The Plaything Plays Them All

Chapter 2 His Lesson

"Finish the bottle on the table, and no one will bother you again."

The man snapped his fingers, his decision final.

Black-suited security guards stepped into the room as the man whispered something to them under his breath.

Catherine understood instantly. The "trouble" downstairs—the men who had been harassing her—was taken care of.

Now, her only challenge was the half-full bottle of Dom Pérignon staring back at her from the table.

She grabbed the bottle and slumped onto the couch. Her gaze drifted over the man's tailored suit, down to his muscular frame beneath, and the shadow of stubble along his jaw. 'Exactly like the photos,' she thought, swallowing hard. 'If I can sleep with him, it'll be worth whatever comes next—even if I end up in a dumpster afterward.'

"Sir, I must say... your punishment is quite fitting. I don't usually drink."

She tipped the bottle back, the icy champagne burning as it slid down her throat, igniting a fire in her head.

The man watched as Catherine gulped down the expensive champagne like water, spilling some that trickled down her neck, pooling between her breasts before disappearing into the sequined top.

The air around them thickened with the mingling scents of alcohol and the heady pheromones of a young woman.

He shifted slightly in his seat. 'I might've miscalculated tonight,' he thought, eyes narrowing.

The drunken girl swayed, still clutching the bottle as she leaned closer to him. Her face, caked in heavy makeup, was barely recognizable under the low light.

"This champagne is pretty good, Sir. I really should thank you for getting rid of those jerks downstairs. Good guys always get appreciation. So... are you a good guy?"

"Do you think I am?"

The man's voice was indulgent as his eyes tracked her movements. Catherine clambered onto his lap, straddling him.

"I hope you are, but at the same time, I hope you're not. Because good guys take care of drunk girls, don't they? I'd like you to 'take care' of me."

She leaned in, voice low and dripping with invitation. "But I don't want you to take care of me too well."

Her words were dirty, almost shameless—a blatant proposition, just like the one she had made downstairs.

The man's hand found her waist.

Immediately, the security cameras were switched off, and the server in the corner quietly slipped out of the room.

Catherine smiled, stripping off her clothes right in front of him.

Despite everything, she rarely drank—but she could handle her alcohol.

'He's no different from the others,' she thought, her pulse racing. 'Even he can't resist a drunk girl when the opportunity presents itself.'

This was the man she had wanted for over a decade. Tonight, he was within reach.

She leaned down to kiss him, but pain shot through her neck. His hand tightened around her throat, stopping her cold.

"I'm not your babysitter, and I'm not here to take care of you."

He pulled her closer, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"But maybe it's time you learned a lesson—actions have consequences."

Under the dim light, his green eyes seemed bottomless, like they were dragging her under. Before she could react, his grip shifted, cupping the back of her head as he crushed his lips against hers.

"Mmm..."

The quiet room echoed with the wet sound of their kiss. His tongue invaded her mouth, rough and unyielding, their breaths tangled together in the suffocating space between them.

Her body flared with heat at his touch. She moved to his ear, biting down on his earlobe as his hands roamed freely over her.

"I like the way you think," she whispered, though her voice trembled.

His hands had already found places that made her body shiver in response.

Her instincts kicked in, making her pull back slightly, but the man didn't give her the chance to escape. His grip was firm, leaving no room for refusal. She gasped, her breathing hitching as his touch grew rougher.

His hand on her chest was relentless, moving back and forth, grazing over her most sensitive spots. The sensation was an overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure.

Catherine's head spun—she had never felt like this before.

It was as if her body was being swept away by two massive waves, one moment pulling her under, the next tossing her up, leaving her disoriented and breathless.

At some point, she felt something hot and foreign pressing between her legs, the sensation spreading like wildfire through her body.

The waves suddenly merged into one, crashing over her all at once, leaving her completely consumed.

Her arms gave out, and she collapsed onto him.

She looked down to find him staring at her, his gaze sharp and predatory.

He wasn't the quiet observer from earlier—now, he looked at her like he could see right through her. Through the makeup, through her lies. Right down to her intentions.

"Be gentle..." she whispered.

But the game had already changed.

The man, now the hunter, flipped her over, pinning her beneath him. His breath was hot against her neck, and then his hips pressed down, hard...

Tears stung Catherine's eyes as the pain shot through her. She clung to him, her nails digging into his back.

This was what she had wanted. There was no turning back now.

She lay beneath him, her body trembling as wave after wave of intense sensation ripped through her.

Until the room reeked of lust and indulgence, and the beast of a man finally released himself inside her.

As dawn broke, Catherine left the bar and made her way home.

In the bright, open foyer, the butler and maids avoided her gaze.

Only her father, Alvin Duncan, sat on the sofa in his robe, peering at her over his crystal glasses with barely concealed disgust.

"Staying out all night isn't behavior befitting a young lady, Catherine. You should take after your sister, Daisy."

"Yes, Father. I seem to have forgotten I'm still your daughter."

Wrapped in the coat she'd stolen from Louis earlier, Catherine dropped into a mocking curtsy, mimicking a posh accent.

"After all, I'm part of the Duncan family, aren't I? It would be improper to go out messing around with men. So unladylike. I suppose I won't be able to charm Andrew or his perverted uncle for you this weekend. Or maybe you could send Daisy to fetch what you want. Unless, of course, my dear stepmother isn't willing to let her go..."

"Shut up!"

The ashtray shattered near her feet, glass scattering across the floor. The servants didn't react—they were used to these explosions between father and daughter. This kind of argument happened regularly.

"If you want me to do your dirty work, stop pretending to be a father."

Catherine kicked the shards aside as she walked off, ending the fight by heading upstairs.

Andrew Everett was, technically, her fiancé.

But only in name—it was nothing more than a business arrangement between their families.

Her father wanted Andrew's family heirloom, a necklace of deep-sea sapphires. Andrew needed a quiet, obedient wife.

When Catherine was seven, her mother died, and her father remarried, turning her life into something out of a twisted Cinderella story.

From a young age, her father used her as a pawn, sending her to different men to get whatever he wanted.

The only reason she tolerated it was because he held her mother's possessions over her, threatening to never give them back.

This time, Alvin had promised it would be the last.

All she had to do was get the sapphire necklace, and he'd return her mother's belongings to her.