He didn't, his tongue relentless, his fingers pumping, the vibrations of his groans sending jolts through her. Her climax hit like a tidal wave, her scream echoing, her body shaking, her hands gripping his hair, holding him there as waves of pleasure crashed over her, her breath ragged, her skin flushed.
Victor rose, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with hunger, his hands freeing himself fully, his erection straining, thick and ready. "You're fucking gorgeous when you come," he growled, pulling her up, turning her, bending her over the sofa's arm, her hands bracing against the leather, her ass raised, her dress a sapphire pool around her waist. "But I'm gonna fuck you now, Eva. You ready for me?"
She moaned, her body still humming, her hips pushing back, inviting him. "Fuck me," she gasped, her voice raw, her eyes meeting his in the glass wall's reflection, her lips parted. "I want you deep, Victor. Make me scream."
He thrust Into her, filling her completely, her cry sharp and primal, the sofa creaking under their weight. His rhythm was relentless, each thrust deep and punishing, her moans filling the office, her body rocking to meet him, the slap of skin a primal symphony. His hands roamed her body, one sliding to her breast, pinching her nipple, the other between her thighs, teasing her clit, making her tremble. "You're so fucking tight," he growled, his lips trailing to her shoulder, biting, marking her. "Love how you take my cock, Eva. Gonna make you come again."
Her cries were frantic, her body trembling, her nails digging into the leather, leaving marks. "Harder," she gasped, her voice raw, her hips slamming back, meeting his thrusts. "Fuck, Victor, make me yours."
He laughed, his pace brutal, his fingers circling her clit, driving her higher. "You're mine," he growled, his lips at her ear, his breath ragged. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel that pussy clench."
Her second climax hit like a storm, her scream echoing, her body shaking, her walls tightening around him, milking him, her breath ragged, her skin slick with sweat. Victor followed, his groan raw, spilling inside her, his body shuddering, their bodies collapsing onto the sofa, breathless, tangled, marked by nails and teeth.
They lay there, the office silent, their bodies slick, Eva's dress bunched, Victor's shirt shredded. Her hand trailed to his chest, her fingers tracing his scar, her voice low. "I'm yours," she whispered, her eyes glistening, her love a truth she couldn't deny.
He kissed her temple, his voice rough. "I need you, Eva," he said, his hand brushing her hair, his eyes searching. "But I need the truth. No more shadows."
She nodded, guilt gnawing, knowing Sophia's threat loomed. Her phone buzzed—Damian's warning: *"Sophia's at the Eclipse Club. Armed. Be ready."* Her heart sank, the confrontation imminent.
###
Across the city, Sophia's apartment was a chaotic shrine, photos of Eva burned and scattered, her laptop open to hacked footage of Eva's rooftop defiance. Her failed flirtation with Victor and Damian's betrayal had shattered her, her obsession a vortex of hatred and twisted desire. The rooftop clash—Eva's body pinning hers, their breaths mingling—had ignited a perverse craving, and Sophia's knife-wielding plan had failed. Now, she stood before a mirror, her red vinyl dress clinging like a second skin, her blonde hair a wild cascade, her eyes feverish, a new knife strapped to her thigh, her plan to confront Eva at the Eclipse Club, a pulsing den of shadows and sin, a stage for their final collision.
Damian, now fully estranged, sent Eva a desperate text: *"Sophia's at Eclipse. Knife on her thigh. She's lost it. Get out or fight."* Eva couldn't flee—she needed to end Sophia's reign of terror. She prepared, slipping into a black leather dress that hugged her curves, the bracelet gleaming, her body still thrumming from Victor's touch, a concealed blade in her boot for protection.
At the tower, Eva navigated Victor's schedule, her efficiency a mask for her dread. The scandal's fallout was unrelenting—Liam's reputation in tatters, Victor's empire under siege. Her phone buzzed with a news alert: *"Blackwood Board Demands CEO Accountability."* The pressure on Victor was suffocating, and Eva's guilt surged—she'd orchestrated Liam's downfall, but the collateral pain to Victor was a wound she couldn't heal.
