Chapter 8
1324 Words
Chloe’s POV
The dominance I craved, the stark authority that had been absent in my relationship with Jack was everywhere in Drake. He didn't just pleasure me; he commanded the pleasure. His large hands gripped my hips, pulling me into a position of total, humiliating surrender. Every lick, every suck, every insistent probe of his tongue felt like a mark of ownership.
I was riding the edge, my consciousness flickering as the pleasure built, thick and fast, overwhelming my senses. My fingers clawed at the discarded papers on the desk, scattering them onto the floor. I moaned loud enough that the glass walls might have cracked, calling his name not the gentle acknowledgment of a lover, but a guttural cry of a body giving over its entire will.
"Drake... oh, Gosh... faster, please, please," I gasped, grinding shamelessly against his face. The air was thin, the tension unbearable, and I knew I was seconds away from shattering, just like I had the other night.
The moment stretched, taut and agonizingly perfect, until it snapped.
It wasn't a slow withdrawal. It was an abrupt, violent cessation.
Drake pulled back as if burned, his breath hissing out between clenched teeth. The sudden cold air where his mouth had been was a physical shock. I was left hanging over the edge of the cliff, trembling, my sensitive flesh exposed and aching for the release he had snatched away. My legs, which had been locked around his shoulders, dropped to the desk.
I lay there, blinking, trying to reconcile the raw, demanding man who had been feasting on me with the ice-cold stranger now standing at the edge of the desk, pulling his shirt back into place with meticulous calm.
My body was still convulsing from the near climax. Tears of frustration blurred my vision. “Drake? What are you doing? Finish it,” I whispered, my voice thick with need. It was a demand, not a plea.
His eyes, that piercing, ruthless blue, were no longer clouded by lust. They were clear, calculating, and dangerously cold. He wasn’t looking at me like a lover anymore; he was looking at an inconvenience.
“Get dressed, Chloe.” His voice was flat, devoid of the growl that usually thrilled me. “The car is waiting downstairs.”
I blinked, genuinely confused. My head felt dizzy from the abruptness of the withdrawal. “No. No, Drake. You don’t get to do that. You can’t stop right there. I was…” I trailed off, unable to articulate the depth of my physical agony.
He didn't move. He simply reached for the whiskey glass he had abandoned and took a slow, deliberate sip. The way he dismissed the hurricane of lust he had just created felt like a deliberate insult.
“I said, get dressed,” he repeated, his tone hardening. It was an order, leaving no room for argument, the true voice of the CEO back in charge. “This meeting is over.”
My shame, which had been blissfully absent while he worshipped my body, rushed back in a crushing wave. I felt exposed, used, and suddenly small on his enormous desk. The realization hit me: this was the ultimate power move. He didn’t want me to enjoy it too much; he needed me to know that he controlled every moment, even the release.
But the old Chloe, the girl who cried over Jack's betrayal was gone, replaced by a desperate, reckless creature fueled by adrenaline and lingering desire. I wasn't leaving. Not like this.
I scrambled off the desk, my dress still pushed up around my waist, my panties torn. I didn't bother to pull the skirt down, letting my bare thighs meet the cool office air. I walked towards him, fueled by fury and frustration.
“You don’t get to do that to me!” I yelled, my voice echoing in the vast room. “You don’t get to drag me out here, tear my clothes, use me, and then dismiss me like a bad business call! I am not finished, Drake! You finish what you started!”
He set the glass down with a click that sounded like a gunshot. His jaw was tight, his face a mask of controlled fury.
“I warned you, Chloe,” he said, taking a step toward me. His sheer size was intimidating, but I refused to flinch. “I warned you this was dangerous. It’s too much. The risk is not worth the temporary satisfaction.”
“The risk? You mean the risk that you might actually feel something for the girl you’re degrading? That you might lose control of the situation? Of me?”
“The risk,” he bit out, “is that you were my son’s girlfriend. That fact does not evaporate because you decided to spread your legs for me tonight.”
The accusation was a deliberate strike, designed to hit the nerve of guilt he knew I possessed. It was cruel, calculated, and aimed to make me run out the door, ashamed.
“You’re pathetic,” I spat, my voice cracking. “You’re using that boy, your pathetic, cheating son, as a shield! You think that name is enough to make me crawl away?”
“It should be,” he growled, the first flicker of genuine pain crossing his face. “Do you think I don’t feel the guilt, Chloe? Every time I touch you, I’m betraying my marriage, my reputation, and my own blood! You were Jack’s!”
“I was his?” I laughed, the sound hollow and sharp. My body was shaking, but I stood my ground, my eyes locked on his. “I was his until I walked in on him screwing Sylvia, my best friend! I was his until he humiliated me and told me I didn’t give it to him the way she did! He abandoned me, Drake, and you think that makes me his property forever?!”
Tears of rage, not sorrow, sprang to my eyes. The alcohol, the adrenaline, the betrayal, and the agonizing physical need all coalesced into a single, defiant truth.
“He gave me up!” I screamed at him, pressing my chest into his rigid front, not caring that my arousal was dangerously close to his zipper. “And you know what? He’s not the one I want. I look at him and I see the betrayal. But you…”
I reached up, my hand trembling as I traced the sharp line of his jaw. The coldness in his eyes wavered, replaced by the dangerous heat I knew, the obsession that matched my own.
“I came here because of you. I came here because you are the only thing that makes me forget that I was broken. I came here because you command me, and that feeling, that absolute domination, is what I need right now. It was never Jack. It’s only you.”
I pulled my hand away and stepped back, pulling my dress down, covering myself, regaining the last shred of my dignity.
“So you can stand there and hide behind your guilt and your son’s name all you want,” I challenged, planting my feet firmly on the polished floor. “But I’m not leaving. I am staying right here until you finish what you started, or until you physically throw me out.”
I watched him, breathing hard, waiting for the monster to retreat or to consume me. The office felt charged with electricity, the battle lines drawn. He could send me away, but he couldn't take back the devastating truth I had just thrown at him: she belonged to him now, not his son, and she wouldn't allow herself to be dismissed.
- Writer
