CHAPTER 5 BABY GIRL

Stacy’s POV

The doorknob turned with a faint squeak. My heart hammered against my chest. This is it. He found me. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for Matt's fury, for his hands to drag me back to that hell.

Then, Matt's voice, low and angry from the other side of the door. "My apologies for the interruption. It seems I was… mistaken."

I heard a low, frustrated sound from Matt. Then, the sound of retreating footsteps. Heavy. Angry. The main door to the room clicked shut.

Silence.

It was over. He was gone. For now. The relief was so strong my knees buckled. I slid down the bathroom wall, the cold tile a shock against my hot skin. A broken sob escaped my lips before I could stop it. I clapped a hand over my mouth, terrified the sound would bring him back.

The bathroom door swung open slowly.

He stood there, framed in the doorway, that glass of amber liquid still in his hand. His sharp eyes scanned the small room, finding me curled on the floor. He didn't look angry. He looked... curious. Watching.

"He's gone," he said, as if commenting on the weather.

I scrambled to my feet, my legs shaky. "Th-thank you. Thank you so much. You... you saved me." The words tumbled out, gratitude and fear all mixed together. He saved me. But why?

I moved to step past him, my mind already racing. I have to get out of here. I have to run before Matt comes back. "I should go. I've caused enough trouble."

As I tried to pass, his free hand shot out, not grabbing me, but placing itself flat against the doorframe, blocking my exit. He didn't touch me, but the barrier was complete.

"I didn't save you for free," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated deep in my chest.

I froze, staring up at him. The predatory look I'd glimpsed before was now clear. "What?"

"A man like your husband doesn't just walk away. I used my name. My reputation. That has a cost." His intense gaze bored into me. "You owe me a debt. And I intend to collect."

My mind, still foggy from the drug and the terror, struggled to understand. "A debt? I... I don't have any money. I have nothing."

A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips. It didn't reach his eyes. "I don't want your money."

Then, the world tilted again, but this time it wasn't from fear. It was a fresh, strong wave of the drug, hitting my bloodstream all at once. A sudden, overwhelming heat flooded me, starting in my core and spreading outward, making my skin hypersensitive. The silky lining of my torn dress felt like sandpaper. The cool air felt like a shock against my heated flesh.

Oh god, not now. My breath hitched. My fingers gripped the doorframe to steady myself. The room swam, the edges blurring. The stranger's form seemed to sharpen, to become the only clear, solid thing.

He watched me, his head tilting slightly. "They drugged you."

It wasn't a question. I could only nod, my throat tight. The heat was becoming an ache, a desperate, throbbing need that pushed all clear thought aside. The fear of Matt, the gratitude for this man—it all began to melt away, replaced by a single, primal urge.

My body moved without my permission. I took a stumbling step toward him, my hands coming up to clutch at the front of his perfectly tailored suit jacket. The fine wool was soft under my trembling fingers.

"Please," I whispered, the word a ragged plea. Please what? Help me? Stop this? Touch me? I didn't even know anymore. The need was everything.

He didn't move. His expression remained unreadable, though his eyes darkened, tracking the flush he knew was spreading across my chest. "You need to be very clear about what you're asking for."

"I can't... I can't think," I gasped, pressing my forehead against the cool fabric of his jacket. The contrast against my burning skin was electric. "It's too much. Make it stop. Or... or help me. Please, just... help me."

I looked up at him, my vision blurry with tears and pure want. My body was betraying me, arching toward his, seeking contact, seeking relief. The disgust I'd felt with Matt was nowhere to be found; this was different, one born of chemical fire and desperate need.

His hand finally moved. He didn't embrace me. He cupped my chin, forcing me to look directly into his piercing eyes. His thumb stroked my jawline, a shockingly tender touch that made me whimper.

"This is the payment I require," he murmured, his voice a low growl that seemed to feed the fire inside me. "This right here."

And then his mouth was on mine.

It wasn't gentle. It was a claiming. A searing, dominant kiss that stole what little breath I had left. His lips were firm, demanding a response I was too weak to deny. I melted into him, a moan escaping me as my hands slid up to tangle in the silver threads of his hair. He tasted of expensive whiskey and pure power.

He walked me backwards, never breaking the kiss, until my legs hit the edge of a large, plush bed I hadn't even seen in the dim room. He lay me down, his body following, covering mine. His weight was solid, real, an anchor in the drugged, swirling chaos of my mind. His kisses trailed from my mouth down my jaw to my throat, and I arched against him, a wordless plea for more.

The world narrowed to this room, to this bed, to the feel of his hands and his mouth. 

The way his hands were giving me pleasure was a sin to even think, but I was committing the sin from which I had run. 

“AHhh..”

“Say no if you don’t want, baby girl.”

First time someone asked my consent, and that melted my heart. 

Next morning.

A sharp sunlight, an invasive stripe of gold cutting across my face. My head pounded, a dull, steady throb behind my eyes. My body felt... sore. Used. But in a different way than after Matt's touch. This was a deep, satisfying ache.

I was warm. And I wasn't alone.

An arm was draped heavily across my waist, holding me snugly against a solid, muscular chest. I could feel the steady, slow beat of a heart against my back. The scent of clean, masculine skin and expensive cologne filled my nose. His cologne.

Memories of the night before flooded back in a heated rush. The escape. The drugs. The stranger. The kiss. The way his hands had explored my body, stoking the fire until I was begging for release he'd expertly drawn out of me. We hadn't gone all the way—a fact that surfaced through the haze with a strange mix of disappointment and relief—but he'd left no part of me untouched, unexplored.

I carefully, slowly, shifted onto my back, trying to slip out from under his arm without waking him.

The arm tightened instantly, pulling me back against him. A deep, sleep-roughened voice murmured against my ear, "Going somewhere?"

I froze. And then I turned my head, finally seeing his face in the clear light of morning.

The sharp, handsome features. The silver hair. The intense, piercing eyes, now open and watching me with unnerving clarity.

I know him.

My blood ran cold. The snippets of financial news I was forced to watch with Matt, the society pages his mother made me read... it all clicked into a terrifying picture.

Michael Sotheby.

The name was a whisper of pure dread in my mind. The city's most notorious billionaire. A man whose ruthlessness in business was legendary, a predator who made Matt look like an amateur. And I was in his bed.

A fresh wave of terror, colder and sharper than any I'd felt with Matt, washed over me. I tried to pull away, my movements frantic. I jumped from the frying pan into the fire. A much, much bigger fire.

His grip on my arm tightened, not painfully, but with immovable strength. His expression, which had been almost relaxed moments before, shifted. The predatory charm was gone, replaced by something darker, colder. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened. He looked at me with a flicker of... anger.

"I said," he repeated, his voice low and dangerously calm, "where do you think you're going, baby girl?"