Chapter 14 Booming music throbs, the rapid beats pounding through me. A sea of people below jump and sway to the vibrant tune, lost in the music, alcohol and drugs. The VIP lounge on the upper level isn't as crowded. Z serves the best liquor and has the hottest chicks. I need a little break and distance after what happened this morning. Josh's already got a couple of girls with him. Probably going to take one to a hotel nearby if he "feels the necessary chemistry." I, on the other hand, feel nothing as I survey the women gyrating around the club. Damn it. I run a hand over my face roughly. I told Fiona to wear something sexy tonight. What will it be? Something so hot it makes my blood boil? Something so plain and boring that I might just laugh at her defiance? Or maybe nothing at all just because I ordered her to wear something. Even as my body tightens with anticipation, I stay put. I'm not confident I won't lose control. And control is everything when you're dealing with somebody as treacherous and beautiful as Fiona Oberman. A redhead next to me places a hand on my thigh, pressing her tits against my arm. The low cut of her tight black dress leaves almost nothing to the imagination. Not at all like the practically nun-like outfit Fiona wore when she came to beg for money. Then there were the garter belt and stockings from yesterday... And my old shirt this morning. Damn it, it was supposed to look like a worn-out sack of potatoes over her with holes. Instead, it was so thin I could see the outlines of her nipples. I could almost hear her panting and moaning my name. "Bryce, please. Please, I need more." I wanted her out of the shirt instantly, but when I unthinkingly told her to take it off, she crossed her arms like I was some kind of pervert. If she hadn't crossed her arms, I might've yanked the shirt over her head myself. Then knotted it, trapping her arms above her head, and sucked her nipples... Or I might've just pushed her to her knees and filled her insolent mouth with my cock. I was so tempted when she pressed that ten-dollar bill against my lips. But there was a hint of naked vulnerability underneath the daring attitude, so I backed down. I shouldn't have. All I've been thinking about at work is her. Her voice. The way she smells-all sweet and female with my soap over her. Her softness. Those small but sensitive breasts and that amazing pussy I can never get enough of. Even as I focus on her body, regret seeps through. All that's supposed to be left between us is my unresolved need for her body. I shouldn't have bought the cereal and milk last night when I realized she was staying. Shouldn't have tried to kiss her after that immensely satisfying orgasm or asked for one in the morning, like some lovesick idiot. None of our intimacy from before remains now. Hell, it wasn't even real back then. The only one who cared was me. I was the fool who believed it was love, when she was just playing a game. The idea is infuriating and humiliating. I hate myself for not being able to move past it, as though I'm walking away from an unfinished story. Whatever was between me and Fiona ended with her betrayal-why hasn't my heart gotten the memo? Love isn't real. Deceptions are a dime a dozen. The time when we held each other and whispered sweet nothings and laughed and kissed and lost ourselves in each other is over. I mourn it because it was beautiful. But I should know better. Lovely moments don't last. They always end before you're ready, and they leave deep scars. But scars do eventually heal. The ones Mom left are scabbed over. The ones from Fiona will mend, too. I'll make sure of it. When I glance down at the slim, well-manicured hand, the redhead glides it upward leisurely, but with a clearly seductive intention. She knows the score, and she's just looking for a good time, nothing more. Part of me wants it, needing something-anything-to push Fiona out of my head. Another part recoils at another woman's touch. Right now, the latter is winning-my dick lies inert. Bastard. "You're so tense," the redhead says into my ear. Her moist breath feels sticky and unpleasant, but I let her continue. Her eyes drop to the untouched whiskey in front of me. "Why don't you have a drink? Take the edge off?" "I'm a tequila fan." A lie, but I don't want to touch anything when I'm not sure about the chain of custody. Anybody could've slipped something into the drink. Mom's side of the family-the criminal side-loves to drug people. Her brother Harvey once put something in Ares's whiskey to try to get him to work for the mob as their legal counsel. Perhaps I'm being overly paranoid, but I'd rather be careful than regret it later. Mom, Harvey... I wouldn't put anything past those two-or anybody from the Dunkels. My maternal grandfather, the Nesovian crime lord Vincent, is sick, and Mom and Harvey are fighting to take control of "the family business." Supposedly, Vincent said he'd hand over control to whomever could bring his grandsons to see him before he croaked. I hope he dies alone and miserable, and before he can put anybody in charge of his pathetic criminal enterprise. In a just world it will fall apart from internal strife-maybe even a civil war. If he'd agreed to put Mom in prison for what she did to us, I might've gone on my own to see him. But Vincent cared more about the optics of being a strong crime boss who protects his daughter than making her pay for her crimes. He doesn't get to act like a loving grandfather now, after all these years, without an apology. But I already know what he'd say: I love you, my boy. I did it for you. Whatever. Too little, too late. The redhead makes a soft humming noise. "I bet I can make you learn to love whiskey. You just have to have it right." She takes a sip of the amber liquid, then cups my