Shaking off the lingering unease, I left the room, hoping that a change of scenery might help clear my head. As I stepped out, the maid that Clyde had personally appointed greeted me with a gentle smile. There was warmth in her expression, a softness that felt almost out of place in this cold, calculated environment. It was a small, fleeting gesture, but it helped ease some of the heaviness weighing on me. She’s always like that—polite, considerate, almost as if she’s trying to offer some sort of comfort in a world where everything feels rigid and controlled. I nodded in return, acknowledging her presence. I smiled back at her, trying to match the warmth she offered despite the tiredness I felt creeping in. “Did you not get any sleep again?” she asked gently, her face etched with concern. There was a softness in her voice that made me feel like she genuinely cared, a rare thing in a place where almost everyone wears masks. I let out a small sigh, feeling the weight of exhaustion
The room was wrapped in an almost suffocating silence. The only sound that broke through was the faint, rhythmic scratching of Clyde’s pen against paper. The quiet was so thick that it felt like it had a weight of its own, pressing down on me, making every breath seem louder than it was. I could feel the seconds ticking by, the tension growing as I struggled to find the right words. Clyde didn’t seem in any rush. His eyes remained focused on the documents in front of him, his hand moving smoothly as he wrote. I wondered if he was deliberately dragging it out, waiting for me to crack under the pressure of the silence. He had a way of doing that—forcing others to speak first, making them reveal their cards while he kept his own hidden. When he finally noticed that I wasn’t saying anything, he paused and slowly turned his head toward me. His gaze was sharp, a little impatient, but still cool and composed. “Weren’t you supposed to tell me something?” he asked, his tone flat but with an e
When I finally stopped, the silence in the room thickened. I could feel my heart racing, the adrenaline still humming in my veins from the strength of my own determination. I waited, watching him, uncertain how he’d react. Then, slowly, something shifted in his expression. A smile began to curve his lips—not just any smile, but one that held a certain weight behind it. It wasn’t the usual smirk he wore when he was amused or pleased with himself. No, this smile was different. It was a smile of approval, of pride. There was something almost darkly encouraging about it, like he was silently acknowledging the fire in me, the resolve that matched his own ruthless ambition. For a brief moment, I saw a glimmer of respect in his eyes, as if he was proud of what I’d become, proud that I was no longer the frightened girl who could be easily swayed or intimidated. He didn’t have to say it out loud, but that smile told me everything. I’d proven something to him in that moment—that I could be jus
I sighed, feeling a wave of frustration wash over me as I tried to maintain my composure. “Clyde, do we really need to do this?” My voice was firmer now, carrying the weight of my exhaustion. “Can you not be serious for just one time?” I met his gaze, hoping my words would finally break through that playful façade he always wore like armor. But instead of answering, Clyde threw his head back, and to my surprise, a genuine, full-throated laugh burst out of him. It wasn’t the mocking, sarcastic chuckle I’d grown accustomed to, nor was it the cold, calculated smile he used to unsettle people. No, this was different. It was real, unrestrained, and full of life—like a side of him I’d never seen before. I was stunned into silence, completely caught off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor. For a few moments, I just stood there, watching him laugh as if the weight of all our schemes and secrets had momentarily lifted off his shoulders. There was a warmth to it that made something insid
His hold was possessive, a silent declaration of what he was capable of when he chose to be. But there was also a softness beneath it, something that felt almost… protective, even if I knew better than to read too much into it. His face was so close to mine now that I could feel the warmth of his breath brushing against my skin. It was an oddly intimate moment, especially given how we usually kept a distance from each other—both physically and emotionally. Our eyes remained locked, the intensity of our stare unbroken. I could see the flicker of something in his gaze—interest, curiosity, maybe even amusement. But behind all that, there was also a hint of danger, the reminder that this was still Clyde, a man who never fully revealed his hand. Neither of us said a word. We just stood there, our bodies pressed together, our gazes boring into each other’s souls as if trying to find whatever truth lay hidden beneath the layers of pretense and manipulation. It felt like a game of who would
His eyes were filled with a storm of emotions, and the one that stood out the most—intense and undeniable—was lust. It was as if every hidden desire, every unspoken word, was right there in his gaze, pulling me in, daring me to match his intensity. And to my surprise, I did. My own eyes locked onto his, refusing to look away. I could feel my chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, the rhythm of my breathing quickening with every second that passed. The air around us felt thick, charged with an electricity that seemed to crackle between our bodies. My heart pounded in my chest, echoing the turbulent emotions swirling inside me. The closer he got, the harder it was to keep my composure, to remind myself that I was supposed to be in control here. But all thoughts of control started to slip away as his right hand, which had been resting firmly on my waist, began to move. It was a slow, deliberate motion, one that sent a shiver racing down my spine. I could feel the heat of his
But I was lost—completely and utterly lost in the pleasure that had consumed me, in the heat of his touch and the intensity of his gaze. My body had betrayed me, responding to him in ways that I couldn’t control, that I didn’t want to control. And now, with him so close, his hand still pressed against me, I felt powerless to stop what was happening. My eyes locked onto his, pleading silently for him to move, to give me back that overwhelming sensation that had drowned out the guilt and the fear. But he didn’t. He just held me there, his fingers motionless, his expression unreadable. It was like he was testing me, waiting to see what I would do next. And as the seconds dragged on, the tension between us only grew thicker, more unbearable. Desperation welled up inside me, and I tried to move against him, to find the relief that he was cruelly withholding. But as soon as I shifted, as soon as I sought to take control of the situation, he responded by slowly, deliberately starting to wit
"You’ve never been touched?" he asked, his voice low and filled with something that almost sounded like disbelief. I was teetering on the edge, every nerve in my body attuned to the pleasure coursing through me, each wave stronger and more consuming than the last. I wasn’t in the mood to answer his questions, or even think about what he was saying. All I wanted was to lose myself in the sensations he was creating, to drown in the bliss that was quickly overtaking me. My mind was foggy, my thoughts incoherent, and the only thing that mattered was the feeling of his fingers inside me, the way he was pushing me closer and closer to the brink. But then, suddenly, he changed his rhythm. The gentle teasing was replaced with something more forceful, more demanding. He thrust his fingers back inside me with a force that made me gasp, the sudden intensity catching me off guard. I could feel him staring at me, his gaze piercing, and even through the haze of pleasure, I could sense his need for