เข้าสู่ระบบChapter 2
The elevator doors slid shut with a soft click. Suddenly it was just them, the hum of the lift the only sound. Lila's heart slammed against her ribs so hard she thought he could hear it. The alcohol still buzzed in her veins, making everything feel sharper and slower at the same time. She stared at the numbers lighting up one by one. Floor six. Seven. Eight. Marcus stood close enough that she could feel the heat coming off him. He hadn’t let go of her hand yet. His thumb moved once, a slow circle over her wrist, and the touch sent a jolt straight between her legs. She swallowed. She could smell him now, clean skin, a hint of expensive cologne that reminded her of dark wood and smoke. Nothing like Tyler’s cheap body spray that always clung to everything. He didn’t speak. Didn’t push. Just watched her in the mirrored wall. Their eyes met in the reflection. His were dark and steady. Hers looked wide and wild, mascara smudged from earlier tears. Floor twelve. The elevator slowed. When the doors opened, he stepped out first, still holding her hand. The hallway was quiet, the carpet thick under her bare feet, she had left her shoes at the bar. He pulled a key card from his pocket and swiped it at the double doors at the end. They opened into a suite that made her breath catch. Huge windows stretched floor to ceiling. Rain streaked down the glass, blurring the city lights into long gold and white streaks. The room was dark except for low lamps that threw warm pools on leather couches, a bar cart, and a king sized bed visible through an open door. Everything smelled clean, like fresh linen and money. Marcus let go of her hand to close the door behind them. The lock clicked. He turned back to her. “Drink?” he asked. Voice low, rough around the edges. Lila shook her head. “I’ve had enough.” He nodded and poured himself a short glass of whiskey anyway. Took one slow sip while his eyes stayed on her. Then he set the glass down. She moved before she could think too hard. Close the space between them. Put both hands flat on his chest. Felt the hard muscle under the thin shirt and the steady thump of his heart. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t grab her. Just let her touch. She tipped her head up. “Kiss me.” He did. Slow at first. His mouth brushed hers like he was testing. Soft lips, warm. Then deeper. His tongue slid against hers, tasting like whiskey and something darker. She opened for him, hungry. Her fingers curled into his shirt. He groaned low in his throat—the sound vibrated through her. His hands finally moved. One slid to the small of her back, pressing her closer until their bodies lined up. She felt him hard against her stomach. Thick. Ready. Her thighs clenched. He broke the kiss long enough to murmur against her mouth. “Tell me to stop if you want to.” “I don’t want to stop.” That was all he needed. He walked her backward toward the bedroom. Her dress rode up her thighs with every step. When the back of her knees hit the mattress, he stopped. Turned her around so she faced the window. The rain kept falling, steady and loud. His fingers found the zipper at the back of her dress and pulled it down slowly. The fabric parted. Cool air hit her skin. He pushed the straps off her shoulders. The dress pooled at her feet. She stood in just her black lace bra and panties. No shoes. Hair messy from the rain and his hands. Marcus stepped behind her. Pressed his front to her back. She felt every inch of him—hard chest, harder cock pressing between her ass cheeks through his pants. His mouth found the side of her neck. Kissed. Bit lightly. She gasped. One hand slid up her stomach and cupped her breast over the bra. Thumb circled her nipple until it peaked tightly. The other hand dipped and slipped inside her panties. Fingers found wet and wet and swollen. He groaned against her skin. “So fucking wet already.” She arched back against him. “Touch me.” He did. Two fingers slid inside her, slow at first, then curling. His thumb flocked into her clit and rubbed firm circles., her head falling back on his shoulder. He kept kissing her neck, sucking marks she knew would show tomorrow. Her hips rocked against his hand. The wet sounds filled the room. She was close already—too fast, too needy. He felt it. Slowed down. Pulled his fingers out. She whimpered. He turned her around. Pushed her gently onto the bed. She landed on her back, legs parted. He stood at the edge, looking down at her like she was something he’d waited for. He stripped his shirt off. Broad chest, defined abs, and a few scars she wanted to trace with her tongue later. Pants