cheek and presses her mouth against mine. She pushes the fiery whiskey past my lips. I swallow reflexively, then shove her away. Her tongue is too invasive, and feels nasty in my mouth, like an overgrown slug. It leaves my blood cold. She laughs. "Oh my God, don't tell me you're a prude. I don't believe you came here to just sit and watch." I say nothing as the warmth from the liquor spreads. The sensation is a bit disturbing. It was only a mouthful, and my tolerance is high. "I like you." She smiles at me like I'm the last piece of chocolate left in the display case. "Why don't we go somewhere? Let me make you feel good?" She pulls me up, and amazingly enough I find myself standing. The girl's smile widens. I glance back at Josh, but he's occupied, probably testing for a soul-mate bond with a woman whose name he won't remember tomorrow. The redhead and I step out of the VIP lounge, where the deafening music pounds us with near-physical force. The pulsing of the beat makes my head spin. What the hell? "I've got you," she says when I sway a little. "Just lean on me. I'm much stronger than I look." Prickling sensations spread through my body. Heat starts in my belly and expands. My skin feels too tight. The air seems to thin, and I yank at my tie, undoing the knot and pulling it down. But that isn't enough. My collar is suffocating. I unbutton the top button, then drag in more air. Still not enough. My vision blurs for a second. "Are you okay? Let's go outside," she says. Great idea. Outside means more air. We burst out of the club. The cool, slightly smoggy air hits my face, but somehow my lungs can't haul in enough oxygen. The heat from my belly spreads everywhere, even to my face. My cheeks burn, and my fingers feel shaky. The streetlights are hazy halos against the dark of the sky. I turn to the redhead. "It's foggy." "What is?" she says as she continues to lead me away. My head feels like it's been shoved under water and time seems to slow. But my body burns, and my cock is so swollen, it hurts. Electric sparks sizzle in my veins. I feel like I'm going to die if I can't ram my dick into a warm pussy-any pussy. A small alarm bell goes off in my head. This...isn't like me at all. Unlike Josh, I don't screw indiscriminately. I'm drugged. The whiskey. I didn't think it would be drugged, since she drank from the same glass, but she might have taken an antidote beforehand. Only two people in my life would do something like this-Mom or her brother Harvey. My eyes cut to the redhead. Who does she work for? What's her next move? Where is she taking me? Red drags me into a dimly lit space. I stare at her. "Where the hell are we?" "The presidential suite at the Aylster. I want to splurge." She says it in a nasal, whiny voice she undoubtedly thinks sounds sexy. I squint, trying to focus, but her face is a little too blurry. The gears in my head turn sluggishly, like they did when Mom fed me and my brothers drug-laced cookies before attempting to kidnap all of us. The similarity is eerie. "We're going to make each other feel good." Red runs her tongue over her lips. The gesture looks like something out of a third-rate porn movie shot by a first-time production company. Not like what Mom gave me. It's much worse. My cock twitches. The heat in my blood is unbearable. I feel like I'm burning from the inside out. Every nerve screams for relief. Am I going to spontaneously combust? But giving in would be surrendering to the manipulation. Nobody gets to play me. "What did you feed me?" "What, the whiskey?" She smiles. "You tasted it." Her mock-innocent answer is suddenly infuriating. The long-buried frustration, guilt and recrimination over my childhood helplessness pound through my veins, and I explode, shoving her roughly. "Don't lie to me!" Before the back of her skull can hit the carpet, I'm already on her, straddling her, closing my hand around her neck, tight enough to threaten, not injure. The fire in my veins feels wrong. My brain says what I'm doing is fucked up, but my body wants to rip her dress off and violate her. What the hell is the point of this drug? To manipulate me? To blackmail me? My cock throbs. I wouldn't put anything past Mom or Harvey. "Who sent you?" I demand between clenched teeth. "Nobody. I just...want you. Heard you were a good boy." She smiles coyly, her eyes flicking between my eyes and mouth. "I've always dreamed of corrupting one." A good boy. My skin crawls. Mom. Her poisoned words ring in my head in a loop. You're such a good boy. My good boy. I can always count on you. I love you the most. My good boy, I love you, good boy, good boy- Fuck, fuck, fuck! I scream in my head to break the cycle before the nightmarish memories overtake me. I'm nobody's good boy. I don't need any fucking love. Just control. I lean down, my face half an inch from Red's. "Listen very carefully. You tell Zoe Dunkel I'm not playing her game. I don't give a shit about her or what she wants. She isn't my family. Next time she pulls something like this, I'm going to end her." Red swallows, the seductive bravado suddenly gone. "Aren't you just a lawyer?" "Just a lawyer?" I let out a nasty laugh. "You know whose blood flows in my veins?" She flinches. She knows who I am-a grandson of the biggest and nastiest mob boss in Nesovia. The desire to take my fury out on her is as strong as the need to fuck her right now before my cock explodes. I could push her skirt up, rip off her panties and shove my dick into her now, and she wouldn't say a word. A few good thrusts, and the pressure that's been building will be gone. Wouldn't that feel amazing? Do it. Just take her. No way. The drug keeps breaking down my inhibitions and defenses, steering me toward the basest path. I grit my teeth. It's not going to beat me. I. Am. In. Control! I pull away