Chapter 1
KISAREL.
I still heard his cold voice in my head as I stepped out of the taxi.
"Get your ass back here in two hours, if you want to keep your new position."
Mr. Oceans Stark’s words had a way of following me even in my sleep, like they were branded into my skin. Cold, merciless, and ruthless... Getting promoted from a receptionist to his personal assistant felt less like climbing the ladder and more like walking into a gilded cage.
It both excited and terrified me.
The pay was beautiful, and the perks were enviable. I would travel with him on business trips, see the world, and for once, escape the mess I’d been born into. But the price of it? Being tied to him almost every second of the day.
Mr. Oceans Stark, a man so ruthless he once shredded a senior executive’s twenty-year career in under five minutes without even breaking a sweat. He was escorted out in handcuffs, on charges Mr. Stark’s lawyers dug up overnight. One day, the man was running meetings, the next he was begging for bail money.
By then, everyone knew: one wrong step, and he could erase you from your career, your reputation, maybe even your freedom.
Still, today calls for celebration. And I had just about an hour to celebrate my new promotion with my fiancé, Jace, before packing my bags and meeting my boss at his private jet for our first business trip together.
I had already rehearsed every line I'd say to Jace the moment I pushed his door open.
He hadn’t answered my calls, but that only made the surprise sweeter. Ja-ce always told me to let him know before visiting — rules I followed without question because I loved him, and because he said he loved me too. He was obsessive and possessive in ways I found... Thrilling? I never said no to him. Never once.
But today, just once, I would.
I clutched the promotion letter like it was a trophy, and walked through the gates with a smile so wide even the guard seemed taken aback.
"Good evening," I greeted, but he answered me in a weird kind of way that I didn't really want to read meanings into.
I adjusted my round glasses, clutching my handbag securely to my shoulder.
The moment I pushed the front door open, I came face to face with Tisha, the very maid Jace had refused to let go of, no matter how many times I'd told him I didn't like her. She seemed not to like me either, but tonight her face carried something different — pity, like I’d already lost a game I didn’t know I was playing.
“Hey…” Her voice was softer than I’d ever heard it, the word dragged out like a quiet warning.
That was strange.
“Hi, Tisha,” I replied, already heading for the stairs. “He’s in, right?” Not that I needed an answer.
She hesitated, wringing the edge of her apron. “You… might want to wait down here.” She stuttered, and I almost scoffed.
"Why?" I paused and looked at her over my shoulder, but she just stood there like she had seen a ghost.
I'd be a liar if I said uneasiness hadn't begun to spread through me at the weird behaviors of the staff.
My heart picked up an erratic rhythm, the kind that makes your palms sweat and your breath shorten, no matter how much you try to calm yourself. My rehearsed smile faltered instantly.
But I took in a shaky breath and told myself I was only being dramatic. If Jace were in any kind of danger, it would have been on the news already. So... No news... Meaning he was fine.
I forced a smile for myself, tightened my grip on the letter, and continued walking, even though my breath kept stuttering as though my own body knew a truth my mind didn't know.
The moment I approached his door, my legs went weak as I stopped dead in my tracks.
I heard something... A sound that made my stomach cave in on itself
"Fuck, baby, open up..." a moan, "Just like that. Fuck."
That was Jace's voice. It sounded more like a grunt and a moan put together. It wasn’t just his moan that punched my heart — it was the rawness of it, the sound of him unraveling in ways he had never once done with me.
Then I heard a voice that wasn’t mine.
"Jace... Yes, baby... Right there..."
And that was... That was Moonie. My oh-so-perfect cousin. The one who was supposed to be walking down the aisle with my boss, Mr. Oceanss Stark, in a matter of weeks.
My eyes became blurry, and my brain blurred too, because I didn't even know when I moved. My legs propelled me straight to the door, and my trembling hands gripped the knob before my brain could scream Don’t.
I pushed the door open with so much force that the hinges rattled.
And then the floor seemed to vanish beneath me, as I saw my fiancé and the "perfect" woman my boss was crazy about, lying totally naked on the floor.
She was on her hands and knees, hair wild, her head thrown back in shameless pleasure. Jace’s hands clamped her hips, driving into her with a hunger he had never once touched me with.
My chest constricted, and my breath vanished as I struggled to speak.
"Jesus, Jace!" Try as I may, my voice only came out as a shaky whisper.
Jace froze. For a full second, he just stared at me, pale and stupid, before he jerked away from her and started fumbling for his shorts.
