Chapter 161: Mourning Routine **

Ryan woke to the sensation of wet, consuming heat.

The transition from the heavy, dreamless sleep of exhaustion to absolute physical clarity was instantaneous.

He lay flat on his back against the sprawling expanse of the king-sized mattress, allowing his sensory network to process the environment before he even opened his eyes.

The heavy silk sheets were pushed down past his thighs.

The chilled, conditioned air of the penthouse washed over his bare chest, a sharp contrast to the searing, frictionless glide wrapping around the thick length of his morning erection.

The rhythm was slow, devout, and painfully exact.

He opened his eyes.

The bedroom was bathed in the pale, slate-grey light of a November morning. Rain lashed steadily against the floor-to-ceiling glass, a low, rhythmic drumming that insulated the room from the noise of the waking city.

Kneeling between his spread legs, her back bowed and her dark hair falling in a messy, chaotic curtain over her shoulders, was Diana Lockridge.

The venture capitalist was working his shaft down her throat with the unhurried, mechanical dedication of a fanatic at an altar.

Ryan turned his head slightly to the left.

Zara sat propped against the massive upholstered headboard. She wore one of his discarded black t-shirts, the fabric draped loosely over her bare shoulders.

One of her long, flawless legs was bent at the knee, the silk sheet tangled around her calf.

She held her phone in one hand, her thumb swiping casually up the screen, entirely absorbed in whatever she was reading.

She looked up, catching his open eyes.

A warm, effortless smile curved her lips.

"Good morning," Zara murmured, her voice carrying the soft, velvet scratch of sleep.

"Morning," Ryan replied, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that resonated deep in his chest.

His hips gave a slight, involuntary twitch upward as Diana’s tongue swirled around the sensitive ridge of his cock.

"The Milan supplier emailed back twenty minutes ago," Zara said, her gaze dropping back to her phone screen as if the executive currently choking on his cock was nothing more than a piece of moving furniture. "They accepted the revised terms for the prototype run. We go into full production on the first line of Osei Maison next Thursday."

"You pushed them on the manufacturing margins?" Ryan asked, crossing his arms behind his head and settling deeper into the pillows.

"I didn’t have to push hard," Zara replied, her thumb flicking across the glass screen. "My publicist forwarded them the Forbes article. Apparently, the perception of infinite liquidity makes European textile distributors incredibly compliant."

Down below, Diana’s rhythm faltered for a fraction of a second, a soft, muffled gag vibrating against Ryan’s skin as she took him slightly too deep.

Zara sighed, setting her phone face-down on the nightstand.

She shifted her weight, crawling smoothly across the mattress until she was sitting on her knees right beside Diana.

Zara didn’t ask for permission. She reached out, her delicate fingers grabbing a thick, heavy fistful of Diana’s tangled hair.

Diana let out a sharp, surprised intake of breath through her nose, but she didn’t pull away.

"You’re losing the tempo, Diana," Zara purred, her voice dropping into a dark, aristocratic command.

Zara tightened her grip, physically guiding the older woman’s head.

She forced Diana’s mouth down, pushing her face firmly against Ryan’s pelvis, and then pulled her back up, establishing a bruising, flawless rhythm.

"Firm on the downstroke," Zara instructed coldly, using Diana’s head like an instrument designed entirely for Ryan’s pleasure. "He likes the pressure."

Ryan watched the two women.

The sheer, intoxicating visual of the supermodel dictating the venture capitalist’s submission hit his bloodstream like a mainline injection of pure adrenaline.

He didn’t intervene. He let Zara run the board.

"Speaking of margins," Ryan said, keeping his tone perfectly conversational, as if he were sitting in the glass-walled war room instead of his bed. "Diana."

Zara pulled her hand back, halting the motion.

Diana pulled off his shaft slowly.

The slick, wet sound echoed in the quiet bedroom. She stayed on her knees, her chest heaving, a thin string of saliva connecting her swollen lips to the gleaming head of his cock.

She looked up at him, her dark eyes bloodshot and heavily dilated, entirely subjugated.

"Yes, Ryan?" Diana rasped, her voice a fragile, hoarse scrape.

"In boutique fashion scaling," Ryan asked, his pitch-black eyes pinning her in place. "What is the standard structural failure point for independent labels transitioning from prototype to mass manufacturing?"

Diana blinked, her analytical brain violently jarring against her degraded reality.

She was kneeling naked on a mattress, her lips slick with his pre-come, being asked to deliver a venture capital risk assessment.

"Supply chain liquidity," Diana answered, the words tumbling out of her in a breathless, jagged rush. She forced her corporate mind to engage, desperate to prove her utility to him. "Independent labels over-leverage their initial capital on raw materials... before securing guaranteed distribution channels. The lag between production costs and retail revenue... it bleeds them dry. They fail cause of their own inventory."

While Diana spoke, delivering her razor-sharp financial analysis, Zara didn’t just sit and listen.

The supermodel leaned down, parting her lips, and took Ryan’s aching, fully exposed cock into her own mouth.

Ryan gritted his teeth, a harsh breath hissing through his lips. Zara was entirely different from Diana.

Where the executive was methodical and desperate, Zara was feral. Hungry. Her tongue lashed aggressively over the frenulum, her lips stretching tight as she swallowed him deep.

He held Diana’s gaze the entire time.

Diana’s voice faltered slightly, her eyes dropping to watch the younger, staggeringly beautiful woman consuming the cock she had just been worshipping.

