Chapter 2: One-Night Stand

Alexander's Point of View

The room was silent, occasionally punctuated by my father's unnerving voice. My grip tightened around the phone, my jaw clenched. He was at it again, and he wasn't going to stop either. It didn't matter to him that this was six a.m. in the morning; he never ceased to throw his tantrum each time he woke up.

“Father, I know all this. I'm trying to piece myself together. Sooner or later, I'll get a—”

He cut me off immediately, his pitch rising.

“You know nothing, Alex. You don't know how important a grandchild is to me. The Zeus firm needs an heir after you are gone,” he yelled, his voice filled with indifference.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, adjusting my posture on the king-sized bed, my eyes scanning the open space of the room.

“But I'm not dying soon, Dad. We still have a lot of time. Besides, our company got international recognition,” I said softly, a contrast to what I felt.

“Get me a grandson. I don't want to continue this conversation,” he said, his voice dropping an octave before he hung up.

My lips parted, a sigh escaping through them. It was obvious that he wouldn't stop bugging me about this topic anytime soon. He wasn't even excited that I was achieving a lot of things—all he was interested in was getting a fucking bride.

“Dad issues, huh?” Wendy, the service girl I hired, said in the background. I'd forgotten she was still in the room.

Before I could mutter a word, she rolled over to me, her hand massaging my chest. I felt her warm breath brushing across my skin, her teeth playfully digging into my earlobe.

“Shouldn’t you be leaving?” I asked, my posture stiffening.

She flinched, taken aback by the harshness of my voice. She didn't expect it—neither did I.

“Alex…”

“Leave,” I said, my tone laced with seriousness.

I needed a serene environment to process my father's words. I was returning to New York this morning, and God help me, I didn't have the energy to stand my dad. I'd been in Miami for the past few months, expanding the company to other parts of the country.

I watched her pick up her clothes, glaring at me before walking out of the room.

The gentle knocking on my door stole my attention for a brief moment. I stared at the door for a while before I spoke calmly,

“Who’s there?”

“Sir, your flight is ready,” a feminine voice said. I didn't need to second-guess before realizing it was my secretary. I'd told her to prepare for my arrival.

I walked to the bathroom, the cold water running down my spine, washing away the sweat lingering on my body. After I was done taking my bath, I walked to the wardrobe, settling for a crisp navy suit before heading to the airport.

The plane took off, and I shut my eyes, savoring the calmness of the ride. After what felt like eternity, the plane landed on the tarred floor. My secretary and I walked into the sleek black car waiting for me, and it zoomed into the streets of New York.

The cheering of the staff as I walked through the transparent glass doors filled the air. I maintained my stoic expression, my eyes taking note of their faces. Of course, I knew their expressions were forced, but I didn't care.

I rolled my eyes, stepping into the elevator, the doors slamming shut as it ascended slowly. After a while, it opened, and I walked into my office.

My office exuded quiet, deliberate opulence. A handwoven rug softened the marble floor beneath my feet. Everything about the office screamed wealth, a testament to my hard work. Still, all he cared about was some stupid grandchild. He was ungrateful. While other millionaire sons were a reproach to their fathers' names, I was exceptional, always taking this damn company to another level. The least he could do was thank me for being a remarkable son.

“Asshole,” I growled, walking over to the dark desk.

Sitting at the desk, I started my day by attending to the numerous files on the table while sipping a hot, steamy chocolate coffee.

A few hours later, I was done. I glanced at the clock—it was a few minutes past six p.m. I was late… again. Going home wasn't in my budget. I needed to escape reality. Where else to go than a party?

I picked up my briefcase, striding gracefully out of the parking lot and into my car. The wind howled through the empty streets, the streetlights and houses passing by in a blur.

I clenched my jaw, exhaling slowly as I stepped into the club. The bass of the music thumped through my chest, the dim lights casting shadows across the sea of bodies swaying in drunken ecstasy. The familiar burn of whiskey slid down my throat, but even that couldn’t drown out my father’s voice.

My eyes fluttered open, and I saw her. She took different shots of alcohol, tears rolling down her face. She looked vulnerable, weak.

I rolled my eyes, trying so hard to mind my business, but my gaze kept snapping back to her. Staring at her made my anger vanish immediately, replaced by sympathy.

Before I could second-guess, my feet instinctively walked toward her. She raised the glass in the air to drink, and I stopped her, snatching it away.

“Give me back my drink!” she protested.

“That’s enough, young lady. You have taken too much,” I said, my voice firm.

She shot me a glare.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” she said, her voice trembling with sobs. “You’re here to control me, just like they do?”

She stood up to take the drink but staggered, falling right into my arms.

A smirk tugged at the side of my lips. She couldn't even hold her own against me.

“Let’s call it a night,” I mumbled.

I walked to the receptionist and booked a suite to spend the night. Every action I took was a contrast to my personality, and I couldn't explain why.

Just as I was about to leave, I heard her voice.

“Stay with me,” she begged.

I was torn between walking away and staying with her. With a resigned sigh, I chose to stay.

She clung to my body. I should have pushed her away, asked her to keep her hands to herself, but I found myself craving more of her… touch.

“You are drunk,” I said calmly, trying to push her away from me. It'd be stupid to imagine that I took advantage of her when she was drunk.

But she didn't stop.

“I need you,” she cried, pulling me back.

Before a word could escape my lips, her lips crashed into mine, her tongue wrestling for dominance in my mouth.

I was done resisting her body. Maybe this was the price for saving her tonight from the excessive shots she took. She wanted me, and I was determined to give her all of… me.

I grabbed her by her butt cheeks, my middle finger slowly sliding to her panties. I stripped off the thin straps of her  clothes, dragging out my belt and tossing it to the other side of the room.

My dick sprang out of my pants, and I watched her gasp in shock, her eyes widening at the size.  She grabbed my dick, sucking it like her life depended on it.

I shut my eyes, allowing her satisfy herself with her toy. After a while, I broke free from her, my fingers thrusting her.

“Fuck,”she moaned loudly, biting her lower lips, her pupils dilating. I maintained a certain rhythm and suddenly, I felt her muscles stiffen, her pussy walls tightening. She was about to squirt.

I paused. Her breath was forced and shallow, her chest heaving.  I lifted her up in the air, her back roughly hitting the wall as I pushed my dick.

“Shit,” she growled, her hand instinctively grabbing my short hair. She took in the length like a pro, her eyes locking with mine. My balls jiggled, the slippery sound her pussy made filling the air.

Exhausted, I laid beside her, drifting off to sleep.

The shrill beeping of the alarm filled the air, and I woke up with a start. My gaze wandered around the room, my head aching badly, a result of the whiskey I took last night.

I stumbled out of the bed, planting my feet on the floor. It took me a few seconds to know that she was gone, the lady I had a one night stand with. Worst of all, I had nutted in her, which meant one thing; she would be having my baby in her womb soon. 

I paced back and forth, my knuckles whitening. 

Just then, my gaze shifted to the night stand and I saw her ID. A wave of relief flushed over me as I walked over it, my brow raising a bit as I read the name,

“Megan woods.”