Chapter 2

ROXETTE

The realization hit me like a punch.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry.

My mind screamed at me to run—to sprint as far away as possible—but my knees felt like jelly. I could only stagger a few steps back.

I let out a shuddering breath when Mr. Callahan stopped thrusting, but he pulled back his still-hard cock. A slick trail of white, translucent fluid followed.

I’d seen penises before, but that… that was the largest erection I had ever laid eyes on in my life.

How could that woman even take it?

She must be a whore.

I held my breath, frozen, as he stepped out of the bed, his pants hanging halfway down, moving toward me.

The woman’s frustrated cries faded behind me. All I could hear now was my own heart hammering in my chest.

Mr. Callahan’s gray eyes locked onto mine—sharp, predatory, unblinking. Standing in the doorway, his six-foot frame seemed impossibly tall. Every hard line of his shoulders, chest, and abs radiated danger up close.

“Liking what you see?” His voice was low, hoarse, edged with something dangerous.

I blinked, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “W-what?”

He tilted his head, amused. “I said, wait for me in the living room.”

“W-Wait… what?”

He closed the door, leaving me staring into the dark for a moment.

Somehow, I stumbled into the living room, forcing myself to act nonchalant, though every nerve in my body screamed otherwise.

The lights cast long shadows across the marble floors, but they couldn’t hide the way my pulse thudded in my ears.

I sank onto the sofa, hugging my knees like a shield. My fingers brushed against the box of chocolates I had been eating earlier. It distracted me from the pounding in my chest.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated in my hand pocket.

[I’m not at home, so don’t come. My dad’s there, and he’s pissing me off.]

Diana. Finally, a response. But it was too late.

I wanted to cry. Just because she answered now didn’t mean the shock, the humiliation, the confusion, and… everything else… would disappear. I stared at the screen, too shaken to type back. My fingers fumbled.

I hadn’t even processed what had just happened.

Three years. Three years since I last saw Chandler Callahan after his divorce from Auntie Dahlia, whom I still occasionally ran into with Diana out of town.

And tonight… I’d seen too much.

I hugged my knees to my chest. My stomach churned. My chest tightened. My pussy felt strange—tight, uncomfortably hot, a heat I didn’t know how to process.

I had never felt this way around him. Never.

The front door opened. My heart stopped.

He walked in first. Pants zipped and buttoned. Black polo tucked neatly, only a few buttons undone to reveal his broad, defined chest. The way the light caught the ridges of his muscles… my pulse spiked.

The woman followed behind him, glancing at me with a soft “hmp!” before strutting out the door in high heels and a tight dress, clutching paper money. She was gone.

Just like that.

And I was left staring at him. Alone.

He stepped closer. His gray eyes swept over me slowly, predatory and amused. I felt naked under that gaze, even though I was clothed.

“You’re eating those,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl.

I froze, chocolate halfway to my mouth.

“W-what?” I stammered, trying to hide the indulgence behind my hand.

“They weren’t meant for you.” His eyes flicked down to my hand, then back up. There was something in that look… satisfaction? Warning? Both?

I swallowed hard, cheeks heating. “I… I was hungry,” I muttered, uselessly.

“Hungry,” he repeated, leaning closer. Just a step, but the proximity sent a jolt through me.

My pulse spiked. My legs felt weak again. My fingers tightened around the chocolate.

“Is there something wrong?” I asked.

He didn’t answer for a long moment, which made me impatient. My knees shook as I tried to sit with my legs pressed tightly together, squeezing my core.

I felt uncomfortable—not only because of his stare, but down there. My pussy… it was throbbing. Wet. Clit hurting, burning like fire.

Then I heard him chuckle darkly.

“They’re aphrodisiac chocolates, sweetheart.” he said finally.

My jaw dropped, the piece of chocolate slipping from my fingers to the floor.

He walked closer, shoes clicking against the marble.

“Considering how you taught my daughter to rebel against me…” His voice dipped lower. “You’re surprisingly inexperienced yourself.”

“I-I'm not–!” I protested, too defensive, sitting up straight.

I averted my eyes, unable to meet his.

“I’m not innocent. I know what these chocolates are for.”

I lied. Too embarrassed to admit I had made a mistake, especially in front of a man. Seeking their validation had always been ingrained in me.

“Also,” I tilted my head back, meeting his gaze, “I’m not innocent for knowing what you were doing just now upstairs… with a prostitute!”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, thin lips pressing into a straight line, staring down at me, a bit taken aback.

His gaze sharpened, eyes narrowing as he regarded me. Silence stretched, heavy and expectant.

“Innocent or not,” he began, taking another step closer, “you shouldn’t have seen that.” His tone carried a subtle warning. “It wasn’t meant for your eyes.”

He leaned down, placing a hand on the armrest beside me. His face was inches from mine, his breath warm against my skin. I could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his pupils dilated slightly as he held my gaze.

“And yet,” he murmured, “here we are.”

His other hand reached out, fingers brushing against my cheek in a gesture that was almost tender. Almost.