Marcus approached, his hazel eyes glinting, his smile a dangerous curve. "Isabelle's claws are out," he said, leaning against her desk, his voice low, his cologne sharp. "She tried to seduce your secrets out of me. I'm still your man, Eva."
Eva's suspicion flared, sensing the heat in his words. "What did she want?" she asked, her tone sharp, standing, her leather dress accentuating her curves, her eyes locked on his.
Marcus's gaze roamed her, desire flickering, but his plan—to leverage Eva, outmaneuver Isabelle—held firm. "All of you," he said, his voice low, his hand brushing her wrist, a fleeting tease. "But I'm loyal. For now."
The implication was clear—his allegiance was a ticking bomb. "Keep her caged," Eva purred, stepping closer, her breath warm, her eyes challenging. "Or you're no use to me."
He laughed, stepping back. "You're a fucking viper," he said, his eyes gleaming. "I'm hooked."
Isabelle, watching from across the floor, seethed. Her background—rising from nothing, scarred by betrayal—made her relentless, and Marcus's defiance was a challenge she'd conquer. She cornered him in a private conference room, her black suit unbuttoned to reveal a hint of lace bra, her voice a sultry blade. "You're shielding Eva," she said, her hand grazing his arm, her lips inches from his. "Tell me her secrets, Marcus, and I'll give you everything."
Marcus's smile was sharp, his hand catching hers, stopping her advance. "You're a temptress," he said, his voice low, stepping closer, his breath warm. "But Eva's my ace, Isabelle. You'll have to dig deeper."
Her eyes flashed, frustration surging, but she stepped back, her smile venomous. "You'll pay for that," she said, turning away, her heels clicking, her mind plotting her next strike, her ambition a fire that burned hotter with each setback.
That evening, Eva met Victor at a hidden speakeasy, its velvet curtains and dim chandeliers a cocoon of intimacy, the air thick with jazz and desire. She wore her leather dress, the bracelet gleaming, her body still tingling from their office encounter, her heart pounding as Victor approached, his overcoat open, his shirt unbuttoned, his expression a mix of warmth and torment.
"You're a fucking dream," he growled, his voice low, taking her hand, his fingers trailing up her arm, igniting her skin. "I needed this, Eva. Needed you."
"I'm yours," she purred, her voice husky, her body pressing against his, her curves brushing his frame, her scent enveloping him. They sank into a plush booth, the saxophone's wail a backdrop to their talk—survival, passion, the weight of their choices. Victor's hand slid to her thigh, his fingers tracing the leather, dipping beneath the hem, teasing the bare skin above her boot, his touch a promise.
"You're my salvation," he said, his voice rough, his lips brushing her ear, his breath hot, his fingers inching higher, grazing the edge of her panties. "But I need your truth, Eva. No more lies."
Her throat tightened, guilt and desire colliding, her body responding to his touch, her nipples hardening against the leather. She turned, her hands sliding to his chest, slipping beneath his shirt, feeling his warmth, her nails grazing his skin, leaving faint trails. "I'm your truth," she moaned, her lips hovering over his, her eyes blazing with need. "Feel me, Victor. I'm yours."
He groaned, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her onto his lap, her thighs straddling him, the booth's shadows hiding them, her dress riding up, revealing black lace. "Fuck, you're killing me," he growled, his lips capturing hers, a kiss that was raw, hungry, his tongue plunging deep, tasting her, his hands roaming her back, squeezing her ass, eliciting a sharp moan. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling, her hips grinding against him, feeling his arousal through his trousers, her voice a sultry plea.
"Want you," she gasped, her lips trailing to his neck, sucking, marking him, her teeth grazing, her hands working his shirt open, exposing his chest. "Fuck me here, Victor. Make me scream in this dark little corner."