The Domineering CEO’s Deep Obsession

“Sir, please… help me,” the girl pleaded, her voice trembling. Ford peered through the peephole and saw five grotesque old men—some bald, some pot-bellied—hurrying down the hallway away from his door. “Quick, chase her! That girl’s been drugged. She won’t get far,” one croaked. “Once we catch her, we’ll take turns… heh heh heh,” another leered. Their lewd voices made Ford’s skin crawl. As they rounded the corner, he stepped back from the door, intending to send the panicked girl on her way. But before he could turn, her soft, helpless voice drifted in again. Ten minutes earlier, he never would’ve opened his door for a stranger—especially not a woman. Ford prided himself on being cold and distant. Yet tonight, something compelled him to turn the lock and pull the girl inside. When he’d cracked the door, her frantic pounding had sounded like a pack of rabid dogs chasing her. The moment she saw him, she flung herself into his arms, pressing her lips to his as though dousing a raging fire with ice. He’d startled awake in ways he’d never known. At twenty-nine, this was his first real encounter with a woman—and it shocked him to the core. The girl tugged at his lips, drawing cool relief across his frantic senses. Ford’s deep gray eyes widened. He grasped her shoulders and gently pushed her back. “Do you know who you just— (He caught himself.) …did you even think about what you’re asking?” His voice trembled with something close to… desire. “Sir, I’m in so much pain. Please… be a good person?” Her legs wrapped around his waist, and her pale hands clung to his neck like ivy. To her, he was mature and handsome, radiating an untouchable air of nobility. If she was going to lose something precious tonight, at least she wouldn’t owe a debt to someone who hadn’t saved her. “Do I look like someone who—what, just gives himself away?” Ford’s tone turned steely. “Sir, please… just this once?” She sounded trapped in a furnace, every syllable burning with need. He remembered the word he’d lived with since childhood: No. Yet here stood a young girl, testing every boundary he’d ever set. Fine. He’d show her exactly what he was capable of. Ford lifted her to the wall, pressed her thigh against the cool plaster, and captured her mouth with his. Her muffled moans were like rain in a desert—desperately needed. Moments later, she writhed beneath him. “Sir… it’s my first time. And… are you…?” Her innocent question made his lips twitch with embarrassment. At this very moment, he was forced to fish out his phone and, under her curious gaze, look up… how to please a woman. Once he’d confirmed the essentials, he could barely restrain himself. He devoured her seven times before dawn—each encounter longer and more satisfying than the last—until even she begged him to stop. They collapsed into the round bed, utterly spent. Morning light found them tangled in sheets. She woke to pain coursing through her body as though she’d been run over, yet in her haze, she saw him: draped in a white robe, leaning against the sofa with a cigarette between his long, elegant fingers, his gaze still heavy with desire. At twenty-nine, he’d finally tasted a woman—and found it dangerously addictive. Heat flushed her cheeks as she remembered the night’s events: she’d broken into his room, been chased by five lechers, and instead of harm, received a rescue—albeit at the cost of her innocence. She couldn’t begrudge him; she had asked for it. “Sir… thank you… for last night.” Her voice cracked, tears brimming in her eyes. Ford’s dark gaze flashed with something unreadable. Was she really calling him “Sir” still? He cleared his throat. “I’m only in my late twenties. You don’t have to call me that… cough.” He smiled wryly. Embarrassed, she offered, “Okay… big brother?” She blushed at the awkwardness of the term. He surprised himself by liking it—just a little. She gathered her clothes from the edge of the bed—no doubt he’d picked them up for her this morning—and slipped them on, unable to meet his eyes. Once she was fully dressed, she moved to the door. Just as her hand touched the knob, his voice stopped her. “Wait.” She turned. Her pure face, the pink flush in her cheeks, her trembling hands—he found her unbearably vulnerable. “Come here.” He stubbed out his cigarette and beckoned. Hesitant, she returned to him. Ford withdrew a gilded business card from his wallet—something he never did for anyone, let alone a stranger. “Here,” he said quietly, offering it. “If you ever need help in J City… find me.” She accepted it, her heart pounding. The card was heavy with his promise—and her debt.