Moonie didn’t even flinch. She just dropped onto the floor, panting, her hair sticking to her sweaty face like she’d just finished a workout.
The air in the room was thick and sour. I could hear my own heartbeat thudding in my ears.
“What the hell is this?” My voice cracked halfway through. I was shaking so badly that the letter in my hand fluttered to the carpet.
Jace pulled the towel from the chair and wrapped it around his waist. “Arel — listen — it’s not —”
"What I think?" I scoffed and completed the words for him. “Not you inside my cousin?” I snapped, my throat burning.
Moonie laughed, letting out a low, ugly sound that scraped at my skin. “Oh, cut the bullshit, Jace. She walked in on us. The show’s over.”
“Shut the fuck up, Moonie,” he barked, eyes wild.
She rose slowly, completely unbothered, stretching her neck like a cat. “What did you expect, Kisarel? You really thought you could keep a man like Jace? Please.” She grabbed her dress from the vanity and slipped it on without looking away from me. “You’ve been too busy playing the good girl — glasses, neat hair, that stupid receptionist job — acting like brains make you desirable. Meanwhile, this man has needs. Real ones.”
My stomach twisted. “Stop talking.”
She stepped closer. “He told me himself. Said you’re boring in bed, that you blush when he touches you, that you act like sex is a favor instead of a need.”
“Moonie, I swear to God…” Jace’s voice came out like a growl.
She turned on him, smirking. “What? You’re going to hit me now? You already said you didn’t love her. Remember? You said even after we both get married, we’ll keep this going. Those were your words, baby.”
Jace lunged, grabbing her arm. “Shut up!”
I just stood there, watching the two of them — him, red-faced and desperate, her, grinning as if she’d already won. Something cold spread through my chest until I couldn’t even feel my fingers.
“You both disgust me,” I said quietly.
“Arel, please...” Jace took a step toward me.
“Don’t.” My voice snapped. “Don’t come near me.” He froze. The look on his face — panic, guilt, something like fear — made me want to scream. Instead, I laughed, "Was this why you said I should always inform you before visiting? Oh, God." I broke down.
I wanted to run until my lungs gave out, hide somewhere no one knew my name, bury my face in a pillow that didn’t smell like him, and cry until my throat burned.
But everything I owned reminded me of Jace.
The sheets, the pillow, the stupid mug he bought for my desk.
I’d built my entire life around him these past two years, and now every inch of it felt contaminated.
Moonie tilted her head, “You’ll thank me one day. At least now you know what he really wants. Maybe start by dressing like a woman, not a twelve-year-old schoolboy. Jace hates your boring cardigans, big, shapeless gowns, and baggy skirts.”
My heart shattered again. Because Jace always told me he loved my clothes — that he liked that no man ever saw what was his.
I blinked at him, my voice small. “So that was a lie, too?”
He looked away, jaw tight, saying nothing.
I turned my attention to Moon, “You’re engaged to Mr. Stark, Moonie. Aren’t you even scared I might tell him about this?”
She laughed mockingly, “Oh, please. You? Tell him? You’ve never had the spine for that. You're just a pushover. The weak little orphan who should’ve been grateful we didn’t dump you in some shelter.”
She took a step closer, gazing dead into my eyes. Her tone was like acid. Every word burned.
I felt the sting crawl up my throat, but I bit it back. She wanted to see me break.
“And I know you won't do anything to tarnish the image of the family who took you in when your pathetic parents decided to check out early, and left you in this world to suffer!"
The vernon in her voice. God.
"So, dear Kisarel, you won’t say a word. You never do. That’s why people like me win and people like you just… exist."
She got me there. I owed Moon and her parents my life. I truly did. But God, I didn’t owe them my dignity. And let's see how far this goes.
I picked up my promotion letter. There was no point sharing the great news anymore. The celebration died the moment I opened that door.
I turned to Jace. He couldn’t even meet my eyes. “You know what’s fun-ny? I used to think you were the one person who’d never humiliate me. Guess I was wrong.”
He reached for me again, stammering my name, but I stepped back. The movement felt like tearing myself out of glue.
“Don’t ever call me again.”
Now more than ever, I needed that business trip I had cursed some hours ago.
Chapter 2
KISAREL.
The cab stopped at the far end of the airport, where regular passengers weren’t even allowed. Through the tinted glass, I saw the silver body of Mr. Stark’s jet gleaming under the floodlights, his initials, O.S., painted near the tail.