from her, then stand up. "Get out." She rolls to her hands and knees and pushes herself up. Stumbling on her heels, she scrambles out as quickly as she can. The second the door slams, I impatiently unbuckle my pants and shove them and my boxers down below my ass. My cock springs out, swollen and thick, angrily red and veins throbbing. I grip it tightly. The heated slickness coats my dry palm. My nervous system screams for relief. The touch is both relief and agony. I groan deep in my throat as I pump my hand and jerk my pelvis desperately. If I can just blow my load once, the pressure won't be so unbearable. As I fuck my own fist, my mind conjures up images of Fiona. How much I want to bend her over and ram into her. How much I want to keep my cock inside her until she forgets what it's like to have her pussy empty. I want to hear the sounds she'll make when she can't take it anymore. When she's too raw and every thrust is equal parts pleasure and pain. I curse as my spine stiffens, and streams of white shoot from the tip of my cock. It splashes on the carpet, and a deep regret unfurls that it isn't somewhere on Fiona instead. I breathe hard, wait for my cock to settle down, but it only hardens further in my hand. I let go and step back. Whatever Mom fed me won't let me rest. Damn it. The priceless silk of my suit feels like sandpaper scraping me raw. I rip out of my clothes, discarding them like trash on the floor. But it isn't enough to give me peace. Now the air feels unbearable on my bare skin. I don't know how long the effect will last, but I can't return home like this. I don't know what I'll do if I see Fiona. My dick aches fiercely at the thought of her. I bite my lip and throw myself on the bed. The cool sheet provides some brief relief to my hot body. I let out a soft breath, relaxing a little, even though my dick's harder than ever. But the respite is short. The fire in my gut burns brighter, greedier. I want to bury myself balls deep in Fiona and explode inside her. Not just to get over this intolerable erection, but to regain the sense of peace she gave me when she held me in her arms back in college. My body would go lax, her fingertips gliding lovingly from the base of my skull all the way to the bottom of my spine, as though to push the nightmares away. My teeth clench. That phase of my life is over. It's never coming back. There's only sex between us now. I grip a pillow until my knuckles turn white and squeeze my eyes shut. A big mistake. My mind is instantly full of her-the soft sound of her voice. The view of her finger dipping into the opening of her pussy, her swollen clit ignored. How much I wanted to suck it into my mouth yesterday and push her to a brutal climax. If she hadn't had the wedding dress around her, I might've lost myself in her like we had traveled back in time. I move against the mattress, pushing against its softness like it's Fiona. But of course it can't compare. Every time I sink into her, I feel like I'm rediscovering heaven. Even after the betrayal, she can still make me feel like she's my safe place. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How stupid am I? How pathetic- I come again, the sticky fluid coating my belly. But the lust doesn't dissipate. My dick doesn't even soften halfway before it's hard again. I flip over, throw an arm over my eyes. My breathing grows more labored. What the hell... How long is this going to last? My phone rings, the sound jarring. I ignore it, but it keeps ringing. I concentrate on slowing my racing heartbeat, but the lust only increases, until it's burning like an inferno. Not letting my body control me. I grit my teeth and focus on evening out my breathing. Come on. One, two, three... Suddenly I freeze as I realize my hips are moving. A sense of shame and helplessness lances my heart. A scream wells in my chest. I need something to distract myself-dissociate myself-from this. But I can't think of anything except how delicious Fiana looked this morning and how much I regret not taking advantage. The phone rings again. Relief washes over me. Maybe it's Josh. He probably decided the girl of the night wasn't his soul mate. I hit the green button without looking at who's calling. Through the speaker comes a familiar voice. "Bryce? When are you going to be home?" Fiona. A blaze sweeps through me, and my heart pounds. "Shit." "What? You told me to put on something sexy and wait for you." My mind grasps "something sexy," and my dick throbs. I clench my hand around the phone. She says, "It's already eleven." She sounds irritated, but her voice is somehow nonetheless soothing. I grit my teeth. I can't have her see me like this, when I'm out of my mind. I might say something I'll regret, reveal something I shouldn't. Need a distraction. "How did you get my number?" Part of me wants to beg her to come and put me out of my misery. No. Hell no. "How did I-?" A huff. "You never changed it! Look, if you aren't going to be home soon, I'm going to bed and docking it off the number. It's you who's bailing on this 'date,' not me." Go to bed. But the words catch in my throat as I struggle for control. Finally, I grit out: "The Aylster. Presidential suite. Now." The second the words are out, I bite my lip hard, the bitter taste of blood filling my mouth. In "CEO Wife's Secret" by CrushReel, a gripping tale of romance, billionaire lifestyles, and hidden truths unfolds. As a devoted mother working part-time to support her children, she vanished into obscurity until the CEO locates her after five long years. However, their reunion is complicated by the interference of another mysterious woman. Can they navigate the tangled web of secrets and rebuild their fractured relationship amidst these challenges? 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