Control me.

Chapter 13 - Nick

I let my gaze slide back to the bar, where Irina sits beside Paul, laughing softly while holding her drink. I don't know her, and honestly I don't care who she is or why she's here. What catches my attention is purely physical: the curve of her back, the way her hips move when she shifts slightly toward Paul, the small white dress that leaves very little to the imagination.

At the same time, two other women hovering near me—clearly looking for attention and flirtation—fill the other half of my appetite. I play along with them, letting my fingers slide slowly around the base of my glass while watching the way they move. My mind works on pure instinct.

Alan smiles beside me, understanding exactly what I'm thinking. No words are needed.

I'm not thinking anything complicated about her yet. She's simply a body that caught my attention. The desire is immediate, intense, raw—just like it always is when I see a woman who turns me on.

The two women beside me continue flirting, but my eyes keep drifting back to that white dress hugging Irina's body.

I'm not thinking about her.

I'm not calculating anything.

I just feel the tension building inside me—that simple, physical desire that doesn't need words or explanations to ignite.

And as I sit there letting the night flow around me, I know that right now everything revolves around instinct. Purely physical. The pleasure of watching bodies, curves, and the quiet sense of control.

I sat comfortably in the corner of the couch, Alan steady beside me, Paul across from us, ready to absorb every word I said.

The conversation had started with his responsibilities—when he would officially begin, what role he would have inside the company, and what tasks he would need to handle.

I spoke with calm certainty, laying out the structure, the priorities, the hidden pressure points.

Nick leaned back slightly.

"You should understand something, Paul. Nothing here is uncertain. The decisions are mine, but the execution goes through you. You start with the smaller cases, and later we'll see how you handle the bigger moves."

My tone stayed firm, focused.

Alan added a few details about procedures and deadlines, and I corrected him here and there, making sure Paul understood the framework.

We talked about accounts, business agreements, contracts, partnerships, and future plans.

It was pure business.

Professional. Precise. Every word measured.

And yet, between those words, my gaze kept drifting back to Irina.

She stood facing the crowd now, sipping her drink with slow, controlled movements while a cigarette burned between her fingers. The glow of it briefly illuminated her face.

And at that moment, her full, perfectly shaped hips caught my attention again.

I didn't try to stop myself.

Every now and then, while speaking with Paul and Alan about deadlines and responsibilities, my gaze returned to her.

Her presence worked like a magnet.

Not personal yet. Just physical attraction. Raw and unfiltered.

As I watched the way she held her glass, her back straight, her posture almost untouchable, I felt the tension growing inside me.

Paul kept writing down every detail, enthusiastic and obedient, while Alan glanced at me from time to time with that quiet, knowing smile.

He knew exactly where my mind was drifting.

But I said nothing.

Work was the excuse.

The cover.

My real attention was somewhere else entirely—fixed on her.

With every minute that passed, Irina seemed more comfortable in the crowd, more relaxed in the way she moved, more provocative without even trying.

And despite the discipline and control I maintain in everything else, I couldn't stop the raw, instinctive pull of my attention toward the way her hips moved with each small motion.

The discussion about responsibilities continued. Details were analyzed carefully.

Every time Paul leaned forward to write something down or ask a question, my gaze crossed with hers for just a fraction of a second.

And that fraction was enough for me to know something.

For the first time in a long while, someone had caught my attention this clearly—this instinctively—without even trying.

The whiskey went down like water. One glass after another.

It didn't bother me. My body had learned how to handle it long ago. I always knew when to keep my mind sharp—and when to let it blur.

Tonight, no matter how much I drank, I wasn't going to lose control.

This night belonged to me.

I sat back on the couch between two women who couldn't stop staring at me. Their laughter cut through the rumble of the music, their bodies pressing against mine, asking for attention, asking for my touch.

I had no reason to refuse.

My hand slid slowly along one woman's bare thigh while my fingers tangled in the other's hair, pulling her head back so I could drag my mouth along her neck.

It was a beautiful sight.

My two little cats, ready to devour me.

From the corner of my eye I caught sight of Paul's fiancée again.

Irina.

Dressed like a goddess in that white dress, her legs and chest impossible to ignore.

Beautiful, sure. Sexy as hell.

But that was it.

I didn't have the time—or the patience—to obsess over her. Just another woman playing the cold, untouchable type. Acting like she was above everyone else.

I knew the type well.

And that type never lasted more than one night with me.

When she accidentally glanced my way, I decided to give her a little show.

I grabbed the woman beside me by the face and kissed her roughly, pushing my tongue into her mouth until she moaned.

Then I turned to the other and did the same.

All of it on purpose.

