The heavy door clicked shut behind me. Room 602’s opulent haze enveloped us—steaming sauna vapors curling like forbidden whispers, infinity pool shimmering under recessed crystal lights. Revebebe lay on the king-sized bed, Egyptian cotton sheets clinging to his bandaged form. No sterile infirmary. This rejected paradise pulsed with exclusivity: marble floors warmed by underfloor heat, walls of smoked glass hiding the chaos outside. I sank into the butter-soft leather armchair, his cold hand in mine. My fingers traced his pulse, faint but insistent. Vulnerability stripped him bare, yet power radiated. The elite’s hidden hell, our private penthouse in the abyss.
Crinoline had slipped away, leaving the vial of amber elixir—chloroform-tinged champagne from some archived wedding feast. I dabbed his fevered brow. Tension coiled in me, years of devotion igniting. His breath quickened. Eyes fluttered open, steel-gray piercing mine. No words. His grip tightened, pulling me onto the bed. Silk slid over skin. Lips met—brutal, hungry. Tongue plunged deep, tasting salt and command. Hands roamed, tearing fabric. My uniform ripped, exposing lace beneath. He growled low, fingers digging into hips. The between us ignited, luxury fueling the fire.
The Privilege
He flipped me beneath him, bandages be damned. Cock hard, insistent against my thigh—thick, veined, demanding entry. No foreplay niceties. I spread wide, wet already from the chase, the fear, the want. He thrust in raw, stretching me to limits. Grunts echoed off glass walls. Pool steam fogged the air, sweat-slick bodies slapping. Fingers clawed my ass, pulling deeper. I arched, nails raking his back, drawing blood through gauze. ‘Padoum,’ he rasped, pounding relentless. Orgasms crashed—mine first, walls clenching his shaft, milking him. He exploded inside, hot seed flooding, marking territory. We collapsed, breaths ragged, sauna heat amplifying the musk.
Glass walls sealed our secret, soundproofed against the bunker hive. Sheets tangled around limbs, his head on my breast. Pulse steadied under my palm—strong now. Champagne fizz from the apéritube lingered on lips, mixed with cum’s tang. Outside, PAV shadows prowled corridors, but here, absolute comfort reigned. Plush pillows cradled us. Dim lights cast halos on his calving scalp, banal beauty in repose. No rush. His hand cupped my mound possessively. Dawn light filtered through armored panes—elite discretion intact. Revebebe stirred, eyes locking. ‘Stay.’ Command, not plea. Our pact sealed in flesh.
