The Billionaire playboy Who Couldn't Let Her Go

A Temporary Distraction

Six Months Ago

Nikolai pov

In those days, I didn't even know her name and didn't care about it at all. In my life, women were similar to fine wines and expensive cars – objects that have to be enjoyed, used until exhaustion, and then disposed of.

She was just another pretty stranger from some VIP lounge whom I had picked due to my rich appearance and predatory look that clearly showed her what she would get during that night.

However, now she was in my penthouse master bedroom, and I was about to dominate.

I didn't guide her to the bed; I demanded she go there. Just one snap of my fingers and low growl made her strip naked before I took off my silk tie or jacket. I liked the way she looked at me – a perfect combination of fear and s****l craving

.

She was afraid of me but, at the same time, enjoyed the process of being overpowered.

I reached out to take her hair and pulled her head to expose the tender line of her white neck. Leaning closer, I whispered some dark things into her ear, feeling how the warm air heated her sweating skin. I needed her to submit, not to fall in love with me.

"You don't talk unless I say so," I breathed in her ear in a velvet voice,

And you don't move until I order you to move. Today, you belong to me."

Then I threw her on the black silk sheets. The contrast between her tender and white skin and dark fabrics instantly aroused me.

I wasn't gentle; I slowly undressed myself, making her watch while realizing that she was the only interesting thing in this room.

When I jumped on top of her and pinned her down, holding her wrists above her head with one hand, I could feel the fast beating of her heart – it reminded me of the caged bird. I liked that feeling of fear because it added to the flavor of the conquest.

I pushed her deeply, filling her completely, with a violent thrust and low growl that echoed from my chest.

She gave out a loud cry of shock and intense pleasure when I entered her and started moving with an intense rhythm. I needed to show her how powerful I was.

I didn't give her any time to adjust to me and the size of me inside her; instead, I pounded her with a dominating rage that made her sob with the name of whoever I wanted to hear.

I enjoyed watching how her eyes glazed as she totally submitted under the pressure of my rhythmic penetration.

Changing the position, I turned her on her stomach and grabbed her hips, pushing her back to me so that she could feel all my power and dominance.

I hammered into her from behind, making our bodies crash together like two stones – the primal rhythm of lust and desire.

I pushed her closer and closer to the peak of passion and ecstasy until she finally came with an explosive o****m. I came shortly after her, feeling a powerful surge of heat as I claimed her completely, breaking her soul and making her exhausted, devastated, and broken.

Leaving her on the bed, panting heavily, I got up and took my silk robe. This game was over, my needs were satisfied, and she performed her role perfectly.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I frowned, took a glass of scotch and checked the text. Only one name on the screen sent chills along my spine.

Sebastian Westwood. My grandfather.

The text message read:

Come to the office. By 12 o'clock.

The ice in my scotch had melted by the time I stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, the city lights blinking like distant, meaningless diamonds.

Sebastian Westwood didn’t text unless a company was about to collapse or someone was about to be ruined.

Usually, it was the latter, and usually, he was the architect. 12 o’clock. That gave me a few hours of darkness left.

I drained the watered-down liquor, the glass hitting the marble countertop with a sharp click. The heavy silence of the apartment pulled my attention back toward the master bedroom.

Walking back in, I found her exactly where I’d left her, curled on her side amidst the tangled black silk, her breathing shallow and even. She looked small, swallowed by the vastness of the bed, a discarded luxury item.

But looking at her now, with the adrenaline of my grandfather's text humming in my veins, the cold finality of the game felt incomplete.

Sebastian thought he held the strings to my life. I needed to remind myself of what absolute control felt like before I faced him.

I stripped off the silk robe, dropping it to the floor.

The mattress shifted under my weight, and she stirred, her long lashes fluttering open in the dim light. Before she could fully comprehend the shift from sleep to reality, I lunged over her, pinning her down.

The suddenness of it knocked the breath from her lungs, a faint gasp escaping her lips.

"Did I say you could sleep?" I murmured, my voice a low, gravelly vibration against her jawline.

Her eyes widened, dark with a mix of exhaustion and the instant, intoxicating spike of adrenaline. She didn’t fight it. That was the beauty of her; she leaned into the terror of it.

I grabbed her jaw, tilting her face up to force her to look at me, ensuring she saw the complete lack of warmth in my eyes.

