Good afternoon. May I please speak with Mr. Winslow? I said, scrolling on my smartwatch. When I finally looked up, a set of the most beautiful eyes stared back at me. It was like a fuckin' gut punch. My dick stirred.

The bank's marble floor gleamed under the soft glow of pendant lights, each casting a halo around the tellers. Victory Lane, the nameplate read, and she certainly lived up to it. Her bronze skin looked like it had been kissed by the sun itself, and her doe eyes shimmered with a hint of mischief. I leaned in closer, my heart thumping in my chest. "I'm sorry, Mr. Winslow is currently with another client," she said, her voice a sweet symphony that sent shivers down my spine. "But he trusts me to handle his most important accounts. How may I assist you?"

Her fingers, perfectly manicured and faintly vanilla-scented, danced across the security tablet as she searched for my information. I took a deep breath, her perfume swirling around me, a tantalizing blend of jasmine and musk. "I need to add something to my safety deposit boxes," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. It's a... personal matter."

Her gaze flickered up to meet mine, curious and skeptical in her eyes. "Well, in that case," she began, her smile playing coyly at the corners of her lips. I'll need to be added to the access list." She winked, a gesture so subtle that it was almost imperceptible. She called someone, rambling off a set of numbers and letters. Her eyes widened as she listened intently. Her eyes flickered to mine again.

"Ah, I see," she said into the phone, the color rising slightly in her cheeks. "Yes, I understand. I'll take care of it immediately." She hung up, fingers tapping away at the keyboard with newfound urgency. A moment later, she turned to me, her expression a mix of surprise and something else. Her voice was shakier than before. "Mr. Winslow instructed me to handle you personally." She said with a small smirk.

' Perfect," I said gently. I licked my lips, tasting the anticipation in the air. Victory came around the counter, her hips swaying with an allure that was impossible to ignore. She led me through a maze of corridors, the air thick with the scent of money and secrets. The private vault area was dim and quiet, an intimate setting in a way. As we approached the scanner, she tilted her head to see what would happen next.

The retinal scanner beeped, the cold light momentarily blinding me. It was a quick and painless process, but I could feel the electricity crackling between us as we both awaited the result. Her perfume grew stronger, intoxicating me and making it even harder to keep my cool. The machine confirmed my identity with a sharp, satisfying click.

Victory took a step closer. "Follow me," she whispered, her voice a siren's call that I couldn't resist. We entered the vault, the heavy door thudding shut behind us. The room had rows of metal boxes, each holding someone's treasure ..or their darkest secrets. The documents I needed for my patient in Cabo were in one of these boxes.

My eyes followed her as she gracefully slid the card into the slot and punched the code. The box clicked open, revealing a sleek black interior. The light from the vault gleamed off the metal, bouncing around us like a spotlight on a stage. I stepped closer, my gaze fixed on the prize.

She sat and pulled the log books from the drawer. She smelled them, almost sensually, like a sommelier with a fine wine. I bet that gave her brain a hit of dopamine. I silently chuckled. Her eyes scanned the pages; what was she looking for? Nosey? Maybe trying to see how many times I've visited? I leaned against the cold metal wall of the vault, watching her intently. Her full, red lips pursed in concentration as she turned each page, the tip of her tongue peeking out every so often to wet her lips. It was all I could do not to reach out and kiss her right there.

But instead, I signed the logs with a flourish, taking my time to ensure each signature was perfect. She watched me, her eyes lingering on my hand, the muscles in my forearm flexing as I wrote. "So, Victory," I began, my voice low and easy, "do you enjoy your job here at the bank?"

Her gaze lifted to meet mine, the challenge in her eyes unmistakable. "It's alright," she said with a shrug. "But it's not exactly my passion."

"And what is your passion?" I asked, my curiosity piqued. She looked at me momentarily, then leaned in, her breath warm against my ear. "I'm an aspiring erotica author," she whispered, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Really?" I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "What's it like, writing about passion and desire all day?"

Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of bronze, and she looked away, a shy smile ghosting across her face. "It's... intense," she admitted. "But I love it. It's like nothing else I've ever done..and I'm good at it."

When she stood, the vault suddenly felt smaller. I stepped closer to her, our bodies almost touching. "I'd like to read one of your stories," I said, watching her reaction closely.

Victory's eyes widened, and she stepped back, but not before I felt the heat radiating from her body. She nodded, her voice a little hoarser than before. "They're quite... vivid," she murmured, her eyes searching mine. "And I'm sure your wife ..would love to read them with you."

