WRECK ME QUIETLY

SAMANTHA

“Take your dress off.”

His words landed like a command. Not a suggestion. Not an invitation. Mason's voice was smooth and authoritative, as though I had no choice.

I didn’t argue.

I reached for the straps of my wine-red dress with trembling fingers. The fabric felt so smooth as it slid down my body, pooling at my feet. My skin prickled with a strange mix of shame and desire, as though I were stepping into a role I hadn’t asked for but couldn’t walk away from.

I stood there, exposed in nothing but my lace panties. My chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, like I could somehow outrun this moment, like I could stop myself from wanting this.

But I didn’t want to stop. I asked for it.

Mason’s eyes flicked up slowly, his gaze dark and assessing. His stare lingered on me, unwavering, like a predator studying its prey. I hated how my body reacted—how my heart stuttered in my chest, how my pulse quickened.

He looked at me like I was something he already owned.

But I didn’t flinch.

I wouldn’t.

I needed this. I had to.

His tongue slid slowly over his lips, a subtle, deliberate gesture. “You wore the lipstick again.”

“You said you liked red.” My voice was soft, almost apologetic, but the words felt forced. As if I had to justify everything I did to him.

A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Mason didn’t smile like normal guys. His smiles were twisted, cold, like he found humor in things others wouldn’t even consider funny, which was true.

I craved that smile.

It was sick.

It was mine. He only smiled when he was with me.

“Turn around.”

I obeyed. It was easier that way.

I could feel the weight of his stare on the back of my neck, on the smooth skin of my shoulders as I faced the polished mahogany desk in front of me. The scent of cologne hung in the air, mingling with the faint smell of books, old leather, and whatever else lived in this room.

He moved closer. I could hear the subtle shuffle of his feet and the scrape of his chair as he stood and approached.

His fingers brushed my spine, feather-light. Then lower. He circled my hips, his touch almost gentle, but there was no mistaking the possessiveness in the way he gripped me, his hands firm and commanding.

“Breathe, Samantha.”

I forced in a breath, but it didn’t feel enough. My body was tight, every muscle stiff with anticipation. My mouth was dry.

“I am,” I whispered.

His hands slid over my hips, pulling me closer, pressing his body against mine. He was hard. I could feel it, pressing against me, and the heat of it seemed to consume everything.

Then, without warning, his hand slid under the waistband of my panties. I gasped, but the sound was lost in the air between us.

“Fuck, you’re already wet.”

I felt a flush of humiliation mix with something else—a deep, burning ache I couldn’t name.

My legs were already shaking from that simple touch.

His fingers stroked between my legs, finding the dampness that had already gathered there. A sharp breath escaped my lungs when he slid his finger inside, slow and deliberate, the movement sending shockwaves through my body.

He wasn’t gentle.

Not at all.

He never was.

His touch was precise and controlled, and it made my skin burn in all the wrong ways, stirring something inside me I hated to admit.

But I needed it.

His thumb pressed harder against my clit, rubbing in tight, fast circles. My legs trembled. I couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped me. My hips bucked, moving involuntarily.

“That’s it,” he murmured, low and dark. “Let me hear you.”

I wasn’t sure what I hated more—the way his voice sent shivers through me or the fact that I wanted to give him exactly what he wanted.

“Harder,” I whispered, barely audible, but I couldn’t stop the words.

The urgency in my voice made something in him snap. His fingers curled deeper inside me, the motion quickening, pulling me into a spiral of need. I could feel the tight coil of pleasure building low in my stomach, and I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t want to.

“Don’t hold back,” he said, almost like an order. “Scream for me, Samantha.”

I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to let him see that part of me—the part that let him have control, that let him own me like this.

But my body betrayed me.

A cry tore from my throat as I came, my body trembling, shaking violently under his touch.

He withdrew his fingers slowly, and I heard the wet sound of him licking them clean. His eyes never left mine as he did it, as though he were savoring the last bit of me, like he did not want to forget what I tasted like.

And I loved it. All I could think about was how much more I wanted.

How much more I needed.

Mason stepped back and unzipped his jeans, his eyes fixed on me, watching me with a calculated, almost bored expression. The look made something twist inside my chest.

But I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

He wasn’t done yet.

He yanked his cock out of his pants, and I could see how hard he was. My breath hitched.

I should’ve walked out. I should’ve said no. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

“Bend over the desk,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire.

I obeyed, my body moving on its own. The edge of the desk pressed into my ribs, grounding me in this moment. There was no turning back now.

Mason grabbed my hips roughly, positioning himself behind me, his breath hot against my ear. Without warning, he thrust inside.

I gasped—half from shock, half from the overwhelming feeling of being filled. There was nothing gentle about it.

He gripped me harder, pulling me onto him, his pace savage and demanding. Every movement was brutal, relentless, as though he were trying to break me, to possess me completely.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the room, harsh and unrelenting, drowning out everything else. My hands clawed at the desk, my fingernails digging into the wood as I tried to hold on.

“Look at me,” Mason growled, his hand gripping my hair and yanking my head back. I met his gaze in the mirror across the room, and the look on his face made my stomach flip.

His eyes were dark—possessive. He was claiming me.

“You see that?” He breathed. “That’s me inside you.”

I should’ve hated it. I should’ve despised him for making me feel like this. But instead, something inside me responded, something wild that I didn’t recognize.

I couldn’t stop myself from whispering, “Harder.”

He obliged, slamming into me, his rhythm wild, urgent. The pleasure spiraled tighter inside me with each brutal thrust, and I couldn’t hold back anymore. I let the sensation consume me.

“Say my name,” Mason commanded.

I gasped. “Mason—”

He groaned, and the sound of my name on his lips made something inside me shatter. My body trembled as I came again, the orgasm sweeping over me with such force that I couldn’t breathe.

He wasn’t far behind. With a final, deep thrust, Mason groaned as he came inside me, his body stiffening before collapsing against me.

We both stayed there, panting, our chests rising and falling in unison.

For a moment, everything was still.

Then Mason pulled away, his movements cold, indifferent. He grabbed a tissue from the drawer, wiped himself off, and tossed it into the trash.

“You’re done,” he said, his voice flat. “Next week, same time.”

I stood there, my knees weak, my body trembling as I hurriedly pulled my dress back on. My hands fumbled with the zipper, but I couldn’t seem to focus.

He placed an envelope on the desk—thick with cash.

Without another word, he walked to the door and opened it.

I grabbed the envelope, my hands shaking, and left without a second glance.

The door clicked shut behind me, but the sound didn’t reassure me.

I pressed my hand to my chest, feeling the rapid beat of my heart.

I felt so alive.