The Ceo's Reluctant Wife

The bass in Apex was so heavy it felt like it was knocking around inside Alex's ribcage. The whole club throbbed with bodies packed tight on the dance floor below, lights flashing purple and red across sweat slick skin. Up here in VIP, though, things were calmer. Cooler air, softer seats. the kind of money that bought space and quiet even in a place built for chaos. Alex was stretched out in the corner booth, legs kicked wide like he didn't give a damn who needed to get past. One arm slung along the back of the seat, the other holding a glass of Macallan that cost more than most people's rent. He wasn't drunk, just loose enough that the edges of the night felt good. Real good. There was a blonde on his left, long legs, silver dress that barely hung on, lips shiny from whatever gloss she kept reapplying. She had told him her name earlier, something with a K, but it hadn't stuck. Didn't need to. Her hand was already halfway up his tigh, fingers drawing slow circles like she was testing how far she could go before he stopped her. He hadn't stopped her yet. On his right was the brunette. Dark hair, darker eyes, the kind of smile that said she knew exactly what she was doing. She had slid in twenty minutes ago, pressed her whole side against him, and started whispering things in his ear that would have made half guys in this place blush. Her hand had found his shirt buttons. Every time she laughed low and dirty it vibrated again his neck. Alex took another slow slip of his drink, letting the burn settle. The blonde's hand moved higher, brushing over the front of his trousers, and he felt that familiar pull low in his gut. She squeezed lightly and he let his head tip back against the leather for a second. Yeah. This was why he came out. This exactly feeling wanted, no strings, no effort. The brunette leaned in again, lips grazing his ear. "You're ignoring me," she teased. "That's not very nice." He turned just enough to catch her mouth, not quite a kiss, just close enough that she could feel his breath. "Trust me, I'm paying attention." She grinned, then shifted, swinging one leg over his so she was half straddling his thigh. The blonde wasn't having that. She pressed closer on the other side, hand sliding fully over him, stroking through cloth like she owned the rights to it. Alex exhales through his nose. hips shifting just a little bit. He would have both of them. The club had private rooms upstairs, he could already picture it, blonde on her knees, brunette riding his face, the two of them kissing over him while he... The blonde's fingers found his zipper. Started unzipping it down, slow and quiet under the table. Nobody around them would notice, the booth was dark, the music loud, people too wrapped up in their own nights. Her hand slipped inside, wrapped around him, skin on skin now, and he groaned low in his throat. Hot. Tight. Perfect. The brunette watched, then leaned down and kissed the side of his neck, teeth scraping just enough to sting. Her hand joined the blonde's, two sets of fingers working him, different rhythms and competing. He thrust up into their grip, not caring who saw. The bass dropped hard, and it felt like the beat was matching the pulse in his c**k. He was close already. He wanted the release, wanted to come right here with both of them fighting over who got to finish him. He almost dragged them both upstairs after the blonde whispered something filthy. Then his phone rang on the table. Once. Twice. Three times. He ignored it, but it kept ringing. With a rough curse, he pulled back, grabbing the phone. The screen lit up, Victor Harrington. Of course. He answered, voice tight. "It's almost two in the morning, Dad." Victor didn't even sound tired. Just pissed. "And you're still out throwing your life away and whatever warm bodies are hanging off you tonight. We need to talk. My office. Nine sharp tomorrow." Alex's jaw flexed. "I've got Tokyo ar nine thirty..." "Then cancel it. Or don't. But you'll be here at nine, Alexander. I'm not asking." The line went dead. He stared at the phone for a second, anger burning hot under his skin. The blonde tried to lean in again, lips brushing his neck. "Everything okay, baby?" He caught her hand, moved it off him. "Not tonight." Both of them blinked at him, confused. The brunette pouted. "You sure? We were having fun." He zipped up, stood, buttoned his jacket. Already the heat was fading, replaced by that cold, familiar emptiness. "Yeah. I'm sure." He didn't look back as he walk out. Didn't need to see their face. People moved out of his way without thinking, always did. Outside, the night air hit him sharp and cold, cutting through the mist of perfume and sweat clinging to his shirt. His driver was waiting. Alex slid into the back of the car, loosened his tie, and stared out at the city lights streaking past. The buzz was gone now. The want was gone. Just irritation and that same hollow feeling he could never quite shake. He poured himself another drink from the bar in the car, downed half of it in one go. His father's voice kept looping in his head, throwing your life away, warm bodies. Like Victor had any room to judge. The old man built the empire, but Alex was the one keeping it alive. Profits up, stock higher than ever. What more did he want? The penthouse was dark when he got home. Quiet. Too quiet after the club. He shrugged off his jacket, kicked off his shoes, poured one last drink and stood at the window looking down at Manhattan. His city. His rules. He should have stayed at the club, taken those girls upstairs and f****d the frustration out of his system. Instead he was here, alone, c**k still half hard, mind racing about whatever bomb his father was about to drop tomorrow. Alex drained the glass, set it down harder than necessary. Whatever Victor wanted, he would deal with it. He always did. But tonight he went to bed angry, sheets cold, body restless. And somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew tomorrow was going to be a shitshow.