CONTRACT OF HEARTS

CHAPTER2

Ava's POV

His dark eyes roamed all over my body. I swallowed hard, my body unused to be being seen by other man except Andrew. He was my first love and the only man, I'd given myself to. A pang of guilt surged through me but was quickly buried underneath a reckless resolve. I won't regret this. Not tonight. This will just be a steamy one night fling.

"Don't tell me, you're thinking about your boyfriend?" He asked his voice cold and his eyes even colder, sending a chill down my spine.

"No...oo, I'm not," I stammered.

"Stop talking, girl," he ordered, his sharp voice giving no room for arguments. "Now strip."

I nodded and quickly obeyed, as my trembling hands reached for the hem of my dress and pulling it over my head, leaving me in nothing but lingerie. His desired filled gaze sent heat through me.

My hands fumbled with the clasps of my bra but before I could undo it, he stepped forward, catching my wrist.

"Not yet," he murmured.

He guided me and pushed me gently on the soft mattress. His lips pressed into mine in a fervent kiss that seemed as though he wants to claim every part of me.

My heart sting as my mind drifted back to Andrew and Vanessa, their betrayal still raw. A bit of unease rippled through me like I was cheating on that asshole. But the thoughts was fleeting as his lips left mine and trailed downward.

His mouth closed down on my n*****s, bitting it softly. I let out a involuntarily moan. Heat pooled between my legs. I couldn't think straight. There's no way I could.

He pulled back and began unbuttoning his shirt, taking his time, his movements deliberate. His lips curling into a knowing smirk.

I swallowed my pride, desperation thick in my voice. "Can you... just thrust into me already?"

His smirk deepened. "When I f**k, I take my time. And when I'm inside you, you think only of me. You scream my name."

I nodded frantically, far too gone to care about anything, but the promise of what to come.

His shirt fell to the floor, then his pants. My breath hitched as my eyes dropped to him. He was large—intimidatingly so—and I couldn’t help but wonder how I’d take all of him.

He stepped closer, his hand sliding behind my back to unhook the bra and then dragging my pants down. The sound of the fabric tearing filled the air as he ripped them off completely, discarding them without a second thought.

His hand landed on my butt giving it a soft slap. Then he slid two of his middle finger inside me and the other hand teasing my n*****s.

I gasped, my hands instinctively moving to clutch at him, but he caught my wrists, pinning them above my head. “Stay still,” he murmured, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The tip of him, brushed against my wetness, teasing as his dark eyes locked into mine. I wasn't used to this slow-torturous build. Andrew, had always been in a rush, treating s*x like an obligation rather than pleasure. But this, this though was unforgettable.

Finally, he thrust into me, filling me completely. His grip on my hand, tightened as he set a slow, deliberate pace.

"Call my name," he said in a husky tone.

"Xan....Der," I called, my voice trembling with a mixture of pain and pleasure.

"Again," he ordered, thrusting deeper and hitting my walls.

"Xander," I cried, louder this time.

I lost myself to him completely, his name tumbling from my lips over and over till we both reached climax. He collapsed by my side. His breath fanned against my neck as he whispered, “You’re mine.”

Then we slept off.

Hours later, sunlight streamed in through the curtains, nudging me awake. I blinked, against the brightness, my gaze falling on him. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, his face relaxed in sleep. Even now, he looked devastatingly handsome.

My body ached in the most satisfying way, a reminder of the indulgence I allowed myself to explore. My thighs burned, a testament to the night we'd shared.

Carefully, I slipped out of bed, gathering the clothes scattered on the floor. My hands reached for my panty and I remembered he'd torn them. A blush crept up my lips as I hastily dressed up.

I cast one final glance at him before stepping out, emotions coursing through me. With a deep breath, I walked out, leaving behind a night I knew I’d never forget.

I hailed a taxi and made my way home. The ride was quiet but my thoughts weren't. Once inside, I took a cold shower, letting the water wash away the remnants of the night. Dressed in a velvet dress that clung to my curves like a second skin. I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

I don't look like someone on the verge of losing everything. Today, I looked like someone who is ready to crush her enemies-vanessa and Andrew.

I stepped into my office with my shoulders held high despite the storm brewing inside me. Just as I settled by my desk, hoping to bury myself in a stash of work, three policemen swarmed the building.

My stomach dropped in fear as their cold gaze fell on me.

"Good morning, detectives," I greeted, forcing my voice to stay steady as I stood.

I was ignored.

“Ava Knight, you’re under investigation,” the first officer said, his voice grim.

"What!" the word escaped in a rush, my heart pounding.

“Forgery, embezzlement and conspiracy," another officer replied, handing me a warrant.

“This must be a mistake,” I protested, my voice cracking. “I didn’t do anything!”

The detectives were quiet to my defence as one of them handed me a document. With a trembling hand, I took it, flipping through the pages.

The evidence was damning. My signature forged on incriminating documents. My bank accounts tied to illegal transactions.

"There's a mix up," I choked out, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Miss Knight," one of the detectives said, his voice final. "Please, come with us."

My legs felt like jelly as I climbed onto a waiting black van. The ride to the precinct took forever. My mind swirling chaotically with different thoughts. Who could be framing me? And why?

At a station, a detective handed me another file. "Mr Dickson confessed to stealing at his workplace," he said coldly.

"What!" I stammered, scanning the confession statement.

"So you must have falsified the evidences to prove him innocent," another detective added.

“That’s not true! Every piece of evidence I presented was legitimate!” I exclaimed, panic lacing my voice.

The room fell silent as Vanessa entered, her expression smug. She sat across from me, her voice dripping with fake sincerity.

"She's my colleague and best friend," Vanessa began, her tone saccharine. "But I stand for the truth. "We gathered the evidence together...but I warned her several times that it's isn't right, but she wouldn't listen. She only cares about winning cases.

Anger surged through me. "Vanessa, you sly witch," I cursed, glaring at her. "You know I won't falsify evidence."

"Ava....," she called, reaching for my hands in fake concern. "Just confess to your crimes."

I shoved her hands away, my ring catching her cheeks and leaving a thin cut.

Blood trickled down her face as she clutched her wound with a wounded expression.

The detectives sprang to his feet. "What the hell are you doing?" He roared.

“It was an accident!” I stammered, but my words faltered as Andrew walked in, his gaze landing on Vanessa’s cut.

"Ava," he said, his voice laced with anger. "Why are you always causing trouble?"

"It's fine Andrew," Vanessa said , dabbing at her wound with a tissue. "I'm sure she's just upset. Betrayal hurts afterall," she said, her voice calm and measured.

"I'm so sorry," the detective said. "You can leave." Then he turned to me, his voice cold. "We'll be adding assault to your charges."

Vanessa and Andrew left, their heads turning back to a matching sinister grins. I felt the world closing in, my mind spinning with disbelief. Vanessa—the woman I had taken in when she was struggling—had betrayed me.

Minutes later, the lead detective came in, his face hardened. “Let her go,” he ordered, his tone sharp.

“What?” another detective asked, stunned.

“It’s an order from above.”

I signed the necessary documents and walked out, my body trembling. As I waited for a taxi, a sleek black Benz pulled up.

The driver stepped out, opening the back door, and a familiar figure emerged. Alexander Blackthorn stood before me, a manila envelope in hand, his expression unreadable.

“Miss Knight,” he said, his voice calm yet commanding. “We need to talk.”