Ryan hooked his fingers into the waistband of the oversized grey sweatpants Zara wore and yanked them down.

Zara didn’t try to stop him. She stepped out of the heavy cotton, kicking the fabric aside. She stood in front of him wearing nothing but the thin, cropped white tank top.

The chill of the kitchen washed over her bare skin, raising goosebumps along her thighs, but the localized heat burning between her legs was entirely suffocating.

She was dripping wet. A heavy, slick sheen of arousal glistened openly against the dark curls of her core.

Ryan gripped her by the waist and lifted her effortlessly. He set her down on the edge of the marble island, right next to the pooled, spilled Cabernet.

The cold stone bit into the back of her thighs, making her gasp sharply, her hands flying back to brace against the counter.

He stepped into the V of her spread legs, but he didn’t push forward. He looked down at Diana, who was still kneeling on the hardwood, her chest rising and falling in jagged, terrified bursts.

Then, Ryan looked back at Zara.

"In the luxury box," Ryan said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through the quiet kitchen. "You asked me if you were better than her."

Zara’s breath hitched.

A violent, thrilling shockwave ripped down her spine. The dark, competitive kink that had been simmering in her blood flared into a blinding, white-hot fire.

She looked down at the ruined venture capitalist on the floor, then back up at the absolute, uncompromising hunger in Ryan’s face.

"I am," Zara whispered, her dark eyes swimming in a haze of feral, unhinged lust.

"Prove it," Ryan commanded.

Zara didn’t hesitate. The pristine, untouchable supermodel completely incinerated her own pedestal.

She slid off the edge of the cold marble counter, her bare feet hitting the hardwood floor. She didn’t stand up. She dropped directly to her knees, positioning herself right next to Diana.

Diana flinched, her tear-streaked eyes widening in shock as the golden girl of the fashion world knelt beside her in the spilled wine and dust.

Zara didn’t even look at the older woman.

Her gaze was locked entirely on the thick, heavily veined length of Ryan’s cock, slick with Diana’s saliva and his own pre-come.

Zara reached out, her delicate fingers wrapping around the base of his shaft. She leaned forward, parting her lips, and took him into her mouth.

Ryan’s abdominal muscles locked into iron instantly. A harsh, jagged exhale ripped from his chest.

Zara was relentless.

She didn’t just suck; she worshipped. She flattened her tongue, swirling it around the sensitive ridge of the head before sinking her mouth down to the base, swallowing him entirely.

Her cheeks hollowed out as she created a tight, bruising vacuum, bobbing her head with a desperate, frantic enthusiasm that Diana’s corporate submission couldn’t possibly match.

"Fuck," Ryan grunted, his fingers plunging into Zara’s dark, tumbling hair, guiding her brutal rhythm.

He looked down at Diana.

She was kneeling frozen, watching the supermodel devour the cock she had just been choking on.

The sheer, overwhelming dominance of the display—two of some of the most powerful, desired women in New York City kneeling at his feet—sent a massive surge of adrenaline straight to Ryan’s brain.

"Don’t just watch, Diana," Ryan rasped, his voice cold and absolute. "Earn your place."

Diana let out a broken, shuddering sob. The last fragment of her aristocratic pride turned to ash.

She crawled the remaining few inches, pressing her shoulder against Zara’s.

Diana leaned in, her trembling hands resting on Ryan’s thighs to anchor herself.

While Zara’s mouth worked relentlessly over the upper half of his shaft, Diana flicked her tongue out, lapping desperately at the heavy, slick base and tracing wet, frantic stripes over his balls.

The sensory overload was staggering.

The warm, wet heat of their mouths working in tandem dragged a guttural groan from Ryan’s throat.

He gripped both women by the hair—one hand tangled in Zara’s dark waves, the other locked in Diana’s ruined blowout.

He dictated the pace, driving his hips forward in short, brutal thrusts, fucking their mouths with mechanical precision.

The wet, slapping sounds of their lips, mixed with their muffled, competitive whimpers, echoed loudly off the high ceilings.

Zara sucked harder, refusing to be outdone, her throat fluttering wildly around the thick head of his cock. Diana kissed his thighs, lapping up the slick moisture, completely subjugated by the overwhelming need to please him.

The pressure coiled at the base of his spine, thick, hot, and heavy. He was riding the bleeding edge of a violent climax.

"Enough," Ryan commanded abruptly.

