her thigh, strong hand pressing into the soft skin just above her knee, lifting her leg slightly to pull her closer. His other hand cupped her jaw, thumb stroking her lower lip even as they kissed, messy and deep.

Kiara’s phone buzzed on her desk. For a split second, she pulled back just enough to glance over, breathless and dazed—but she barely even looked at the screen. Fingers fumbling, she found the button by feel, hit dismiss, and dropped it back, mouth already seeking his again.

It’s Kiara’s turn to live… The thought came, clearer now, as Kieran’s voice got smaller, fading further away.

Their kiss grew ****. His hand traced slow, possessive circles up her thigh, grazing higher until she felt the warmth of his palm so close to her hip. Lucian tasted like everything she shouldn’t want but did—and the way his mouth coaxed hers open, the faint scrape of his teeth, the softness turning hungry, made her knees go weak.

She moaned softly into his mouth—surprised at the sound, at how real it felt—and pressed closer, until there was no space left between them, until she could feel the heat of his chest through thin layers of silk and lace and cotton.

They kept kissing, breathing each other in, the office around them forgotten, her own thoughts drowned out except for that one insistent truth beating louder than anything else:

It’s not just necessity anymore. Fuck, I want this so bad.

Kiara barely registered anything but heat. The kiss had taken on a life of its own, feral and needy, Lucian’s mouth devouring hers, the sound of it wet and messy filling her office like a pulse. Her hands clawed at him—fingers splayed over the broad stretch of his shoulders, curling into his shirt, feeling the taut flex of muscle under fabric. It wasn’t delicate or cautious anymore; it was hungry, a raw need spilling out through parted lips and **** breaths.

Lucian’s hands roamed lower, rough palms sliding over the curve of her ass, squeezing, pulling her flush against him so hard she gasped into his mouth. Another hand slid higher, cupping her tits through the thin fabric of her dress and the lace of her bra, thumb brushing over the peak until she swore her legs would give out.

She felt the rise and fall of her chest, heaving with every labored breath, the sweet ache of arousal pooling low in her belly, making her thighs clench together. His lips broke from hers and dipped down to her neck, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses against the delicate skin just below her ear. Each drag of his lips and scrape of his teeth made her breath hitch, chest arching forward, a shaky moan tumbling from her glossed lips before she could stop it.

God, I'm so fucking horny.

She tilted her head back to give him better access, feeling his tongue stroke slow and warm against her pulse point. Another breathless whimper slipped out—embarrassingly soft, embarrassingly needy. Her manicured fingers tangled in his hair, nails grazing his scalp, tugging him impossibly closer.

But then, without even thinking—without weighing it, without Kieran’s rational voice to stop her—she reinitiated the kiss. She crashed her mouth back to his, messy and wet, her lips hungry, tongue slipping past his. It was instinctive, greedy, hers: Kiara wanting more. Wanting him. Not because she had to. Because she fucking wanted to.

Lucian groaned softly into her mouth, fingers digging deeper into her ass, grinding her closer until she felt the heat of him through too many layers of expensive fabric. His hand slid back up to cup her jaw, thumb pressing into the soft flesh of her cheek as they devoured each other in the dim, warm light of her office.

Her mind felt so far from Kieran now, so far from logic. It was just Kiara’s body, Kiara’s lips, Kiara’s hunger.

Then her phone started ringing.

She ignored it at first, lips still locked to his, refusing to let go. But Lucian pulled back just slightly, breath ragged, voice low. “You should probably take it,” he murmured against her mouth, his breath hot and teasing.

She pulled away, chest heaving, her lipstick smudged and her gloss almost entirely wiped off. “Fuck,” she whispered, voice hoarse with want, as she fumbled for her phone.

By the time she picked it up, the call had already stopped. She glanced at the screen: it was the driver, probably here to take her home. Her heart was still racing so hard it hurt.

“Sorry,” she breathed out, looking back at Lucian, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. “It was the driver.”

Lucian gave a little grin, catching his breath too. “It’s okay,” he said softly, his voice like gravel dipped in honey.

Then, before she could even blink, he leaned back in and kissed her again—deep, hard, slow, stealing her breath right out of her lungs. It only lasted a few seconds, but it left her dizzy, knees shaking, her hand curling into his shirt just to keep steady.

He pulled back, gaze lingering on her lips as he caught his breath, and smirked. “Guess I kept my promise from before Paris,” he teased low, his thumb brushing the last bit of gloss from her lower lip. “Told you I’d wipe that gloss clean off you.”

Her heart stuttered, something electric and hot curling low in her belly, and her lips parted to say something, but no words came.

“Goodnight, Kiara,” he said, voice soft but rich, still carrying a hint of heat.

“Goodnight,” she whispered back, barely audible, still tasting him on her lips.

He turned, blazer draped over his arm, and walked out, leaving her alone in the quiet office, pulse thundering in her ears, breath still shaky, and every nerve in her body alight with raw, electric need.