I wiped my face, grabbed the small luggage I’d thrown together after getting home from the betrayal scene, and stepped out.
Since Moon's words about my choice of clothes, I began to doubt myself. I felt... Stupid and inadequate. I’d always thought I was beautiful — Jace said so a thousand times — but maybe I was never enough. Maybe I was the joke everyone else saw, and he just forgot to tell me. For all I know, I might even be the ugliest woman on earth right now.
I tried to take off my glasses – not that they were medicated or anything – but I felt naked without them. So, I left them on. Trying to be who I was not made me feel even more stupid.
The air was cold, but the moment I saw him, heat crept up the back of my neck.
Mr. Oceans Stark.
He stood beside the stairs to his jet, hands in his pockets, suit pressed within an inch of perfection. Even from here, he radiated total control.
He wasn’t the kind of man you looked at twice.
You looked once — because you couldn’t help it — and then you looked away before he caught you staring.
Six foot three of controlled violence in a perfectly tailored suit. Broad shoulders, dark hair brushed back in a way that didn’t dare fall out of place, and those eyes… cold, emotionless, like they could undress you, dissect you, and dismiss you in one motion.
"Good evening, Mr. Stark," I managed.
He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at me, a faint arch in his brow like the sound of my voice had interrupted his thoughts, and he was deciding whether to forgive that or not.
Then his gaze flicked down, slowly assessing me.
Jesus.
I greeted his best friend, who was also his MD. "Mr. Harold."
He managed half a smile before turning back to his phone.
Of course, no one noticed this pathetic little girl trying to hold herself together during the hour-and-a-half flight. No one ever did.
Inside the hotel lobby, I adjusted my blazer and forced my hands to stop trembling as I faced the receptionist.
“Reservation for Mr. Stark, Mr. Harold, and Miss Harry,” I said, forcing steadiness into my voice.
The woman smiled politely, then glanced at the fourth member of our group, Mandy, Harold’s girlfriend. Perfect and glossy as ever.
“Oh, they’re together.” I gestured toward them, pretending confidence I didn’t feel.
God, my eyes were becoming teary again. I just needed a room, a bathtub, and a place to cry without witnesses.
After a moment, the receptionist frowned at the screen.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s no reservation under Miss Harry. Only Mr. Stark and Mr. Harold.”
My pulse jumped. “What?”
Behind me, that low, rich, controlled baritone rolled out.
“Then make one.”
Mr. Stark.
I swallowed hard, staring at the counter. Even his voice had a certain effect on me that I had come to categorize as "fear," even though it doesn't fit that category.
The clerk looked uneasy. “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re fully booked for the night.”
Of course. The National Electorate Conference will be taking place tomorrow. Every powerful name in the country was under this roof tonight.
My stomach dropped. I must have forgotten to complete the reservation while I was busy calling Jace… before everything fell apart.
I didn’t dare turn around. I could feel Mr. Stark’s gaze drilling through my spine. My palms were damp; my mind blank.
“I... I'll find something... Another hotel...”
"Hand us the key cards."
I finally turned around, and the look in his eyes told me one thing clearly: I’d pay for this mistake.
*
Staying in the same room with Mr. Stark didn't even give me the alone time I looked forward to spending in a bathtub. I barely showered properly. My instincts kept flying around:
What if Mr. Stark opens the bathroom door?
What if I see a ghost and run out naked?
What if...
Every stupid possibility raced through my head until my heart started skipping beats.
The idea of sharing a suite with the infamous Ocean Stark made every nerve in my body hum with panic.
Although I cried a little, wiped my face, and did what any heartbroken idiot does at 11 p.m. — googled how to get over betrayal.
The answers were ridiculous.
‘Go out with friends.’ I had none.
‘Do something spontaneous.’ I could barely breathe.
‘Revenge sex.’
I snorted out loud at that one. Revenge sex? With who? Jace was the only man I’d ever let close.
No male friends, no flings, no one. Just me — pathetic, faithful, and now apparently obsolete.
By the time I pulled myself together, Mr. Stark was seated on the couch, surrounded by files and his laptop, a half-empty glass of something dark sitting beside him.
His sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms and the faint outline of veins that matched the precision in his movements. Everything about him was neat and intentional. And I always resisted the urge to admit how illegally handsome he was. I guess I had no right to even admit such a thing. It felt so wrong.
I sat in the armchair beside him, careful not to brush against him. The distance between us was small but heavy, like sitting beside a thunderstorm before it breaks.
