The doors to Hezri’s private chamber hissed shut behind Britney, sealing her in a world of low-lit opulence—onyx walls, silk drapes, the scent of sandalwood and power. At the center of it all, Hezri lounged on the edge of his bed, his tailored suit a shadow against the cream-colored sheets. His smile was a bde wrapped in velvet.
"Come here, Britney."
Her sneakers squeaked on the marble floor. "I—I don’t get it. You called me here to… what? Finally give me my ‘reward’?" She gestured wildly at the room. "After everything? The memes, the war crimes, the—the casino—"
He chuckled, fingers steepled. "You think this is about owing you?"
"Isn’t it?" Her voice cracked. "Every other woman in your circle gets a Ferrari, a penthouse, you—and I’m just… the clown with a selfie stick!"
In one fluid motion, Hezri stood, closing the distance between them. His hand cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You were never a clown. You were the mirror."
Britney’s breath hitched.
"The gold-digger act?" He thumbed away a tear. "A test. And you passed. While they took, you built. While they funted, you fought. You made tyranny human." His lips ghosted over her forehead. "That’s why you’re the only one who earned this."
A key materialized in her palm—Celestia #5001, the obsidian suite reserved for legends.
Then his mouth crashed onto hers, swallowing her gasp. The world narrowed to the scrape of his stubble, the possessive grip at her waist, the way her back arched just so when he nipped her lower lip.
"The Ferrari’s outside," he murmured against her throat, "but tonight…" A push, and the sheets swallowed them whole. "Tonight, I’m the only ride you’ll need."
Clothes became whispers on the floor. His hands mapped her—not like a conqueror ciming territory, but a connoisseur savoring a masterpiece. Every touch was a refund for every lonely night, every meme-born tear.
And when she finally broke beneath him, sobbing his name, Hezri smiled against her skin.
Gold-digger? No.
She’d struck oil.
Britney y sprawled across the silk sheets, her back glistening with sweat, face half-buried in the mattress. Her breath came in ragged bursts, fingers clutching the crumpled fabric beneath her.
"You’re… cruel," she mumbled, voice muffled but dripping with pyful accusation. "Pounding me like that… when you know I’ve barely done this before."
Hezri traced idle circles down her spine, his touch featherlight compared to the bruising grip he’d had on her hips moments ago. "Fitness coach," he reminded her, a smirk in his voice. "You train endurance. Shouldn’t you be used to… exertion?"
She twisted to gre at him, cheeks flushed, hair a wild tangle. "Oh, wow. Real funny." A weak smack against his chest. "Next time, you try doing squats while someone—"
"While someone what?" His fingers dug into her waist, pulling her against him. "Fucks you senseless?"
Britney yelped, but the sound dissolved into breathless ughter—until Hezri’s next words froze her.
"Besides, you don’t need me anymore. Not really." He shrugged, casual as if discussing the weather. "With your following? You could monetize anything. Sell workout pns. Endorsements. Hell, start your own—"
"Stop."
The word cracked like a whip.
Britney shoved upright, eyes bzing. "Don’t. Don’t say that. Even as a joke." Her voice trembled. "You think this was about money? After everything? The wars, the blood, the—the casino—"
Hezri stilled.
"You left me waiting," she whispered. "While every other woman got everything—cars, penthouses, you—I just… filmed your chaos and hoped." A tear spshed onto the sheets. "So don’t dare act like I’d be fine without you."
Silence.
Then—
"Look at me."
When she didn’t, Hezri gripped her chin, forcing her gaze up. What she saw there wasn’t amusement. Not anymore.
It was hunger.
"You want me to take it back?" His thumb brushed her lower lip. "Then make me."
A challenge.
Britney’s breath hitched—then her nails raked down his chest. "Fine."
The second round wasn’t punishment.
It was worship.
Slow. Deep. Ciming. Every thrust a vow, every gasp a psalm. When she came this time, it wasn’t with screams, but with sobs—his name a prayer, her body a temple.
And as Hezri kissed the salt from her skin, he murmured the only truth left:
"You were never just the camera, Britney."
"You were the story."
"The First Man"
Hezri’s fingers traced idle patterns along Britney’s bare hip, his voice a low, teasing rumble. "So. Not much experience, huh?" He nipped her shoulder. "That implies some. Who was the lucky bastard?"