I didn't use the preamble. I didn't give her time to warm up or acclimatize to the sudden shift in the room's atmosphere. I parted her legs with my knee and drove back into her, hard and unyielding.

A sharp cry cut through the quiet bedroom, echoing off the minimalist walls. I gripped her hips, my fingers digging deep enough into her skin to leave marks that would last for days—reminders of who owned the night.

The rhythm this time wasn’t just dominating; it was possessive, fueled by the cold fury of the morning's impending meeting. I used her body as an anchor to ground my own rage, punishing her for a stress she knew nothing about.

She arched into the movement, her hands clawing blindly at the silk sheets, sobbing quietly as the intense, relentless friction pushed her back over the edge.

When I finally broke, spilling into her with a final, heavy thrust, I collapsed against her for a mere second before pulling away completely.

I didn't look back as I walked into the en-suite bathroom to wash her scent off my skin.

The sun was blinding when it finally cut through the automated blinds of the penthouse, casting long, geometric shadows across the hardwood floors.

I emerged from my dressing room fully armored for the day. A bespoke charcoal three-piece suit, crisp white shirt, and a dark tie knotted with mathematical precision.

My watch read 9:30 AM. Plenty of time to review the quarterly projections before meeting Sebastian.

As I walked into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee reached me. I paused.

Standing by the brushed-steel kitchen island was the girl. But she wasn't the trembling, broken creature from the black silk sheets.

She was wearing my white button-down shirt from the previous night—the one I’d discarded on the floor. It hung loosely off her shoulders, swallowing her frame, the hem hitting her mid-thigh.

She turned around when she heard my footsteps, a soft, almost domestic smile playing on her lips.

Her hair was artfully messy, and she held a mug of coffee in both hands, looking entirely too comfortable in a space that didn't belong to her.

"Good morning," she said, her voice carrying a husky tone that she clearly thought was intimate.

"I found the espresso machine. I hope you don't mind."

I didn't answer. I just walked over to the built-in Miele unit, grabbed a clean porcelain cup, and poured myself a double shot of black espresso. I didn't look at her while I did it.

"I was thinking," she continued, taking a step closer to me, her bare feet padding softly against the heated floor tiles.

She reached out, her fingers lightly brushing the sleeve of my suit jacket.

"Maybe we could order some breakfast? There's a great artisan bakery just down the street, or we could see what the penthouse room service has. We could just stay in for a bit."

The sheer delusion of the statement was almost amusing. She was playing house. Because I had used her body with an intensity that boundaries usually forbid, she had confused vulnerability with intimacy. She thought the access I allowed to my bed translated into access to my life.

I stepped back, deliberately breaking the contact between her hand and my sleeve. I took a slow sip of the espresso, the bitter liquid burning my tongue, before fixing her with a cold, detached stare.

"You're still here," I said flatly.

The smile on her face faltered, just a fraction, but she tried to maintain the facade.

"Well, yeah. I thought... after last night..."

"Last night was last night," I cut her off, my voice dropping into that quiet, chilling register I used in boardrooms to silence overambitious executives.

"The sun is up. The game is over."

She blinked, the warmth completely draining from her expression.

"I just thought we could have breakfast. Talk a little. You don't even know your last name."

"And I don't need to," I said, setting my empty espresso cup down with a sharp clink.

"You were a distraction. A highly replaceable one. Don't confuse a lack of inhibitions in the dark with a connection in the light."

I walked over to the entryway table, picked up my leather wallet, and pulled out a stack of high-denomination bills. I didn't count them; I just dropped them onto the marble island next to her coffee mug.

"Take a cab. Throw the shirt in the trash. I don't like it when someone touches my things."

Her face went pale, the realization hitting her like a physical blow. The illusion of the wealthy, mysterious savior who had picked her out of the crowd shattered, leaving only the cold predator she had willingly invited into her bed.

Her lips parted as if to argue, to salvage some shred of her dignity, but the absolute vacancy in my stare stopped her.

"I have a meeting at twelve," I added, checking my watch.

"I expect you to be gone by the time I open the front door."

Without waiting for her response, without looking back at the girl who was currently realizing she was nothing more than an expensive car driven too fast and parked on the street, I grabbed my briefcase and walked out.

The heavy oak door clicked shut behind me, sealing the penthouse and everything that had happened inside it away into irrelevance. My mind was already blocks away, climbing the stairs of the Westwood corporate tower to face the only monster that actually mattered.