next. The belt clinked. Zipper down. He shoved everything off. Cock sprang free—thick, long, veined, head already slick. Lila licked her lips. He climbed over her. Kissed down her body, neck, breasts, stomach. Pulled her bra off, sucked one nipple hard while pinching the other. She arched off the bed. When he reached her panties, he hooked his fingers in the sides and dragged them down her legs. Spread her thighs wide. Looked at her pussy like it was an art. “Beautiful.” Then his mouth was on her. Tongue flat, licking from bottom to top. He groaned like she tasted good. Sucked her clit gently, then harder. Fingers pushed back inside of her, three this time, stretching her. She cried out, hands fisting the sheets. He didn’t stop. Kept licking, sucking, fucking her with his fingers until her thighs shook. She came hard. Back bowed, toes curling, a long broken moan ripping out of her. Stars burst behind her eyes. He kept going through it, licking slower until she trembled and pushed at his head. He crawled back up. Kissed her so she tasted herself on his tongue. She reached between them. Wrapped her hand around his cock. Hot, heavy, pulsing. Stroked him slowly. He hissed against her mouth. “Inside me. Now.” He grabbed a condom from the nightstand drawer. Rolled it on fast. Then he lined up, rubbed the head through her folds. Pushed in slowly. She gasped. He was too huge, stretching her wide. Inch by inch until he bottomed out. They both froze for a second, breathing hard. He started moving. Slow thrusts at first. Deep. Pulling almost all the way out, then sliding back in. She wrapped her legs around his waist. Nails digging into his back. “Harder.” He gave it to her. Faster. Deeper. The bed creaked. Skin slapped skin. Rain pounded the windows. He hit that spot inside her every time. She moaned, without even thinking. He flipped them so she was on top. Hands on her hips, guiding her down onto him. She rode him hard, grinding her clit against his base. Breasts bouncing. His hands squeezed her ass, slapped once sharp sting that made her clench around him. “Fuck, good girl.”The decision to face the threat head-on brought a temporary peace, but peace was a luxury they couldn’t afford for long. The very next week, the anonymous sender struck again—this time with a more direct warning. Another email to Dominic, this one including a screenshot of a draft message ready to be sent to Rory’s father with the incriminating photos attached. The demand was clear: *End it completely or I hit send. No contact. One week.* Dominic’s protective instincts went into overdrive. “We have to create distance,” he told Rory in a hushed, urgent conversation in his locked office. “Just for a little while. Until I can trace this bastard and neutralize the threat. I can’t risk your family, your career, everything you’ve worked for.” Rory’s heart shattered at the words, but she saw the logic through her tears. “I hate this,” she whispered, clinging to him. “But I trust you. Just… don’t take too long. I don’t know how to breathe without you anymore.” The separation was agony. Fo
The anonymous threat had turned their once-thrilling secret affair into a high-stakes game of survival. Every day at Voss Publishing felt like walking a tightrope—Rory smiling through meetings while sensing the whispers behind her back, Dominic maintaining his commanding CEO facade while his eyes tracked her with a mix of love, fear, and barely contained possessiveness. The power dynamic that had always existed between them—the experienced older man and the ambitious young woman—now carried new weight. He was her boss, her mentor, her lover, and the one person who could destroy or save everything she had built. By Friday, the tension had become unbearable. Dominic arranged for them to meet at their favorite discreet hotel, but this time the evening started with confrontation rather than immediate passion. The moment the door closed, the argument erupted. “We can’t keep pretending the threat doesn’t exist,” Dominic said, pacing the luxurious suite, his broad shoulders tense under hi
The blissful afterglow from their deepening emotional and physical connection didn’t last nearly as long as Rory and Dominic had hoped. The real world, with all its sharp edges and prying eyes, came crashing in faster than either of them could have anticipated. Monday morning at Voss Publishing felt different from the moment Rory stepped off the elevator. The usual hum of the office had a new undercurrent—subtle whispers in the hallways, lingering glances from colleagues who had never paid her much attention before. In the break room, Vanessa, a senior editor who had always been coldly professional, gave her a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Special treatment seems to be paying off for you, Vale. Just be careful. Rumors have a way of spreading like wildfire around here, especially when they involve the CEO.” Rory’s stomach twisted into knots. She forced a polite laugh and changed the subject, but the seed of paranoia was firmly planted. By midday, the anxiety was eating a
