Chapter 2: His Backseat Slut.

Isolde Vespera's POV

I adjusted my cuff slowly, looking into the rearview mirror.

My eyes caught the lace fabric of my lingerie clinging to my skin beneath my silk blouse.

At twenty-four, I run Vespera Dynamics with an iron fist alongside my father, the shadows of the family’s other enterprises.

Blood and chaos held no appeal for me. Give me boardrooms, contracts, and calculated risks any day.

I have ruled this empire ruthlessly, with sharper deals and zero tolerance for weakness.

Yet here I was, losing control over one man.

Rafe Valerius, my personal driver for the past eight months, has become someone I can no longer predict, and it is driving me crazy.

He is tall, with a broad chest and a quiet, dark intensity that oozes from him, making other men disappear into irrelevance.

What started as innocent appreciation when my father introduced us had spiraled into something feral.

Everything escalated two weeks ago after a grueling board meeting.

The car engine had made an odd sound, so Rafe popped the hood of the Mercedes-Maybach S680 in the underground garage.

I had stepped out of the building for some fresh air before heading back inside, and there he was.

His sleeves were rolled up, his shirt was completely unbuttoned, and he was wiping grease from his hands.

The fluorescent light of the garage shone directly on his exposed torso and his defined jaw line.

I swallowed hard, stopping dead in my tracks to take in the view.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm, his muscles flexing beneath the tight black shirt.

His abs looked as though they were specially carved by God, the ridges structured like flawless marble.

A light trail of dark hair peeked up from his trousers' waistband, and sweat glistened against his skin.

My mouth went dry and my pulse thundered in my ear.

I backed away before he noticed, but the image seared itself into my brain.

For a virgin who had always prioritized empire over pleasure, my fantasies suddenly had a very specific filthy focus.

From that evening on, I began teasing him, starting slowly to see how long it would take until he finally lost it.

I started small. Occasionally I made comments on how tightly his trousers hugged his thighs.

Other times, I accidentally dropped my phone, bending low enough to expose my cleavage, or deliberately brushed against his shoulder when sliding into the back seat.

Every single time, I watched his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.

His professional composure was slowly cracking, and I was thoroughly enjoying every bit of it.

I noticed everything: the way his gaze lingered on me a second too long, his brief glances at my reflection, and the heavy movement of his Adam's apple every time he swallowed hard.

I could see it all.

Then, on a Thursday evening, Rafe's restraint completely snapped.

We were driving across the Lockwood bridge, the rush-hour traffic was tight as hell, but we weren't rushing.

To pass the time, I kept describing the latest movie I had watched, making sure to hint heavily at an intimate scene between the second leads.

“Man, she was such a tease,” I said playfully.

He didn't reply, instead the car swerved slightly.

Rafe abruptly pulled the Maybach over to the parking lane of the bridge.

He killed the engine and stepped out.

Fear gripped me, and my eyes darted around, panicked by the thought that he was abandoning me there.

But instead, he opened the rear passenger door with a controlled, simmering fury.

He stepped inside and locked the door when he was comfortably seated.

For a long, silent moment, he just looked at me.

“You sure talk too much for someone who handles a multi-million dollar empire,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

Before I could even reply, a sudden downpour hit, the rain hammering heavily against the car roof.

I tried to scoot back. “Rafe, what are you doing?”

He closed the distance in one smooth motion, unbuckling my seatbelt. “You’ve been playing with fire for weeks, Isolde.”

Hearing my name in that rough tone sent heat flooding between my legs. “Since when am I ‘Isolde’ and not ‘Ms. Vespera’ or ‘boss’?”

“Stop pretending you don’t love it when I say your name.” His fingers traced my cheek, then brushed my lower lip.

I froze, years of tightly controlled desire crashing over me.

This was undoubtedly what I had been wanting, but now that it is happening, I couldn't do anything.

I was supposed to tell him to get back into the driver seat and continue his job, but I couldn't utter a word.

I was surprised by his boldness, I thought he would never give in.

He leaned over, pinning me down across the leather seats.

“Time to get burned, darling.” His voice was rough, his eyes darkened as he spread my thighs wider.

His hand shoved my skirt up. “Wearing something this short to the office? You’ve been begging for a lesson.”

Yes finally Rafe, teach me a lesson.

Two fingers traced up my thighs to my soaked panties before he ripped them aside with a sharp tear.

He ran his eyes down my breast to my exposed cunt.

I knew I was already wet down there from the smirk on his face.

“Um…” I tried to protest, covering my entrance with my hands.

He gently removed my two hands and placed them to my side.

“Let me teach you one, I have got a whole syllabus here.” he interrupted me as his two fingers moved around my entrance.

I moaned immediately, my eyes opened and closed in years of desperation and piled need.

“You are a whole damn puddle down here,” he said, looking deep into my eyes.

Then, he slipped one finger in, still holding eye contact with me.

“Fuuuk Rafe!” I gasped. “I knew you'd be good with your hands.”

He didn't smile or reply; instead, his thumb rubbed my clit with intense precision.

Then, he slipped in another finger, stretching me further.

“Teasing me every minute you have, saying shit that makes my cock hard for hours, making me lose focus while I drive,” he listed as he pumped my pussy with every passing seconds. “It is time to get your reward for this game, darling,” he said as he raised my legs and placed them on his shoulders.

Rafe leaned down and latched his mouth onto my pussy.

My eyes went wide instantly from the warmth of his mouth.

My pussy and his mouth made wet, obscene sounds as he sucked on my pink folds and fucked my clit, while I found something to grab as I was losing it all.

I gripped his hair as he drove his tongue into my core.

“Oh Yes!, I have dreamed about this,” I confessed breathlessly as I couldn't control the pleasure building inside anymore.

I looked down at him and watched as he dove into my pussy with his mouth like a starving man.

“Rafe—oh god, you’re going to make me come apart,” I gasped, hips grinding against his face.

Rafe hummed in response against my core, the vibration shooting sparks up my spine.

He added a third finger, curling them to hit that exact spot, moving them in a fast, scissor-like motion.

I gritted my teeth; loads of pleasure skimmed through my whole body nonstop.

He moved while his tongue sucked hard on my clit in circles.

A loud cry echoed through me, and I came hard.

My thighs clamped and unclasped violently as pleasure shot through me.

Rafe didn't stop or release my pussy.

He kept devouring me, licking and sucking through every aftershock until I was a trembling, sobbing mess.

Finally, he pulled back, lips glistening. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, straightened his tie, and looked at me with that maddening calm.

He looked at the road briefly before looking back at me.

“The bridge is clear now, and the rain has stopped. We should go,” he said, opening the back seat door, and got down from the car.

My skirt bunched, legs shaky, panties ruined on the floor.

He left me there to compose myself before he returned to the driver’s seat like nothing had happened.

The bastard.