To show her I could.

To see her reaction.

And she reacted.

I saw it clearly. Her lips tightened, a look of open disapproval crossing her face.

I smiled to myself.

Not because I cared about her opinion, but because I enjoyed breaking those arrogant little expressions.

Paul was still talking with Alan, excited like a kid in an amusement park, completely oblivious to everything around him.

Me.

His fiancée.

Any of it.

It didn't bother me.

He had already placed himself on my list. I would see later whether he was useful to me.

The women beside me laughed again. One placed her hand on my chest. The other slid her hand lower.

I let them.

I wanted them.

The tension in my body needed somewhere to go.

I wasn't going to wait until dawn.

I stood slowly.

They practically jumped to their feet, grabbing my hands and pulling me toward the bathrooms like eager little pets ready for play.

People around us stared. Some laughed, some whispered.

I didn't care.

They knew who I was.

Nick Martinez.

The man nobody stopped.

We stepped into the women's bathroom. I pushed the door shut and locked it.

Their perfume filled the air—luxurious, intoxicating, promising trouble.

Before they could say anything playful, I shoved them back against the wall.

My mouth dropped to one woman's neck while my hand grabbed the other's chest.

There was no time for games.

I wanted release.

I wanted to burn the desire out of my body.

One of them dropped to her knees in front of me without hesitation.

I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back so she had to look me in the eyes.

The other kissed me wildly, her teeth catching my lips while her hands clawed at my back.

Her nails scraped my skin.

It only turned me on more.

There was no emotion in it.

Nothing beyond bodies.

That's who I was.

Desire. Violence. Control.

The way I lived.

The way I always would.

The woman in front of me moved with relentless rhythm, her mouth working hungrily while saliva ran down her chin.

I tightened my grip in her hair, controlling the pace.

I didn't let her breathe properly. I wanted to see her eyes water. I wanted her to understand who was in charge here.

The other woman pressed herself against me, kissing my neck, my jaw, my mouth.

I let out a rough groan—low and feral.

Nick grabbed the kneeling woman and pulled her up abruptly.

"Get up."

Her lipstick was smeared, her eyes wet.

I didn't care.

I shoved her back against the wall and lifted one of her legs over my hip. Her body opened for me instantly.

When I pushed inside her she cried out loudly, and the sound made me smile.

The other woman laughed breathlessly, watching like it was some twisted game.

She reached between us, helping pull her friend's underwear aside.

They enjoyed sharing.

I enjoyed controlling them.

My rhythm was rough. Hard. Each thrust deep and merciless.

The other woman rubbed herself against me impatiently, desperate for her turn.

I grabbed her wrist and dragged her forward, pushing the first woman aside. The second bent forward against the wall.

I tore her dress open without hesitation.

She gasped—half laughter, half shock—but she didn't complain.

Nick gripped her waist.

"You like that, don't you?" I muttered, my voice low.

I pushed into her hard, so suddenly she cried out.

I didn't stop.

My hands held her wrists behind her back, pinning her exactly where I wanted her while every movement echoed loudly in the tiled room.

The first woman dropped to her knees again, opening my pants further, her fingers playing along my body while I kept driving into her friend.

I controlled both of them.

I set the pace.

I decided who moved and when.

Sweat ran down my back while the music outside swallowed most of their moans.

But in that room, I was king.

This moment belonged to me.

"Don't stop..." the woman whispered hoarsely.

It wasn't a request.

It was a plea.

I smiled darkly.

I pulled her hair back, forcing her head around so I could see her eyes. They were wet, but hungry for more.

That drove me even further.

I pulled out suddenly, making her groan in frustration, and grabbed the other woman by the chin.

Neither of them had time to breathe.

I didn't give them the chance.

I had become both their pleasure and their punishment.

The second woman welcomed me with the same wild hunger, moaning louder than the first.

I drove into her hard, gripping her hips like I meant to break them.

Every cry from her lips only confirmed my control.

The game went on for a long time.

Bodies switching. Voices rising. Hands grabbing me, mouths devouring me.

I didn't show them mercy.

I was raw.

Hard.

Exactly what I had always been.

And when I finally finished, it was with my fingers tangled in their hair, their bodies trembling under my rhythm, their breathing broken and tangled together.

A deep groan escaped my chest—almost a growl.

I let them slide slowly down the wall.

Sweaty. Smudged. Hair tangled.

Smiling like they had just conquered the world.

I simply buttoned my clothes.

I glanced at the mirror, catching my reflection—eyes still wild, still burning.

A man who was never satisfied.

Nick spoke coldly.

"Get up."

Then I walked out first, leaving them behind to collect themselves.