The weeks that followed the family dinner became a intoxicating, all-consuming whirlwind for Rory and Dominic. What had started as explosive, forbidden lust had transformed into something far more profound—a deep, emotional connection that wove their hearts together even as the risks around them multiplied. By day, they maintained the careful professional facade at Voss Publishing. Rory threw herself into manuscript evaluations and meetings, her contributions earning genuine respect from colleagues. Dominic ran the company with his usual commanding presence, sharp decisions and charismatic leadership masking the storm raging beneath the surface. But the nights were theirs. And they grew longer, more intimate, more addictive with every passing day. One Thursday evening stood out as a pivotal moment. Dominic had been unusually quiet and intense all day, his touches at work more deliberate and possessive—a hand lingering on her lower back in the hallway, a whispered “I’ve been thin
Sunday evening felt like walking a tightrope over a pit of fire. Rory stood on the familiar front porch of her childhood home, the scent of her mom’s roast chicken drifting through the screen door, but all she could feel was the phantom ache between her thighs from the night before. Dominic had been insatiable—hours of slow, deep lovemaking mixed with rough, desperate claiming that left bruises on her hips and love bites hidden under her clothes. Every step reminded her of him. His car pulled up behind hers. He stepped out looking unfairly composed in a casual button-down and slacks, but his eyes when they met hers told the real story: dark hunger, lingering tenderness, and the same storm of guilt she carried. “Deep breaths,” he murmured as they walked up the path together, hands carefully not touching. “We can do this.” Inside, the house was warm and chaotic in the best way. Her mom pulled her into a tight hug, then did the same to Dominic. “Dom! It’s been too long. You look wo
The Monday after the hotel felt like stepping back into a pressure cooker. Rory walked into Voss Publishing wearing a scarf around her neck to hide the faint marks Dominic had left, her body still deliciously sore in places that made her blush every time she sat down. The weekend had changed something fundamental. The secret touches at work weren’t enough anymore. The stolen kisses in his office felt like crumbs when she’d had the whole feast. Dominic looked wrecked in the best way—hair slightly messier than usual, eyes tracking her every move during the morning editorial meeting. When their gazes locked across the table, the heat was so palpable she half-expected the air to catch fire. The jealousy hit like a freight train during lunch. Rory was in the break room, chatting with Alex—a cute, easygoing junior editor around her age who had been flirting harmlessly for weeks. He leaned against the counter, laughing at something she said, reaching out to brush a crumb from her blouse.
The phone kept buzzing on the nightstand,Marcus reached for the hotel phone, his jaw set hard, fingers already moving toward the buttons for security.Lila caught his wrist. Her skin still carried the warmth from where he had held her. The sting in her palm from earlier thoughts of revenge mixed w
Lila’s chair scraped backward so hard it nearly tipped. The robe slipped off one shoulder, cool silk dragging over her heated skin as she lunged for the door. Her pulse hammered in her ears, louder than the rain still hammering the glass. Tyler’s father. She had let Tyler’s father stretch her open
Lila woke up slowly, sunlight pouring across the huge bed like it owned the place. Her body ached in the best way possible. Every muscle reminded her of last night, the way Marcus had pinned her down, the way he had moved inside her until she could not think straight. She shifted under the sheets a
Lila checked her phone one last time as the elevator climbed to the tenth floor. It was just past seven, and she had picked up Tyler's favorite Thai food from the place on 53rd Street. Extra spicy pad see ew, the way he liked it. She smiled to herself, thinking how nice it would be to surprise him







