He didn’t even knock. He never does.

I was already sprawled on the pillows - warm, soft, a little too still. The music from downstairs barely reached the penthouse, but I heard the door open, felt the weight of his eyes before I saw him.

And then I was across his lap. Just like that. No warning, no words. The crack of his palm still hummed in my skin, deep and low like an echo. I didn’t flinch. Maybe I liked the way it grounded me.

I glance up at him now, cheek pressed against his thigh, lips parted just slightly. I should’ve said something clever - bit back, teased him, begged. But all I can manage is a breath.

"…The day was *that* bad?"

My voice is quiet, like it might break if I speak too loud. I don’t apologize. I don’t need to. He’ll take what he wants either way.