The transformation happened gradually, then all at once.
Vera woke on the fourteenth morning with Marcus's taste already present on her tongue, her body arching toward emptiness before conscious thought formed.
She'd stopped wearing underwear to the office — pointless, inconvenient, evidence that needed hiding. Her wardrobe shifted to accommodate his preferences: pencil skirts that lifted easily, blouses that unbuttoned quickly, fabrics that wrinkled beneath gripping palms.
The addiction wasn't merely s****l. It was rewriting her neural pathways until she craved his command with the same biological imperative as oxygen.
When he entered a room, her pupils dilated. When he spoke, her pulse stuttered. When he touched her — casually and publicly, a hand at her elbow guiding her through d
