CHAPTER FIVE: TURNED ON

JULIAN

The black private jet cut through the clouds on its way to Zurich, but Silvan Alder wasn’t looking at the flight reports on his tablet. He was staring out the window, his mind completely stuck on the girl he had left behind in Verona City.

Camille Martin. Or rather, Camille Bernerd.

Silvan wasn't a fool. He hadn't become the most feared CEO in Switzerland by trusting pretty faces. He had known the moment she walked into his office last week that her resume was forged. Reto had already run her background check hours before the interview. He knew she was the daughter of Richard Bernerd, the logistics executive whose company fell apart three years ago.

Silvan knew why she was here. He knew she thought he was the monster who destroyed her family. He could have turned her over to the police immediately, but something about the quiet fire in her hazel eyes had stopped him. She didn't cower. She didn't flatter him. She looked at him with pure, hidden hatred, and it intrigued him. He decided to hire her, pulling her close just to play a dangerous game of cat-and-mouse.

But things were getting complicated.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the leather seat. He couldn't get the memory of her out of his head. Earlier that morning, when he had touched her face to trace the dark shadow under her eye, her skin had felt impossibly soft. So soft it had shocked him. The way her breath caught in her throat, the way her hazel eyes widened with a mix of fear and desire, it had sent a sudden surge of heat straight to his gut.

Even now, sitting in the quiet cabin of his plane, just thinking about the softness of her cheek and the scent of her skin made his body burn. A sudden, heavy pulse throbbed between his legs. Silvan groaned under his breath, adjusting his navy trousers as his manhood hardened against the fabric. He hated how much control this tiny, vengeful girl was already taking over his thoughts.

Suddenly, his phone buzzed on the small table beside him, cutting through his dark thoughts.

He picked it up and looked at the caller ID. Clara Bennett.

Julian sighed, sliding his thumb across the screen to answer. “Clara.”

“Silvan darling,” a smooth, sultry voice purred through the speaker. “I hear you just landed in Zurich for the emergency board meetings. You came to my city and didn't even bother telling me?”

“It’s a business trip, Clara,” Silvan retorted, “I have zero time for social visits.”

“Oh, come on, don't be like that,” Clara teased, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.

“You work too hard. Tell me which hotel you're staying at. I can come over to your private suite, pour you a drink, and ease off all that dirty stress. You know I’m very good at taking care of you.”

Silvan stayed quiet for a moment. He didn't love Clara. He didn't even particularly like her. She was a spoiled, wealthy socialite whose family held major shares in Alder Global, and her family had been trying to push them into a business marriage for over a year. But right now, his body was tight, angry, and throbbing with a frustration caused by his thoughts of Camille.

“The Dolder Grand,” Silvan said coolly.

“Penthouse suite. Don't make a scene in the lobby.”

“I'll be there in twenty minutes, handsome,”

Clara giggled softly before hanging up.

*************

After the board meeting, an hour later, Silvan was standing in the middle of the massive penthouse suite at The Dolder Grand. He had stripped off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his top two shirt buttons, holding a crystal glass of neat scotch in his hand.

A soft knock sounded at the double doors. Silvan walked over and pulled the door open. Clara stood in the hallway, looking like a high-fashion temptation. She was twenty-six, with long blonde hair, sharp blue eyes, and heavy makeup. She wore a skin-tight, deep red silk dress with a neckline that plunged past her belly button and a slit on the side that went all the way up to her hip.

As she stepped into the room, the faint rustle of the silk made it obvious: she wasn't wearing a single piece of underwear underneath.

“You kept me waiting, Silvan,” Clara purred, letting the heavy wooden door shut behind her.

She dropped her designer purse on the entryway table and walked straight toward him, her high heels clicking loudly against the marble. The scent of her expensive floral perfume filled the air, but to Silvan, it smelled entirely too loud compared to the clean, simple scent of Camille.

Clara reached out, her long red-painted nails tracing a slow line down the center of Silvan's chest. “I missed you,” she whispered, her voice husky as she looked up into his cold gray eyes.

“It's been weeks since you let me touch you. My body has been aching for you, Silvan. I’ve been sitting in my apartment all day thinking about how good your big manhood feels inside me.”

Silvan didn't say a word. He just drained the rest of his scotch, set the glass on a nearby table, and grabbed Clara by the waist, pulling her roughly against his body.

Clara let out a sharp gasp of delight as her bare hips met the hard wall of his erection through his trousers. “God, you're already so hard for me,” she giggled dirty, sliding her hands up to cup his strong jawline.

