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CHAPTER 5- Pride and Pleasure

last update Last Updated: 2025-01-17 05:30:58

Mark wrapped the towel over Freya's shoulders with gentle firmness, carefully. "There's a shirt on the couch you can change into," he said, his voice low. "And we both know you're not drunk. I've seen enough desperate women to recognize one."

Her cheeks burned at his words, and she held the towel tighter around herself. The raw truth in his observation stung more than she expected.

Freya's phone buzzed in her hand. Stephanie's name lit up the screen:

"Investors are flooding the office about the stock market rise. How should I respond to all their calls, Ma'am?"

Freya stared at the message, her mind scattered. Usually, she knew exactly what to do - it was what made her such a good VP of operations. But now, sitting here in Mark's borrowed shirt, she couldn't focus. Even good news felt overwhelming.

Her fingers hovered over the phone screen. The company needed her. The investors wanted to talk. But her thoughts kept spinning out of confusion.

In the kitchen, the humming sound of the coffee maker filled the air. Mark focused on his usual routine of measuring grounds and water, trying to ignore the sound of fabric rustling behind him. When he turned back, his breath caught. His old gray t-shirt hung loosely on her body, yet somehow made her look more vulnerable than if she'd worn nothing at all.

He set the steaming mug in front of her, buying time to steady his voice. "So," he said, sliding into the chair opposite her, "want to tell me why you felt the need to fake being drunk just to get into my bed?"

Freya wrapped her fingers around the warm ceramic, trying to hide her embarrassed cheeks which was already burning from embarrassment . "Let's cut to the chase, I have a proposition," she said, then lifted her gaze to meet him. "One year of marriage. That's all I'm asking for. I'll do anything you want."

The silence stretched between them, longer than she could feel. Mark leaned back, his expression unreadable as he studied her face. When he finally spoke, his words carried a dangerous edge that made her shiver.

"Anything?" He reached across the table, his fingers brushing a stray lock of damp hair from her face with a smirk on his face. "Then prove it. Please me." His eyes darkened. "If I like what I see, maybe I'll consider putting a ring on that finger.” he said, assessing her hands with an unusual grin on his masculine face.

Freya's fingers trembled as she reached for him. One touch, that's all it would take to get this done with—

But then Mark threw his head back and laughed.

"Let me get this straight," he managed between laughs, "you put on this whole drunk act – which, by the way, was about as convincing as my little sister trying to fake being sick to skip school while still asking for ice cream – just to propose a one year marriage?”

The sound pierced through her like ice. He wasn't just chuckling; he was roaring with laughter, his shoulders shaking as if she'd told the funniest joke he'd ever heard. Freya stood frozen, her hand still suspended in the air between them, she was so ashamed to even think of that but desperate times called for desperate measures and decisions.

"I'd never," he was still chuckling, but his eyes had turned serious, "marry a desperate woman like you. Even if your attempted drunk act was Oscar-worthy... which it absolutely wasn't, by the way. You literally straightened your gown while pretending to stumble. Who does that?"

"I mean, most women try dinner and a movie first," he continued, wiping tears from his eyes. "But you? You went straight for the 'damsel in distress who can still perfectly pronounce complicated words' approach. That's... that's actually impressive in its own weird way.”

The words hit her like a physical blow. Something inside her shattered, pride and dignity crumbling to dust. Without a word, she spun around, snatching her still-damp clothes from the chair. Her fingers dropped with the fabric as she tried to stuff everything into her bag.

"Freya wait—" Mark's voice had lost its mocking edge.

She spun to face him, furious . "Don't you dare! You fuckin arrogant jerk, selfish manipulator!" Her voice cracked with emotion. "For days you pursued me, begged me for dates. Now suddenly I'm too desperate for you? What changed, Mark? Or was this all just a game? I hate you for real this time. Bastard!"

She stormed toward the door, his borrowed t-shirt fluttering around her thighs. "Did you think I was just another toy for your amusement?" The words tasted bitter on her tongue.

Three steps away from this hell hole of a house, he gripped her suddenly with his strong arms, locked around her waist. Her feet left the ground as Mark lifted her effortlessly.

"Put me down!" She fought while kicking backward, but his grip was like iron bands around her middle.

"Stop fighting me," he growled near her ear, already carrying her back inside. Her struggles were useless against his strength as he strode purposefully toward his bedroom.

With one fluid motion, he tossed her onto his bed. Freya bounced against the mattress, hair wild around her face, his T-shirt had slid up revealing his ripped abs. She pushed herself up on her elbows, heart pounding, wondering if she should fight back or or lash out the burning desire flinging within as Mark came closer.

"You said you would do anything," Mark whimpered, his voice sounding flirty. Freya met his gaze, words failing her as her heart thundered against her ribs. Her silence was enough.

He drew closer, and when their lips met, the kiss was different from anything she had imagined – tender yet intense, gentle yet fierce. Time seemed to slow, it felt like it was just them. All she could hear at that moment were loud whispers of moans.

Their fingers intertwined, so intimate than anything else. Freya's breath caught as Mark whispered her name like a prayer. And his lips found hers, their wet bodies colliding with each other, he pushed up his shirt she was wearing up to her head and kisses her, trailing from her stomach to her thighs and his tongue enters her, causing moans to escape from her as she moved recklessly under his touch, his hands entered her.. one finger two and it moved rapidly over time, finally he removed his hands from her and she felt loss at the separation.

He goes up to her and he tells her he was about to go inside her, she begs him to and he does slowly, their hands intertwined with each other as she moans loudly…. The night pleasure filing the air.

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Latest chapter

  • The Billionaire's Price   CHAPTER 5- Pride and Pleasure

    Mark wrapped the towel over Freya's shoulders with gentle firmness, carefully. "There's a shirt on the couch you can change into," he said, his voice low. "And we both know you're not drunk. I've seen enough desperate women to recognize one."Her cheeks burned at his words, and she held the towel tighter around herself. The raw truth in his observation stung more than she expected.Freya's phone buzzed in her hand. Stephanie's name lit up the screen:"Investors are flooding the office about the stock market rise. How should I respond to all their calls, Ma'am?"Freya stared at the message, her mind scattered. Usually, she knew exactly what to do - it was what made her such a good VP of operations. But now, sitting here in Mark's borrowed shirt, she couldn't focus. Even good news felt overwhelming.Her fingers hovered over the phone screen. The company needed her. The investors wanted to talk. But her thoughts kept spinning out of confusion. In the kitchen, the humming sound of the co

  • The Billionaire's Price   CHAPTER 4- The Tough Decision

    Freya's anger carried her straight to her father's study, her heels striking the polished floors like hammer blows. She threw open the heavy wooden doors, ready for battle. The scent of leather and old books – usually so comforting – now felt suffocating. "How dare you use David to manipulate me! After everything he did—”Mr Peterson Hart didn't even look up from his desk. Instead, he simply pushed a document toward her, the paper sliding across the smooth surface of his massive desk. The casual gesture stopped her mid-sentence.Her hands shook as she picked up the papers. The title made her heart skip: "Transfer of Ownership - Hart's Wine Corporation.""I've signed the company over to you," her father said quietly, finally meeting her eyes. "Everything you've ever wanted. All it needs is my final approval."Freya's heart pounded against her ribs. The family company – her dream since childhood, the legacy she'd worked toward her entire life – was right there in black and white. But sh

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