A Night With Lord Cole

Chapter 4: Game Over

Cole paused at the threshold of the study, his hand resting on the brass handle. He didn’t turn around immediately. Instead, he let the silence of the room stretch, thick with the scent of his cologne and the heavy.

"The restroom?" he repeated, his voice dropping, becoming a vibration that seemed to buzz right between her thighs.

Her legs kept growing with weakness. Her cheeks flushed red, she could feel the slow burn that appeared at her sides down to her waist. She could feel her own swollen p***y rubbing against the damp fabric.

If she didn't visit the restroom, she's as good as dead...

He turned slowly, his eyes sweeping over her disheveled state, the way her chest was heaving, the slight sheen of sweat on her forehead, and the way she was awkwardly pressing her thighs together.

He swallowed, "You..." He started to say but waved his hand.

"Second door on the left," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway. "Try not to take too long, Sarah. I don't want to keep my son waiting..."

Sarah didn't wait for a second invitation. She stumbled out of the room, her heels clicking frantically against the marble. She found the door and practically threw herself inside, locking it with a trembling hand.

The restroom was a masterpiece of black marble and gold fixtures, but Sarah didn't look at the decor. She collapsed against the cool stone of the wall, sliding down until she was huddled on the floor. Her breath came in jagged, pathetic gasps.

"Get a grip," she hissed to herself, but her hand was already moving.

She couldn't help it. The way he had looked at her, the way his thumb had traced her lip, it was everything she had fantasized about for years, but with a lethal edge she hadn't expected. He wasn't just a billionaire; he was a god who demanded blood.

The kind of blood that made her adrenaline boil.

She reached under her skirt, her fingers finding the drenched silk of her underwear. She closed her eyes, and suddenly she wasn't in a bathroom; she was back in that study, Cole’s hands weren't on her chin, they were everywhere. She imagined him ripping the sensible charcoal dress, his grey eyes turning dark with a hunger that matched her own.

He was kissing her, his hands digging into her hair, her breath hitching in her throat, he was undressing her, his hands clutching over her breasts and kneading, squeezing and then his wet long tongue grazing over her n*****s and then, a gentle pull as he had the n****e in her mouth while carefully teasing the other, carefully as he arched her hips to promptly move on it's own.

Then with quiet shudder, his entire length slammed into her and she came undone, weak not only in her knees but all her entire self depended on the heat Cole pulled within and all over her body.

“Whatever it takes,” his voice echoed in her mind.

She let out a soft, broken moan, her hips arching off the cold floor as her fingers probed all the spots that Cole stirred earlier, probing the walls of her p***y that wet-gripped her fingers.

"Cole should be the one doing this..." She whispered in a low voice, moving in rhythm, her hair coming undone to her shoulders, her eyes rolling into her head.

Then she rode herself into frantic silent leak. A quick desperate release born of terror and want. Need. Raw need that made tremors feel like a plague as she pulled her fingers away from her core, sticky, wet from all the creams that gushed to the floor.

She was breathing heavily, her mouth parted open, heaving, she stayed for a moment, her forward resting against the marble before she stood up, facing the sink, the mirror and the tap. She turned on the tap and it began running, faster to catch her own breath.

She cleaned herself with trembling hands, checked her reflection, her blue eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed. She looked like a girl who had just seen a ghost or a demon..

She reached for her lip stick in the brief case and wore it, smoothening her lips together, retying her hair, then reached for her perfume.

She sprayed the scent carefully to hide the scent of her own c*m that spread all over her.

She stepped out into the hallway, the cool air hitting her heated skin like a slap. Cole was leaning against the far wall, his hands shoved into his pockets, watching the door. He didn't move as she approached, but his eyes narrowed, tracking the slight sway in her hips and the faint, fresh glow on her skin.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir. Thank you," Sarah replied, keeping her gaze level with his tie. She couldn't look him in the eye; she was terrified he would see the ghost of her fingers on her skin in her pupils.

He pushed off the wall and started walking without a word. Sarah followed, her heels clicking on the marble floor as they moved.

They reached the third floor, where the atmosphere shifted. The lush, dark decor of the lower levels gave way to a stark, suffocating white. It was too clean, too quiet. The hallway stretched out like a sterile tunnel.

"This is the nursery wing," Cole said, stopping before a pair of tall, white doors. He pushed the doors open.

The room was massive, filled with sunlight that felt cold rather than warm. In the center sat a small boy, four years old, with hair as dark as Cole's and eyes that seemed to be staring at something miles away. He was sitting perfectly still, a single wooden soldier clutched in his hand.

"Leo," Cole said. His voice was firm, lacking any of the softness one would expect for a child.

The boy didn't blink. He didn't even acknowledge their presence.

"This is your new nanny, Sarah," Cole continued, stepping into the room. "She is going to stay with you. You will follow her instructions."

Sarah stepped forward, her heart aching for the small, broken version of the man she worshipped. "Hello, Leo," she whispered.

The boy’s eyes flickered toward her for a split second, his eyes hollow and unattached to the world.

"He doesn't speak," Cole repeated, turning to Sarah. "Not to me. Not to the doctors. Not to the shadows. If you want to keep this job, you'll find a way to reach him. Otherwise, you're just another mouth to feed in a house that’s already starving."

Cole walked toward the exit, but paused at a small mahogany table near the door. On it sat a stack of legal folders. He tapped the top one. "My lawyers will be here at seven with the contract. Read it carefully. Once you sign, you belong to the Andrews Estate for the duration of the term. There is no quitting."

He left, the heavy doors clicking shut with a sound like a tomb closing.

Sarah stood in the silence with the silent boy. She moved toward the table to set her briefcase down, and as she did, her sleeve caught the edge of the top folder, knocking it to the floor. Papers spilled across the white rug.

She knelt to gather them, her eyes scanning the text instinctively. Her breath hitched.

[ATTACHMENT B: ACQUISITION OF MARTINS ASSETS]

[AUTHORIZATION CODE: C. ANDREWS]

Beneath the header was a list. Her father’s townhouse. Her sister’s car. The very jewelry Sarah had sold last week to pay for their groceries. And at the bottom, a handwritten note in a sharp, familiar scrawl:

“Pressure applied. The daughter will be here by Monday. Game over.”

The paper trembled in her hand.