Without waiting, Silvan leaned down and crushed his mouth over hers. The kiss wasn't gentle or romantic; it was hard, demanding, and full of raw, restless energy. Clara moaned loudly into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck and arching her back, pressing her soft breasts against his firm chest.

Silvan lifted her up effortlessly, with Clara wrapping her bare legs around his waist, the red silk dress riding up completely to reveal her bare, smooth hips and wet entrance. Silvan carried her across the room and threw her onto the massive king-sized bed.

Clara sprawled across the white sheets, her eyes dark with lust. “Take off your pants, Silvan. Put it in me.”

Instead of stripping, Silvan unbuttoned his trousers just enough to let his long, thick manhood spring free, heavy and fully erect. He stepped up to the edge of the bed, spreading Clara's legs wide.

He leaned over her, taking two fingers and pushing them directly into her wet heat.

Clara gasped, her head throwing back against the pillows as her back arched high off the mattress. “Ah! Yes, Silvan... right there!”

Silvan slid his fingers in and out of her with a fast, brutal rhythm, testing how wet she was. Clara squirmed under his hand, her long nails digging into the bedsheets as she let out loud, breathless whines.

“Silvan... please,” she panted, looking at him with desperate eyes. “Eat me out first. Use your tongue on my pussy... you know how fast I come when a man licks it. Why do you never try it? It feels amazing!”

Silvan stopped his hand for a fraction of a second. His gray eyes looked down at her face, cold and completely unbothered.

“I don't do that, Clara,” he said, his voice deep, low, and completely devoid of emotion.

“Why not?” Clara whined, her voice laced with frustration. “You have all this power, but you won't even put your mouth on me?”

“Because I don't give that kind of pleasure to any woman," he replied bluntly, resuming the hard thrusts of his fingers inside her. "Not unless I love her. And that is never going to happen.”

A sharp prick of pain hit Clara’s pride. Her eyes flickered with hurt, but she quickly forced a fake, glamorous smile over her face to cover it up. She wasn't going to let his cold words ruin her night.

“Fine,” Clara whispered, reaching out to grab his wrists to pull his hand away from between her legs. “Then let me make you feel good instead. Let me take care of you.”

Clara slid down the bed onto her knees. She grabbed Silvan's thick, throbbing length with her soft hand, stroking him up and down twice before leaning forward and taking the head of his manhood into her mouth.

Silvan let out a low, rough growl, his hands reaching down to grip Clara’s long blonde hair.

Clara worked her tongue around the tip, humming softly as she slid herself all the way down his shaft, taking him deep into her throat. She moved her head back and forth in a fast, wet rhythm, her hand working the base while her lips sucked tightly around him. The sight of her red lips stretched wide over his length was explicit and dirty, but in Silvan's mind, a sudden, unwanted image flashed: What would Camille look like down on her knees like this?

The thought sent a rush of intense heat through his veins, making his erection swell even harder.

“Enough,” Silvan grunted, pulling Clara up by her hair.

Clara gasped, wiping her wet lips with the back of her hand. She immediately climbed onto his lap, straddling his thighs. She guided the thick head of his manhood to her slick opening and pushed herself down in one hard, smooth stroke.

“Oh, god!” Clara screamed out, her walls gripping him tight as he filled her completely.

Silvan grabbed her bare hips with both hands, his calloused fingers digging into her soft skin as he began thrusting upward with powerful, unrelenting force. The sound of their skin slapping together echoed loudly through the quiet penthouse suite. Clara rode him frantically, her breasts bouncing, her body shaking as she threw her head back, screaming out dirty phrases and moaning his name over and over.

“Silvan! Yes! Harder... ruin me!” she cried out, her body tightening as she reached a violent climax, her internal muscles pulsing tightly around his shaft.

Silvan gritted his teeth, his jaw tight as he drove into her three more times with brutal depth before finally releasing his seed deep inside her. He let out a long, heavy breath, his chest heaving as the intense friction finally relieved the tight pressure in his body.

Clara collapsed against his chest, panting heavily, her skin slick with sweat. Silvan didn't hold her. He didn't even stroke her hair or whisper sweet words. He simply waited for his breathing to slow down, then pushed her gently off his lap and stood up from the bed.

As Silvan stood in front of the bathroom mirror, wiping his face with a cold towel, he looked at his reflection. The physical release had eased the tension in his body, but as he looked down at his hands, his mind instantly drifted right back to Verona City.

He had taken Clara, but it hadn't changed a single thing. His mind was still entirely consumed by his pale, brown-haired executive assistant.

His gray eyes narrowed in the mirror. "Enjoy your quiet week while I'm gone, Camille. Because when I get back... the game really starts."