The Possession Begins

Mateo slammed into the slut beneath him with animalistic fervor, grunting and growling as he claimed her body. The bed creaked under the force of his thrusts, the headboard banging against the wall.

For the last twenty minutes, he had been trying to beat the image of one small, defiant American nurse out of his mind.

Every thrust into this pliable, willing woman was an attempt to forget the soft curve of Ariana’s hip when his fingers had accidentally brushed it, or the blazing fire in her eyes when she told him off.

He knew he was close to an explosive release, but the image of her face refused to dissolve.

"Yes, yes! Oh fuck, Mr. Lopez!" she cried out, her voice high-pitched and desperate. Her back arched off the mattress, pressing her ample breasts against his chest. "Harder! Please, I need it harder!"

He obliged, snarling as he gripped her hips bruisingly tight. His thick cock stretched her tight walls obscenely with each powerful stroke. Wet squelching noises filled the air as he stirred up her overflowing juices.

Mateo's hips snapped forward relentlessly, driving his throbbing shaft deeper into the slut's sopping wet cunt. Her velvety walls fluttered and squeezed around him, drawing him in further.

"Take it all, you insatiable whore," he commanded, his voice rough with lust.

One hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back to expose more of her neck.

He attacked the sensitive skin with bites and sucks, determined to mark her as his property—but even as he bit, he tasted only the ghost of Ariana’s citrus perfume.

Her moans grew higher and more desperate, mixing with the lewd sounds of their frantic coupling. The musky scent of sex hung heavy in the air, clouding both their minds with primal need.

"I'm getting close," Mateo grunted, feeling his heavy balls draw up tight. He redoubled his efforts, pounding into her with wild abandon.

Gbam💥.

The explosive shattering of ceramic on marble sliced through the thick, desperate pleasure, violently snapping Mateo's mind back to reality.

The noise was colossal, expensive, and directly outside his door. His body, already coiled tight with imminent climax, went rigid with instant, lethal rage.

He stopped moving instantly, his entire frame suspended above the woman. His breathing was heavy, ragged, and ruined.

"Who the hell is out there?" he bellowed, his voice carrying command and the promise of immediate violence.

He raised his head, staring at the sliver of light beneath the door. As he squinted, his eyes caught the movement of a shadow—a frantic, clumsy blur trying to escape the periphery of the light.

He didn't need to see her face. The size, the sudden, clumsy panic, and the dark silhouette trying to run away—it was a figure he knew with terrifying, absolute certainty.

He recognized the source of the chaos.

He was off the woman in a flash, ignoring her cry of protest as he grabbed the silk robe from the floor and threw it over his hips, tying the sash with a savage jerk.

He slid the heavy door open just enough to confirm his vision.

She was there, frozen like a frightened doe in the scattered moonlight, her party dress dark against the pale floor, standing ankle-deep in the wreckage of a 17th-century artifact.

Ariana tried to bolt, spinning on her heel to escape, but before she could take a single step, Mateo's large, impossibly fast hand shot out from the dark crack of the doorway, wrapping around her forearm with an iron grip.

She was yanked forward, stumbling to her knees over the shards.

Mateo's familiar chuckle rumbled from the shadow, deadly soft and chillingly close to her ear.

"Where do you think you're running to, niña? Did you think I wouldn't recognize you.

The chuckle faded, replaced by cold fury. Mateo hauled her to her feet, his fingers biting into her arm. He could feel the frantic tremble running through her body.

"Why do you look Soo shocked when you brought yourself right here?" His voice, still rough with lust and anger, grated against her ear.

He finally came to his senses, the adrenaline clearing the last vestiges of alcohol haze. He shoved her away slightly, holding her only by the wrist now. "What the hell are you doing in my house?"

Ariana tried to swallow, but her throat felt choked with fear and shame. "I—I’m Cami’s friend. I… I stayed the night."

Mateo’s eyes narrowed, his breath hitching. Cami’s friend. He stared at her, absorbing the reality. Shit it makes perfect sense,the airport,her name,Ari is short for Ariana,why didn't I think about this"he said to himself

It makes perfect sense. The clues were right in front of him; he was the one not arranging the pieces. He was about to speak again—to demand an explanation—when a whining voice broke the spell.

"Mr Lopez! Are we going to finish, or what? I’m cold." The woman from the room, now standing just inside the doorway, her arms wrapped around her exposed chest, looked petulant and annoyed.

Mateo didn't even look at her. His gaze remained locked on Ariana, his eyes burning with a dangerous mixture of desire and rage.

"Leave." His voice was low, commanding, and absolute.

The woman hesitated. "But—"

"I said leave." The single word was a raw, undeniable order that carried all the weight of his power.

She sensed the terrifying seriousness in his tone.

Without another word, she scrambled back into the room, grabbed her dress, and moments later, the back door of the suite clicked shut, leaving the heavy, expensive silence to envelop them.

Mateo turned his full, searing attention back to the woman trembling in the hall. He was furious. That easy, clean climax had been stolen from him by this reckless intruder.

He dropped Ariana's wrist, letting his hand roam up her bare arm, across the silk of her shoulder, and down her spine. The touch was possessive, demanding.

"Fuck, you didn't even let me Cum," he growled, the words dragging the raw edges of his lust.

He backed her against the wall, crowding her space, trapping her between his body and the cold stone. "Tell me, niña, will you take responsibility for that?"

His hand slid lower, down her back, possessively cupping the curve of her ass.

Ariana’s breath caught—the pressure, the heat, the sheer illegality of the moment sent a wave of electric sensation through her.

It's the alcohol, it's just the fear. She desperately tried to internally blame the drunken haze, but her body betrayed her.

His other hand moved to her chest, thumbing the soft fabric covering her breast. A soft, involuntary whimper escaped her lips. The thrill was dark, terrifying, and consuming.

Mateo’s eyes darkened, recognizing the surrender. His lips were right next to her ear, his breath hot. "Call my name, Ariana. Say it."

"M-Mateo," she whispered, the name a plea and a confession rolled into one.

"Again."

"Mateo Lopez." The sound was a soft moan this time, filled with a craving she could no longer deny.

He lowered his head and started kissing the sensitive skin beneath her jaw, his possessive mouth sucking and nipping his way down her neck.

Stop!

This is Camila's father!

This is your rude, controlling boss!

He just finished with another woman! Stop!

The internal scream was deafening, but Ariana's body arched against his, responding to the ruthless demand of his mouth and the scorching pressure of his hands.

She was falling, spinning, utterly lost in the taste of him, the intoxicating blend of whiskey, professional soap, and raw male lust.