The words hung between us, thick with innuendo. I let out a low chuckle. "No wife," I said, my voice dropping an octave. "No kids. Just a single man with a taste for the... forbidden." I let the last word linger, watching the color deepen in her cheeks.

Her gaze snapped to meet mine, her pupils dilating with interest. "Really?" she whispered her voice a siren's call that had me on edge. The silence stretched out, filled with unspoken possibilities.

With a knowing smile, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a sleek black business card. "I'm Remmy Thornton," I said, placing it in her hand. "I'm a psychologist with a penchant for... unconventional methods. If you ever need inspiration, you know where to find me."

She took the card, her thumb tracing the embossed letters. "What kind of inspiration are you offering?" she asked, her voice a sultry mix of skepticism and intrigue.

"The kind that can unlock your wildest fantasies," I murmured, leaning in so close that our breaths mingled. She didn't pull away. Instead, she tilted her chin up, looking at me with a fiery curiosity that had me reeling. Victory was like a puzzle I hadn't yet solved, and I was dying to unravel her secrets.

"You think I need a shrink?" she said with a wicked smirk, the challenge in her eyes making my pulse race. I leaned in even closer, my mouth just a breath away from hers. "Oh, I know you don't," I whispered, my voice dropping to a seductive rumble. "But I could give you something far more... pleasurable."

The air between us grew hot, with the promise of something more than a professional exchange. I watched as her chest rose and fell with each breath, her breasts straining against the fabric of her blouse. She was holding on tight to her mask, but I could see the hunger in her eyes, the same hunger that I felt.

With a flick of my wrist, I pulled out my phone. "Give me your number, Victory," I said, placing it in her hand.

"No," she said smoothly. She was playing the game now, testing the waters to see how far I would push. I chuckled with amusement.

strike one on her ass, and she doesn't even know it

The word "no" was not one I was accustomed to hearing, especially not from someone as tantalizing as Victory Lane. Instead of retreating, I felt the thrill of the challenge course through me. My hands itched to reach out and touch her, to claim her, but I knew that would be too much, too soon. So, I waited, watching her reaction, my eyes never leaving hers.

Her phone was nestled in the waistband of her tight black skirt, and I couldn't help but admire the way it curved around her hip—almost as if it was begging to be taken. I plucked it from her waistband with a smooth, predatory grace. She gasped but didn't protest; her eyes locked on mine. I felt a surge of power and a twinge of something darker, something primal.

I opened the phone with a smirk and typed my number into her contacts, labeling it as 'Daddy.' It was a bold move, but I knew it would get under her skin and make her think about me when she least expected it. The name was a little... unorthodox, but something told me Victory would enjoy the thrill of the taboo. I held the phone out to her, our fingers brushing as she returned it. My tongue involuntarily wet my bottom lip.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, their challenge now tinged with something else. Desire? Anger? I couldn't quite tell. "I'll think about it," she said, her voice low and husky. It was a victory in itself that she didn't immediately dismiss me. I knew I had her intrigued.

"Good," I replied, my voice a low purr. "But don't think too long.' Daddy?′ she said, stifling a giggle.

"Fucking right I am," I said seductively.

She quirked an eyebrow and stepped back, the business card tightly clutched. She looked at me with a mix of challenge and arousal, and I knew she felt the same pull that I did. The word 'Daddy' had sent a jolt through the air, a taboo title that seemed to resonate with something deep within her. The tension is growing so thick you could almost touch it.

Victory took a deep breath, visibly composing herself.

"If we are all done here, Mr. Thornton, I'll walk you back to the lobby," she said, her voice a little shaky.

I nodded, keeping my smile easy and non-threatening. "I Tucked the documents into my briefcase. "Let's go."

The bank's chilly air-conditioning contrasted with the heat building between us. She led me out, and as we stepped into the bustling lobby, I couldn't help but feel a sense of victory. That pussy will be mine, I thought to myself with my confidence soaring. I knew she was intrigued by how she looked at me and held onto my business card like a lifeline. It was only a matter of time before she gave in to the temptation.

The lobby was a flurry of activity, the clack of heels and the murmur of hushed conversations a symphony of mundane desires. I watched her walk away, her hips swaying with a purpose that screamed, "Follow me." And I would, oh, I would. I had a feeling that Victory Lane would be the most thrilling conquest I'd had in a long time.

Once outside, the heat of the Chicago summer slapped me in the face, returning me to reality. I waited for my car. My mind raced with thoughts of our encounter. Her eyes widened when I called myself 'Daddy,' she leaned into me when I whispered in her ear. It was like watching a moth drawn to a flame; I was the fire that would consume her.