Forbidden Obsession

Christina wasn’t the sort of woman who needed saving—thirty-something, loaded, and already president of her own firm. Romance always took a back seat to quarterly reports until Lia arrived. At nineteen, the girl still qualified as “nearly adult,” so the age gap didn’t feel creepy, only convenient. Christina wanted a project she could polish until it rivaled her own gloss, not a drooling toddler or a needy kitten. They moved in together fast. Matching luggage, sky-high penthouse, silk on every surface. Christina got a charge out of draping Lia in diamonds one morning, then peeling them off again by bedtime. Tongue between teeth, Louboutin heel on the sheets, Christina wondered if she’d finally stumbled into the domesticity people whisper about. Lia answered with a gasp and a giggle that rattled the headboard. The woman once glued to conference calls now canceled the morning meeting so she could chase another orgasm under the same crystal chandelier she’d just bought the week before. It was decadent. It was ridiculous. It was hers.