Both women froze, pulling back instantly. A thick string of saliva connected Zara’s swollen lips to his shaft. They knelt at his boots, chest heaving, looking up at him with wide, glazed, desperate eyes.

Ryan didn’t let them recover. He reached down, grabbing Zara by the waist, and hauled her off the floor.

He threw her onto the edge of the marble island.

Zara gasped as her bare back hit the cold stone. She scrambled backward, her elbows bracing against the counter, her long, flawless legs spreading wide open.

The slick, heavy sheen of her arousal was fully exposed under the harsh kitchen lights.

Ryan stepped directly between her thighs. He didn’t look at Zara. He looked down at Diana, who was still kneeling on the hardwood, shivering in her sheer black lace.

"Watch how good she is," Ryan ordered, his voice echoing with the lethal cadence of the Warlord.

Diana’s breath hitched. She didn’t look away. She couldn’t.

Ryan gripped Zara’s hips, anchoring her to the stone, and drove forward. He buried himself to the absolute hilt in one brutal, devastating thrust.

Zara moaned.

The sound tore out of her throat, raw and completely unfiltered. Her nails instantly carved deep, stinging tracks into the muscles of his forearms.

She was incredibly tight, her inner walls clenching around his shaft with an agonizing, milking pressure that nearly made Ryan lose his mind on the spot.

Ryan snarled, pulling back and slamming in again. The wet, heavy slap of his pelvis hitting her thighs echoed like a gunshot in the massive kitchen.

He pounded into her with ruthless, mechanical precision.

The marble island groaned under the violent, shifting weight. Zara clung to him, sobbing his name, entirely consumed by the blinding, white-hot friction.

She wasn’t trying to be quiet. She wanted Diana to hear exactly how good it felt.

She bucked her hips upward, chasing every brutal impact, her head tossing side to side as her dark hair swept across the spilled wine on the counter.

"Ryan—fuck, yes—" Zara cried out, her voice cracking. "Harder. Don’t stop—"

Below them, Diana knelt on the floor, her hands covering her mouth to stifle her own ragged whimpers. She watched the heavy, relentless driving of his hips.

She saw the absolute, feral destruction of the supermodel’s composure.

The sheer, voyeuristic degradation sent a fresh, agonizing throb of heat pulsing through the wet lace of Diana’s bodysuit.

"So tight," Ryan grunted, his breathing ragged, his abs locking tight. His thumbs dug bruisingly deep into the soft flesh of Zara’s hips.

Zara’s body locked into a rigid, shuddering arch. Her eyes rolled back.

"I’m coming," she sobbed, a high, piercing cry ripping from her throat.

Her core clamped down on him like a vice, contracting in tight, agonizingly fierce spasms. The intense, milking pressure pushed Ryan straight over the edge.

He drove in deep and held it. A low, animalistic groan tore from his chest as he erupted.

He flooded Zara’s tight, quivering core with thick, heavy pulses, pumping every last drop inside her while she screamed his name into the quiet apartment.

He held her pinned to the cold marble until the orgasm finally ebbed. The rapid, frantic beating of their hearts slowly began to steady.

Ryan eased his hips back, slipping free from her slick entrance. A heavy, thick trickle of his semen spilled onto her inner thigh, gleaming under the chandelier light.

Zara lay entirely boneless against the stone, her chest heaving, her eyes closed in absolute, blissful exhaustion.

Ryan took a deep breath, the adrenaline slowly draining from his blood. He looked down.

Diana was still on her knees, her eyes fixed on his dripping, slick shaft.

Ryan didn’t reach for a towel. He stepped back from the island, stepping directly in front of the venture capitalist.

"Clean it," Ryan commanded softly.

Diana didn’t hesitate. She crawled forward, pressing her hands to the floor, and opened her mouth.

She took him back in, her tongue swirling meticulously over the sensitive ridge, cleaning the slick mix of Zara’s arousal and his semen from his skin with absolute, devout submission.

Deep in Ryan’s pocket, the burner phone vibrated with a heavy, sustained pulse.

[WARLORD PROTOCOL: ACTIVE] [Expenditure Recognized: Absolute Dominance / Psychological subjugation] [Bold Action Multiplier Applied: 5x/2 days]

[POWER: 18 → 24]

Ryan rested his hand on the back of Diana’s head, watching the city lights blur against the rain-streaked windows.

The empire was expanding, and he held the reigns entirely in his hands.