My hands wouldn’t stop trembling. My chest still ached from everything I’d tried to bury, and somehow his calm made it worse.
He hadn’t looked at me once since we entered the suite, not even during the flight.
That was the thing about Ocean Stark — he could make you feel completely invisible while reminding you you’re being watched.
We worked in silence. I was sorting out schedules when my phone buzzed beside me. Once. Twice. Then again — Jace’s name flashing on the screen.
I froze, praying my boss hadn’t noticed.
"Turn that off."
His voice. That voice again. It sent a trail of goosebumps running down my arms. Thankfully, I was wearing a big polo shirt, so he wouldn't see it.
I fumbled for the phone, thumbs slipping as I silenced it. I didn’t dare look up, but I could feel his eyes on me now.
There was silence, making it difficult to hide the soft sobs and sniffles that were choking me and threatening to spill.
“If you can’t compartmentalize, you’ll never last.” His chilling voice said, and I paused.
For a second, I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined them. My heart skipped, then tripped over itself.
I looked up slowly.
His eyes — cold, grey, unreadable — met mine.
I swallowed a dry lump as a tear escaped my eye.
“I… I’m sorry?” My voice came out thin, breaking on the last syllable.
He leaned back against the couch, posture unbothered. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, the faintest shadow of muscle visible beneath. His veins shifted under the light as he picked up another file.
“Boyfriend issues?” he asked without looking away.
My cheeks burned. "Yes... Uhm..." I sniffed, wiping my tears off as they fell freely now. "Yes."
He studied me like he was analyzing numbers, not a person.
“Caught him cheating?”
I was tempted to scream and tell him, 'Yes, I caught him cheating with your fiancée!' but, just like Moon said, I could never. I owe her family that much. So, I swallowed and just gave a polite nod.
He didn’t blink. “You’ll live. Pull yourself together and get back to work.”
And that was it. No softness, no sympathy. Just dismissal.
Still… he’d asked. Ocean Stark had actually spoken to me beyond orders. For a man who could end careers with a phone call, even that tiny fragment of attention felt dangerous.
Was that concern or a warning? I couldn’t tell.
My throat itched to keep the next words that threatened to come out of my mouth, but it failed, because I heard my own voice ask the most stupid question ever.
"Do you think I am weak, Mr. Stark?"
He froze mid-page. A faint crease appeared between his brows.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to stop with him, and my pulse was the only sound I could hear.
“Do you?” he asked, still not looking up.
“Do I what?” My voice wavered.
“Think you’re weak.”
He slowly peeled his gaze from the files, and his chilling eyes rested on me. The movement was so small, but it felt like the whole room leaned toward him. I almost slid into a panic attack.
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “Maybe.”
“What are you trying to prove, Miss Harry?”
“I’m not sure,” I said.
He studied me then like he was trying to decide if I was unstable or simply honest.
“You’re crying over a man who isn’t worth the data it would take to delete his name from your phone,” he said. “That’s not weakness, that’s misallocation of focus.”
I almost laughed. “So what would you recommend, Mr. Stark? Reallocate my focus?”
“Yes.”
His tone was flat and businesslike, as if we were still talking about quarterly losses. But something in his eyes shifted — interest, maybe curiosity. It made my stomach twist.
I ran my tongue over my dry lips, "Mr. Stark...?" I called, but he only answered with his steady eyes on mine, “Do you…” My voice faltered, but I forced it out, “Do you really love my cousin?”
I knew I was playing with fire. Such boldness? I'd never displayed it anywhere near my boss before. And I was terrified he was even entertaining me.
“No.”
Two letters. A brutally honest answer that shocked me.
I blinked. “What?” My whisper cracked. “Why? But I thought…”
His mouth curved in something close to contempt.
He stood to his feet. "You want to know the truth?" He asked flatly, and I nodded, my gaze lifted up to meet his.
"Because my heart only belongs to one woman. I've been searching for her for years now. And when I find her...?" He paused, and some muscle in his cheek twitched, like he was holding back more words.
"What? You'll dump my cousin?" I found myself asking... Not because I care. But maybe I also wanted Moonie to suffer the way she'd made me suffer all these years. And I wanted her suffering to come naturally.
He exhaled through his nose, "Your cousin is strictly business." With that, he made to walk away.
The finality in his tone should have shut me up. Instead, something hot and reckless surged up my throat.
I stood as he turned to go. “Wait.”
