THE CEOS’ SECRET BABY.

FIGHTING DESIRES..

AVA POV

Serge lets out a deep growl against my mouth, his large hands immediately flying out to wrap around my wet waist, lifting me off the floor as he pressed his mouth back into mine with a force that almost shattered whatever sanity I had left in me.

The hot water from the shower head was burning against our skins, but I couldn't feel the chill of reality anymore. My fingers clutched desperately at the now damp fabric of his white shirt, tearing at the buttons as I pulled him closer, drowning in the taste of him.

It was heavy. Brutal. I didn’t know what was happening to me lately but he seemed to be the only solution.

I had this chaotic rush of adrenaline that made my head spin out of control every damn time he was next to me and in these seconds, of us like this, nothing ever mattered to me, not my husband, not Leo or even the burning sensation of my wedding ring on my finger because it all didn't exist.

All I knew and needed right now was this bruising pressure of his lips and it terrified me how much my body had been craving this exact destruction since the moment he last touched me.

He backed me up until my shoulder blades hit the tile, the glass stall vibrating slightly from the impact.

He didn't care, neither I did.

His tongue forced its way past mine, claiming me with a rough dominance that made me breathless.

One of his hands slid up from my waist, his long fingers tangling roughly into my wet hair to tilt my head back, exposing my neck.

He pulled his mouth from mine, his breathing now ragged, heavy and rasp against my skin before he buried his teeth into that junction where my neck met my shoulder.

.“Ah!” A sharp, high pitched gasp escaped my throat making the sound of my own voice echo off the bathroom tiles and then it hit me, like a bucket of ice water.

What the f**k am I doing?

My stupid brain seemed to clear faster than the night, leaving me in a sickening rush.

Matthew was upstate because of him. I was here because of him. All this was happening Because I always fail to push my legs together.

My husband walked into his hands, thinking he was sacrificing his freedom to give us a better life, while I was naked in a steaming shower, moaning and submitting to the monster who put him there.

Angst pilled through me, like a physical blade, twisting deep into my stomach.

“No...no, Serge, stop!” I choked out, my hands shifting from his shirt to his chest.

I pushed against him with the little will and strength I had left, my wet palms slipping against his skin.

He didn't budge at first. His grip on my waist just tightened, his muscles locking up like iron as he tried to keep me pinned under his body frame.

He was furious.

Judging from the way his chest was heaving, I knew he didn’t appreciate it but I didn’t care.

At least I told myself.

He raises his head, his eyes burning down into mine with what felt like a dark hunger.

“Ava,” he growled, his voice was deep, like a warning and it that made my knees buckle alittle.

“Let go of me. Just.. please get out.” I whispered, my voice cracking with a mix of leftover arousal and panic.

I scrambled backward, hitting the far corner of the shower before wrapping my arms tightly over my bare chest to shield myself from his gaze.

“Your sister is literally downstairs, Serge! What if she walks up here? What if she hears us? Just get the hell out of my room!” I continued, making sure to leave out real reason this had to stop.

Serge stood still instead, in the middle of the streaming water, his damp white shirt clinging to his chest, outlining each and every hard muscle on his belly.

He didn't look guilty. He didn't look even abit remotely ashamed.

Instead, he just watched me shake, a slow, wicked smirk slowly spreading across his sharp jawline.

Like he enjoyed my panic; thrived on the edge of me breaking.

“My sister isn’t going to do a damn thing, woman,” he murmured, stepping out of the shower spray but keeping his eyes locked onto mine. He ran a hand through his wet, dark hair, slicking it back.

“But you? You need to remember who holds the cards here. You signed my contract. You moved into my house. You don’t get to pull me in and then pretend you're innocent when things get too hot for you.”

I glared at him through the steam, my teeth chattering from the sudden rush of cold air hitting my wet skin.

“I hate you,” I whispered, the tears finally burning the corners of my eyes.

“Run with that if it makes you feel better,” he mocked, throwing my own words back at me as he reached for a plush towel on the rack.

He dried his hands casually, unbothered by the chaos he had just caused in my chest, then walked toward the bathroom door, pausing with his hand on the frame to look back at me over his shoulder.

“Get dressed,” he commanded smoothly, that cold billionaire mask of his sliding back over his face.

“Abby is setting the table. I expect you downstairs for dinner in fifteen minutes. Don’t be late, baby girl.”

The heavy bathroom door clicked shut behind him, the sound signaling the reality of my cage.

I let out a ragged breath, my arms finally sliding down my body as I slowly turned off the water. The silence of the bathroom was suffocating.

I wrapped a fresh towel around myself and walked over to the marble sink, leaning my weight against the edge to stare at my reflection in the fogged up mirror.

My lips were swollen, my neck flushed a deep, telltale pink where his teeth had marked me.

I looked pathetic. A cheating, lying wife trapped in a luxury penthouse.

Suddenly, before I could notice, the room tilted violently. A wave of blinding dizziness hit the side of my head so hard making my vision blur into black spots.

I clutched the edges of the sink, my knuckles turning white as my stomach twisted violent backflip like movements.

I think I could taste bile in my mouth as it rose in my throat, hot and sour and before I could even process what was happening, gasping, I dropped to my knees in front of the toilet, my body retching as a emptied my guts out, nausea racking my entire body.

I shook violently, clutching my stomach as I dry heaved into the bowl, my chest heaving for air.

The stress, I lied to myself, wiping my mouth with a trembling hand as I leaned my head against the cold porcelain, trying to remember the last date I got my period.

“It’s just the stress of today. It has to be.” I kept whispering to myself.