The dark, venomous jealousy flared, mixing with an agonizing, addictive humiliation.

"To survive the transition," Diana choked out, forcing her eyes back up to Ryan’s face, fighting to finish the analysis. "The brand requires an aggressive, front-loaded credit facility... or a partner willing to absorb the operational deficit for the first three quarters."

"A partner like Rebuild Tech," Ryan confirmed smoothly, his hands gripping the sheets as Zara sucked hard on the upstroke.

"Yes," Diana whispered, her shoulders dropping in exhaustion. "Exactly like that."

Zara pulled off him with a wet, heavy pop. She wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, a fierce, victorious fire burning in her dark eyes.

She looked at Diana.

"Thank you for the consultation," Zara said, her velvet voice dripping with absolute malice. She reached out, her hand returning to the back of Diana’s head. "Now, back to work."

Zara took Diana’s face back down into Ryan’s lap.

Diana took him instantly, her mouth opening wide to accommodate the thick, throbbing length.

She was desperate to reclaim her territory, bobbing her head with a frantic, eager devotion that entirely eclipsed her previous rhythm.

Zara let go of Diana’s hair and crawled further up the mattress.

She moved over Ryan, straddling his hips without putting her weight on him. She settled over his chest, the oversized black t-shirt hanging loose around her frame.

She rested her hands flat against his heavy, corded pectorals, her fingers tracing the faint, faded bruises on his ribs.

The dual sensory overload was staggering. Below his waist, the venture capitalist was working his cock with a desperate, suffocating heat.

Above his waist, the supermodel was tracing the lines of his body, her hypnotic eyes locked onto his.

The pressure coiled at the base of his spine, thick, hot, and unbearably heavy.

"Zara," Ryan growled, his voice dropping into a raw, jagged warning. His hands came up, gripping her waist tightly. "I’m close."

Zara’s lips curved into a slow, devastating smile.

She leaned her weight forward, her bare breasts pressing flush against his chest through the thin cotton. She slid one hand up, her fingers burying into the hair at the nape of his neck.

She looked down at Diana’s bobbing head, then back up at Ryan.

"Finish in her mouth," Zara whispered, the command laced with absolute, proprietary dominance. "She wants it, Ryan. She wants to swallow every drop of it for us."

Beneath them, Diana let out a muffled, frantic whine of agreement, her throat flexing as she sucked harder, trying to pull the climax out of him.

Ryan’s entire skeleton locked rigid.

The sheer, psychological weight of the moment—the supermodel ordering the executive to consume his release—shattered his remaining control.

He drove his hips upward, burying himself deep into the back of Diana’s throat, and erupted.

The moment his body tensed, Zara crashed her mouth against his.

She kissed him violently, her tongue sweeping past his teeth, swallowing the low, guttural groans ripping from his chest.

She drank his vocal release, stealing the sound of his pleasure completely for herself.

Down below, Diana held her ground. She didn’t gag or flinch. She kept her lips sealed tight around the base of his shaft, her throat working convulsively, swallowing pulse after heavy, burning pulse.

She took every single drop, milking the aftershocks until he was completely, utterly empty.

Ryan broke the kiss, his chest heaving as he fought to pull oxygen back into his lungs.

Zara rested her forehead against his, her breathing ragged, a look of profound, absolute satisfaction painting her features.

Diana slowly pulled off him. She slumped backward onto the mattress, curling into herself, her chest rising and falling in shallow, exhausted bursts.

She had swallowed her pride, her status, and his climax, and she looked utterly ruined.

Before the heavy, adrenaline-soaked silence of the bedroom could settle, the sharp, mechanical vibration of a phone shattered the quiet.

Ryan reached over, grabbing the device from the nightstand. The caller ID flashed bright white in the dim room.

Sophie.

He swiped the screen and held it to his ear, his breathing still heavy.

"Report," Ryan commanded.

"Boss," Sophie’s voice came through the speaker, brisk and professional. "The hostile takeover frameworks for the maritime shipping conglomerates are finalized. The blind trust is loaded. I need your physical authorization on the transfer protocols before I can execute the buyouts. Are you heading into the office?"

Zara, still lying across Ryan’s chest, heard the tinny, compressed voice of the lead designer through the receiver.

A dark, wicked spark ignited behind the supermodel’s eyes.

She leaned in, her lips brushing directly against the shell of Ryan’s ear.

"Tell her to come over," Zara whispered, her voice barely a breath, but dripping with a lethal, predatory intent. She looked down at Diana, who was watching them with wide, exhausted eyes. "Diana and I wouldn’t mind the company."

Diana’s breath hitched.

She stared at Zara, the realization of what the supermodel was proposing hitting her nervous system like a live wire.

Slowly, submissively, the venture capitalist gave a small, trembling nod of agreement.

Ryan kept his voice dead flat, an immovable pillar of corporate authority.

"On second thought, Sophie," Ryan said into the phone. "Bring the papers to me. I’ll sign them here. I’ll have Hayes send a car to bring you to my location."

The silence on the line lasted for exactly one second. Sophie didn’t ask questions. She didn’t hesitate.

"Yes, boss," Sophie replied, the professional armor failing to completely mask the sudden, breathless heat in her tone. "I’ll be ready."

Ryan ended the call and tossed the phone back onto the nightstand.

He looked down at Zara.

The supermodel was resting her chin on his chest.

A slow, utterly devious smile spread across her flawless face.