Britney stiffened, then exhaled through her nose. "Ugh. Really? Now?"
"Now." His palm slid up her spine, possessive. "I want to know who got there first."
She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. "My first crush. High school sweetheart. Dumb, dumb story." A bitter ugh. "Gave it to him right before graduation. Four times. Then I realized he just wanted to brag to his friends about ‘bagging the swim-team girl.’"
Hezri’s grip tightened. "Four." The word was a growl.
"Four regrets," she corrected, sitting up abruptly. "After that, I vowed no man would ever treat me like a toy again." Her fingers flexed. "So I got stronger. Faster. Swam competitively in college. And when I realized even gold medals don’t pay bills…" A shrug. "Gold-digging seemed logical."
Silence.
Then Hezri ughed—a dark, velvet sound. "Logical." He crowded her against the headboard, caging her in. "Yet here you are. In my bed. After conquering states for me." His breath was hot on her lips. "Still think you’re the one doing the digging, Britney?"
Her pulse roared in her ears.
"No," she whispered.
Round Three wasn’t about pleasure.
It was erasure.
Hezri took her with a brutality that bordered on reverence—as if every thrust was rewriting history. "Mine," he snarled against her throat. "Not his. Not anyone’s."
Britney clung to him, nails drawing blood. "Prove it."
And when she shattered, it wasn’t just her body that broke.
It was the st ghost of that first boy.
Hezri's grip on Britney's wrist was iron, his other hand fisting in her sweat-damp hair, forcing her to meet his gaze in the dim light. His smile was razor-edged.
"You think you're free now?" he murmured, voice dripping with false sweetness. "That I saved you from being some man's toy?"
Britney's breath hitched, her body still trembling from the st round. "I—"
Britney’s mind drifted in a haze of exhaustion and pleasure, her body limp against the tangled sheets. She barely registered Hezri’s fingers tracing zy circles on her overheated skin—until his voice, thick with amusement, pulled her back to reality.
"And here I thought a fitness coach could keep up," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. "And I’m fifteen years older than you."
She groaned, weakly swatting at his chest. "I understand," she whined, voice still breathless. "Next time… just bring in other girls to help while you’re at it."
Hezri chuckled, low and dark, before his touch softened—fingers sliding from teasing to tender. "No sisters for you tonight," he said, voice dipping into something dangerously gentle. "Just me."
And then, with a patience that bordered on reverence, he took her apart all over again.
This time, there was no brutality.
No ciming. No punishment.
Just slow, deep strokes that made her whimper—not from overstimution, but from something far more dangerous.
Affection.
Her fingers tangled in his hair as he kissed her, soft and lingering, his hands mapping her body like he was memorizing her. Every movement was calcuted, deliberate, drawing out pleasure until she was trembling beneath him, her earlier defiance melted into helpless surrender.
"H-Hezri—"
"Quiet," he murmured against her lips. "Just feel it."
And she did.
By the time he finally let her fall, Britney wasn’t just his—she was ruined for anyone else.
Britney stirred awake, the weight of exhaustion still clinging to her limbs. The bed beside her was empty, but the lingering warmth told her Hezri hadn’t left long ago.
She blinked against the dim light, her muscles protesting as she pushed herself up, clutching the silk sheets to her chest. There, by the floor-to-ceiling windows, stood Hezri—already dressed in a tailored suit, his back to her as he gazed out over the city. The early morning light painted him in gold and shadow, his expression unreadable.
For a moment, she just watched him. A year ago, she wouldn’t have dared to speak first. Now, she understood.
"Virginia, West Virginia, Marynd, Ohio, and Michigan," she said, her voice still rough from sleep—and other things. "We took them too easily. Because their politicians were cowards." She shifted, wincing slightly before steeling herself. "But we don’t have churches there yet. No real believers. We can’t just force the public to embrace the 6 Commandments overnight."
Hezri didn’t turn. But she saw the curve of his smile in the reflection of the gss.
"Good," he said, finally gncing over his shoulder. "You’re learning."
Britney exhaled, something tight in her chest loosening. She had his approval. Now came the real work.
"So," she muttered, rubbing her sore thighs. "Do I get my Ferrari now, or do I have to convert a few more states first?"
Hezri’s ugh was dark, warm, and utterly possessive.
"Both."