He stopped. Slowly, he turned his head and gave me that look that meant, 'the audacity?'
Too late to back down. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt.
"Mr. Stark... I need a favor from you." I stood in front of him now, feeling so small and breakable before him.
“I want…” I swallowed hard, hating the tremor in my throat. “I want to do something that reminds me I’m not weak.”
His brows narrowed like he could read through me.
He didn’t answer. Just watched me. The grey in his eyes looked darker now, colder, like deep water that could drown a person without a ripple.
"Take me tonight. I want to forget all about Jace. Please don't say no."
Chapter 3
KISAREL.
The silence stretched so long it felt like punishment. He didn’t blink. He wasn't even looking at me anymore. He kept looking over my head like looking at me up close would kill him.
I know this was reckless. I mean... The last time I did something this reckless was when I took a bullet for a stranger without even thinking.
“Careful,” he said finally, “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”
I drew in a shaky breath, “I know exactly what I’m asking for,” I whispered.
That was when he looked at me fully. For the first time ever, I really understood why everyone feared Ocean Stark. He didn’t even need to speak to feel like danger. All he had to do was listen.
I'd never looked at him so up close before. And my heart refused to stop racing when his eyes pinned me to the spot.
"I don't fuck my employees, Kiss."
My knees almost buckled at the way he bit off the word Fuck. Heat crawled up my neck to my cheeks. And… had he just called me Kiss?
Moisture stung the corner of my eyes. "No one would know... I swear... Just this once. Let's be like two strangers who just hooked up for the night," I swallowed, searching his eyes.
This was a stupid move, but I couldn't go back now.
His gaze flicked down, then back to my eyes. I could almost feel the war happening inside him.
"You don't get it, Kisarel." He took a step forward, closing what little space there was between us. My breath hitched as I tried to look away, but his fingers quickly caught my chin and forced my gaze to remain on his.
“I’m getting married to your cousin,” he said softly. “And I don’t do scandals. Go to bed, hug your pillow, and cry about your boyfriend, before you ruin both of us.”
The closeness made me dizzy, like stepping too close to fire. The crown of my head barely touched his lower chin.
His voice was firm, but his pulse? I could see it beating hard at the side of his neck.
"No one will ever know," I said and dared to push further, "Unless you're scared you can't match up with the man I am trying to forget... Sir?"
With those words, I saw his eyes turn a shade darker, and something dangerous swirled in their depths.
Before I could form another word, Mr. Stark wrapped his fingers around my neck and slammed my back against the nearest wall.
“Do you always play with fire this way?” His voice had changed. Whatever cold professionalism lived in it during office hours was gone. Now it was rougher, colder and more detached.
“Only when I’ve already been burned,” I whispered.
I don't know where that came from. Some part of me that had stopped calculating risk somewhere between Jace's bedroom floor and this hotel room. Some part of me that had decided that if tonight was going to hurt regardless, it may as well hurt for something I chose.
He looked at me for a long moment. Something moved in his jaw.
His thumb pressed lightly against my pulse point and I felt my own heartbeat betray me. "You know what you want. You don't know what I take."
His eyes moved over my face with no urgency at all, which was somehow more frightening than anger.
His voice dropped to a near growl, "You want to get fucked by me?" He said through clenched teeth, like a lion whose ego was just tested. "Do you know what it means to get fucked by me?"
My hands flew to his wrists, struggling against his grip. Instead, his free hand moved to the wall beside my head, and he leaned in slowly until there was almost no space left between us. I could feel the heat coming off him, and my heart was doing something embarrassing and uncontrollable that I was certain he could feel in his palm.
"That little cunt of yours will get bruised by me. I don't make love. I'll fuck you so hard you'll beg for me to stop." He pressed me harder into the wall, “When I fuck, I don’t stop because you cry. I don’t stop because you can’t take it. I stop when I’m done. I’ll bruise you. Break you open until you forget every man who ever touched you before me. You won’t walk right for days.”
His breathing turned ragged.
"I won’t just fuck you, Kisarel. I’ll get inside your head and twist until the thought of anyone else feels wrong. I’ll become the ache you can’t cure, the ghost you’ll beg to haunt you again.”
He leaned closer, his breath hot against my mouth.
"One night won't be enough. Not for me. I want you to know that before you make this decision, because I won't pretend otherwise in the morning."
My breath caught.
"So…” His teeth grazed my jaw as his fingers tightened on my throat. “You still want to fuck with me, Kiss?”
