The Groveling CEO

STELLA’S POV The piercing always did it for me. Every single time. I was still shuddering, still moaning his name like a prayer as the last o****m ripped through me. My back arched hard off the mattress, fingers twisted in the sheets while pleasure crashed over me in hot, relentless waves. Carter’s hands gripped my hips like anchors, holding me down as he f****d me through itz deep, possessive, that wicked King Albert piercing dragging perfectly against my G-spot with every powerful thrust. “f**k, Princess… that’s it. Come all over my c**k,” he growled against my throat, voice low and rough, the only time he ever sounded completely undone. He always showed up completely for this. When the waves finally ebbed and my body stopped trembling, I stared at the ceiling, chest heaving. “I want a divorce.” Carter went still inside me. He kissed my shoulder, slowly pulled out, and rolled off me. Then he pulled me against his chest like he hadn’t heard a word. His heavy arm dropped over my waist, his breathing already slowing against my neck. “Carter.” “You’re tired,” he murmured into my hair, voice sleepy and indulgent. “I’m serious.” “Mmm.” Four minutes later he was asleep. I lay there listening to him breathe, his chest warm and solid against my back. His arm felt heavy and completely useless. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan glittered like it always did indifferent to the fact that my marriage was dying in this bed. Three years. Three years of this penthouse, this schedule, this man who only showed up fully on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday nights. The rest of the time he was the untouchable CEO of Sterling Group, and I was… convenient. His personal secretary by day, his wife in secret, his scheduled f**k by night. I had loved Carter Sterling so hard it had emptied me out. And he slept through all of it. I carefully lifted his arm. He shifted but didn’t wake. I stood on the cold marble floor and looked at him. Sharp jaw, dark lashes, hair falling messily over his face. He still looked like the man who had kissed me senseless in the elevator between the fourteenth and fifteenth floors, like time was running out. I wondered when he decided he had all the time in the world. I slipped on my silk robe and walked to the guest room I’d slowly claimed as my own over the past six months. Before sleeping, I opened my laptop and stared at the document that had been sitting there for three days. PETITION FOR DISSOLUTION OF MARRIAGE: Sterling v. Sterling I had drafted it myself. Revised it four times. My lawyer had it back to me clean by Friday. I printed two copies in the home office, signed my name with a steady hand, and slid one into my bag for Monday’s appointment. I’d even started browsing apartments online, nothing flashy yet, but places that would be mine alone. No more black cards attached to strings. This time I wasn’t pulling myself back. Two days later, Monday morning, I placed the papers on the breakfast table. Not dramatically. I simply set them beside his espresso, poured my orange juice, and sat across from him in the silence of our too-big kitchen. Carter glanced at the papers. Then at me. Then he picked up his phone. “Carter.” “I heard you.” He didn’t look up, thumbs moving across the screen. “Put the damn phone down.” He set it down slowly, like the world could wait. His dark eyes finally met mine, sharp, controlled, the same look he used in boardrooms. “You’re actually serious,” he said flatly. “I was serious Saturday night. I’m still serious this morning.” Something flickered across his face. Too fast for me to name. He reached for his coffee and took a calm sip. “No,” he said. I stared. “Excuse me?” “No, Stella.” He set the cup down. “I’m not signing that.” “Carter—” “What do you want?” He leaned back, eyes narrowing like this was just another deal. “More money? More freedom? Tell me what this is really about.” I laughed. Short, hollow and bitter. “You think this is a negotiation.” “Everything is.” “For f**k’s sake,” I whispered, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I want out of this marriage, Carter. That’s what it’s about. Not money. Not freedom. I want out.” His jaw tightened. “Why.” “Because I’m tired.” My voice stayed steady. I had practiced this. I was not going to cry at this table. “I’m tired of being your scheduld f**k. I’m tired of being your dirty little secret. I’m tired of sitting across from you every morning feeling like a goddamn stranger in my own home.” “You’re not a stranger.” “Then what the hell am I?” He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. That long, empty, painful silence said everything. “Sign them,” I said quietly. “Let’s just get this over with.” Carter looked down at the papers. His palm pressed flat against the wood, fingers slowly curling into the grain. “I’m not signing them.” Quieter this time. There was something raw underneath it I hadn’t heard in years. I pushed my chair back and stood. “Then I’ll start packing.” I made it halfway down the hallway before his voice stopped me. “Stella.” I didn’t turn around. “Don’t.” His voice was right behind me now. Close. I hadn’t even heard him move. “Give me one good reason.” Silence stretched between us. I could feel the heat of him at my back, the weight of everything he wasn’t saying. Carter Sterling, the man who could silence entire boardrooms, standing in his own home with no words left. “Because I love you,” he said finally, voice rough and low. I turned around. He was closer than I expected. I had to tilt my head up to meet his eyes. They were complicated, raw, something I’d almost forgotten he was capable of. My heart gave one stupid, traitorous lurch. “You have until tonight,” I told him, voice steady even as my pulse raced. Then I walked into my room and shut the door. The papers stayed untouched on the table. He hadn’t signed. But as I leaned against the wood, I heard his phone buzz. Once, sharply. Then again. Probably James, his ever-present personal assistant, already managing the empire while Carter stood frozen in our hallway. The man was always there, quiet and efficient, like part of the furniture. And somewhere out in the city, the first whispers of “Sterling marriage in trouble” were already starting to spread.