rough sex.

Elena's POV

I stormed out of the office, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest, the fluorescent lights blurring through the hot sting of unshed tears. How dare he? Alexander Voss, that arrogant, god-like bastard with his chiseled jaw and those piercing blue eyes that seemed to undress me with a single glance—thinking he could just buy me like some commodity. My skin still tingled where his hands had gripped my waist, lifting me onto the desk as if I weighed nothing, his massive erection pressing against me like a promise of sin. God, the heat of it, the way my body had betrayed me with a rush of wetness between my thighs... No. I shoved the thought down, focusing on the rage boiling in my veins. I wasn't for sale. Not to him, not to anyone.

The elevator doors slid open with a mocking ding, and I jabbed the button for the lobby repeatedly, as if that would make it descend faster. My reflection stared back at me in the mirrored walls—cheeks flushed, lips swollen from biting them to hold back a moan when he'd ground against me. What the hell was wrong with me? I'd felt it, that electric pull, the way his touch ignited something deep and forbidden inside. But this wasn't a fairy tale; this was harassment wrapped in a million-dollar bow. My mother's face flashed in my mind—pale, frail, hooked up to machines that beeped like countdown timers. The bills were suffocating us: chemo sessions at $10,000 a pop, experimental drugs not covered by insurance, the mortgage on our tiny apartment teetering on foreclosure. One million dollars. It could change everything—wipe the slate clean, give her a fighting chance, maybe even time for a miracle.

But at what cost? Becoming his "companion"? His fuck toy, as I'd spat at him. The word echoed in my head, sending a shameful thrill through me. I'd heard the rumors about Voss—whispers in the break room about his insatiable appetite, women leaving his office with mussed hair and dazed smiles, or sometimes tears. He was a predator, a man who lived for sex like it was oxygen, dominating, punishing, leaving marks that lingered. And yet, in that moment on the desk, with his body caging mine, I'd felt alive in a way I never had. My nipples hardened at the memory, aching against my bra, and I crossed my arms over my chest as if to hide the evidence.

The elevator hit the ground floor, and I bolted through the lobby, the night security guard nodding absently as I pushed into the cool October air. The city streets were alive with late-night hustle—taxis honking, couples laughing under streetlights—but I felt isolated, my heels clicking sharply on the sidewalk as I headed toward the subway. Quitting tomorrow? Yeah, right. Where else would I go? My resume was solid, but the job market was a shark tank, and with Mom's condition, I couldn't afford a gap. Beg on the streets? Dramatic words, but closer to truth than I wanted to admit. I pulled out my phone, scrolling to the latest hospital update from the nurse: "Stable for now, but we need to discuss payment for the next round." My stomach twisted.

By the time I reached my cramped apartment in Queens, the adrenaline had crashed, leaving me shaky and exhausted. The place smelled like antiseptic and takeout—remnants of Mom's last home visit before she had to stay full-time at the hospital. I kicked off my shoes, collapsed onto the worn couch, and let the tears come. How had my life become this? Top of my class at NYU, dreams of marketing empires, now reduced to dodging a billionaire's indecent proposal. But as I wiped my eyes, my mind wandered back to him—Alexander, with his sculpted arms, the way his suit hugged his broad shoulders, the raw power in his voice when he'd growled, "Let me own you, body and soul." Own me. The idea should repulse me, but instead, it stirred a dark curiosity. What would it feel like to surrender? To let him pin me down, his hands rough and demanding, thrusting into me with that punishing intensity the rumors promised?

I shook my head, disgusted with myself, and headed to the shower to wash away the day's grime—and his phantom touch. Hot water cascaded over me, but it only amplified the ache. My fingers trailed down my body unbidden, brushing my breasts, imagining his mouth there, biting, sucking until I cried out. Lower still, to the slick heat between my legs, where his grinding had left me throbbing. I leaned against the tile, eyes closed, picturing him bursting in, ripping the curtain aside, and taking me right there—rough, relentless, his cock filling me as I screamed his name. One finger circled my clit, then dipped inside, mimicking what he might do, building the pressure until my knees buckled. "Alexander," I whispered, hating myself as the orgasm hit, waves of guilty pleasure crashing over me. It was quick, intense, but empty—nothing like what he could probably deliver.

Toweling off, I checked my phone again. A new email notification: from [e-mail]. Subject: "An Offer You Can't Refuse." My heart skipped. I opened it, scanning the words: "Elena, Reconsider. One million upfront. Contract attached—discreet, binding for 30 days. Your mother's care starts tomorrow if you sign. Meet me at my penthouse at 8 PM. Don't make me beg. - A.V." Attached was a P*F, outlining the terms: unlimited access to my body, his rules, his whims—rough sex, dominance, no safe words unless I ended it all. In return: full financial support, NDA, and freedom after.

I stared at the screen, my body still humming from the shower fantasy. Sinful, wrong, but tempting. Mom's life versus my dignity. Or was it? Maybe I could endure it—enjoy it, even. His craving for me was palpable; I'd seen it in his eyes, felt it in his grip. What if I turned the tables, made him crave more than just my body? With trembling fingers, I hit reply: "Fine. But my terms too—no public humiliation, and you cover everything anonymously. See you at 8." Send.

What had I done? As I crawled into bed, the city noise fading into the background, a mix of dread and excitement coiled in my gut. Tomorrow, I'd step into the lion's den. And God help me, part of me couldn't wait to feel his teeth.