God, his threats terrified me. But right now, the rational part of me was dead. All I wanted was to forget about Jace tonight.
"I want to see you try, sir," I blurted out the dare, pushing him to his limits.
For a second, he didn't move. Then his hand slid to the back of my neck, and he crushed his lips against mine, kissing me so hard I almost lost my breath.
"You'll be sorry you made this decision."
***
OCEANS.
Fuck.
I’d been doing everything to keep the little, hot nerd-looking girl out of my line of sight, and fate kept shoving her back under it.
When the board thought she was due for promotion and deemed my office the right place to insert her, that was when I knew I was fucked.
Since the moment I set eyes on this girl, my cock forgot what dignity was. Always jerking like a damn teenager every time she walked in.
The smell of her hair brings back memories that had been tormenting me for the past six years.
I was getting married to her cousin. And she was getting married to a man whose head I could put a bullet through, just for being the one who owned her.
I fought that lust I felt toward her. I buried it. Smothered it.
Because the last time I got involved with an employee, it nearly cost me my legacy. Since then, I’d drawn a hard line. No mixing business with anything that had a pulse and a paycheck I signed.
But right now — seeing the same woman who’d pulled something wild and starving out of me — standing in front of me, desperate, trembling, asking for the one thing my body had always craved? That was a temptation straight from hell that even the finest of God's angels would fall for without looking back.
I tried to turn her down. I fucking did.
That should have been the end of it.
I tried to turn away, because that's what a man with functioning self-control does. I had work on the table. I had a flight the next day. I had a rule I shouldn't ignore, and I had exactly enough scotch in my system to drown out that rule, which meant I needed distance more than I needed to look at her.
But she pushed really hard. And my control — usually bulletproof — buckled.
"You'll do every fucking thing I say without question. Understood?" I warned her, and she nodded hesitantly, "Use your words, Kiss."
She swallowed, and my tongue darted out and licked the movement that formed in her throat.
She shuddered, "Yes, sir."
"Good girl."
I pressed into her mouth again. Harder. She tasted like heat and salt and bad decisions. Her scent and softness tried to swallow me whole.
Fuck.
I was doing all I could not to break her. She seemed so fragile, the crown of her head barely scraping my jawline.
I pulled her off the wall and broke the kiss before I lost the rest of my senses. She was panting. Her small, plump lips were red and swollen. Her eyes were blown wide behind those damn glasses.
I took them off. " Don't ever wear that shit again."
Up close, without the frames, she was lethal. Big blue, almond eyes. Innocence and naivety dancing in them.
I took her lips again, letting my hand roam all over her body — flat over ribs, curve of waist, the line of her hip - and what I felt made me curse against her lips. Those loose skirts and gowns she wore to work were lies. There was nothing shy under there. Every inch of her was pure fucking heaven.
A full, high ass in my palms, hips that filled my grip, a body cut to make a man forget his rules.
Jesus. I almost lost it.
Her fingers clutched my shirt, tugging desperately. And when she whimpered, I knew it was over.
I pulled away again, forcing a breath past my teeth. My body screamed to stay pressed to hers, but I needed space. Needed to see exactly what I was about to burn my life down for.
Her chest rose and fell in ragged little jerks.
"Strip," I growled and stepped back to the couch, pouring myself a glass of whiskey as I sat and watched her fingers shake as she reached for the hem of that oversized shirt. God. Who the hell wore something like that to bed? A shapeless tent that only made me want to rip it off.
The shirt hit the floor. The shorts followed.
She stood before me, naked, with some white cotton pants that did it's best to cover every corner of her ass like it was a secret she was trying so hard to hide.
Her bra didn't look like something I'd choose for a young girl, if asked.
But the body in those underwears...? Any man alive would kill to have that body under him, screaming his name.
I dragged a thumb across my lower lip, staring at her. My cock throbbed so hard it hurt.
“Kneel.” My voice dropped into something darker than a command.
She narrowed her brows, a thousand questions probably swirling in her head, but one look from me, and she dropped all that hesitation. And the moment her knees hit the floor, something in me went feral. That submission. Fuck.
Her hands were at her sides. Head bowed, hair sliding forward like a curtain.
Christ. Seeing her like that — trembling, skin goose-pimpled, chest rising and falling as she tried to breathe — made my restraint splinter.
I set the whiskey down without looking away from her. My palms flattened on my knees as I leaned forward.
"Now, crawl to me."
