Chapter 10: Claiming What's His
He pressed her front against the same cool, burgundy wallpaper, his body covering hers completely. The textured surface was familiar against her cheek now, a stage for a different scene. "He wanted you like this," Scott murmured, his voice a low vibration against her ear, his hands pinning her wrists lightly to the wall.
She could only nod, the silk of her dress rough where it was twisted at her waist. His knee nudged her legs apart. "And you're drenched for me." The blunt head of his cock found her, a hot, insistent pressure where the stranger had failed. There was no fumble, no awkward push—only a slow, deliberate invasion as he sank into her fully.
A ragged moan tore from Alyssa's throat, her back arching as he filled her. He stayed there, buried to the hilt, letting her feel the exact, claiming stretch. "That's it," he breathed. He pulled back almost all the way, then drove into her again, hard and deep, setting a relentless, punishing rhythm.
The wall shuddered with each thrust."Whose?" he grunted, his grip tightening on her wrists. "Mine," she gasped, the word broken against the plaster. He fucked her with a controlled ferocity that erased every phantom touch, every ghost of the other man’s hands. Her moans built, loud and shameless, a stark contrast to her earlier silence.
"It was always mine," Scott growled, his own control fraying. She came with a sharp cry, her body clenching around him in pulsating waves. He followed, a final, deep thrust, a low groan lost in her hair as he spilled inside her.
For a long minute, they stayed like that, breathing in the shared heat. Scott released her wrists, his hands sliding to her hips, steadying her. He eased out of her, and she sagged against the wall, spent. He smoothed her dress down, his touch now tender, almost apologetic. "Let's go home," he said quietly, turning her to face him.
Her eyes were clear, the earlier shock replaced by a soft, settled weariness. She nodded, letting him guide her out of the alcove. The bar’s main room felt like another world, bright and indifferent. He kept an arm around her, shielding her from the light, as they walked toward the elevators, leaving the shadowed corner and its echoes behind.
He kept an arm around her, shielding her from the light, as they walked toward the elevators, leaving the shadowed corner and its echoes behind. The ride up was silent, the mirrored walls reflecting their dishevelment—her smudged lipstick, his calm, assessing gaze that never left her. Back in the suite, with the door closed and the fire reduced to embers, he poured her a glass of water and watched her drink.
“Here,” he said, taking the empty glass. He smoothed her hair back from her face, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “Ever been with a girl?”
Alyssa blinked, the question cutting through the lingering haze. “No,” she said, the word clear. “Never.”
“But you want to try.” His statement held no judgment, only a quiet curiosity.
She felt a new heat rise to her cheeks, different from before. “Yeah,” she admitted, looking down at her hands. “I think I do.” She finally lifted her eyes back to his, searching for a reaction. His expression was inscrutable, thoughtful, like he was filing the information away in some strategic part of his mind.
“Okay,” Scott said simply. He pulled out his phone, its screen casting a pale blue light on his face. Twenty minutes later, a soft knock echoed through the suite. He answered the door, and a young woman with sleek black hair and a polite, professional smile stepped inside. She was beautiful, dressed in a simple but elegant shift dress. Scott introduced her as Kiara. Alyssa watched from the sofa, her heart beating a strange, syncopated rhythm as Kiara’s gaze found hers, curious and kind, waiting for a cue in the opulent room.
“Kiara, this is Alyssa,” Scott said, his voice softening into something more casual. “We go way back.” He gestured toward Alyssa. “Kiara has been instrumental with some local connections. Knowing the right people gets things done in this city.”
He turned slightly to Alyssa, filling in the simple blank he’d left. “She’s helped us, generally speaking.” He then moved toward the bar. He lingered by the whisky decanter, pouring himself a fresh glass of ashy, expensive scotch. Taking only a small nip, his eyes were careful as they held the glass toward the small fire in the next room. Alyssa stood up to shake Kiara’s hand hello, her incredible body moving delicately. The ivory silk dress, still faintly creased from the alcove, clung to her body like a second skin. He saw Kiara's eyes flit up and down, a practitioner's assessment rather than a rival's. The dishevelment evident, the outline of firm skin under the silk, made the energy in the opulent room change.
“It’s nice to meet you, Alyssa,” Kiara said, her handshake firm and brief. Alyssa’s pulse jumped; the feeling of the stranger's liquor-damp palms was not far from her own skin. Her eyes skimmed quickly over Kiara’s toned physique, taking in the sleek dress and confident posture in the brightly lit hall. “Scott mentioned you might be... exploring something new tonight.”
exploring something new tonight.”
Kiara’s smile was easier now, less professional and more genuine. She was only a little older than Alyssa, maybe twenty-three. She was a gorgeous blonde, built like a swimsuit model with broad shoulders, a tiny waist, and a muscular, sculpted ass. She was just a taller, more polished version of Alyssa herself.
“This silk is incredible,” Kiara said, her voice smooth. She stepped closer, not waiting for permission, and ran her hand along Alyssa’s stomach. Her palm was warm through the thin material. Alyssa held her breath, the touch a shocking contrast to the man’s violent grappling in the alcove.
From her small clutch, Kiara produced a tiny, colorfully wrapped tablet. “Here,” she said, placing it in Alyssa’s palm. “Wait till you see how this dress feels in fifteen minutes.” She gave Alyssa’s hand a little squeeze before letting go.
Then she turned and tossed two more of the tablets, wrapped in sparkling blue foil, to Scott. He caught them without looking, his fist closing around them with a faint crinkle. He watched Alyssa, his expression unreadable. “Your choice,” he said, his voice quiet in the firelit room.
Alyssa looked at the small pill in her hand, then at Scott, then at Kiara’s expectant face. The memory of the alcove, of his reclamation, was a fresh bruise on her mind. This felt like the next logical step off a cliff she’d already chosen to jump from. She popped the pill into her mouth and dry-swallowed, her eyes locked on Scott’s.
“Good girl,” Kiara murmured, her approval a soft hum. She took Alyssa’s hand and led her toward the sprawling sectional sofa, the leather cool against the backs of Alyssa’s thighs as she sat. Scott remained by the fire, watching, a silent sentinel to whatever was about to unfold.
Kiara settled beside her, their knees touching. “Just breathe,” she said. “It’s a gentle roll. It just makes everything... more.” She traced the neckline of Alyssa’s dress with a single finger. “You’ll feel every thread.”
Alyssa nodded, her mouth dry. The first sensation was a subtle warmth in her chest, a loosening in her joints. Then the silk against her skin began to shift. It wasn’t just fabric anymore; it was a liquid whisper, a cascade of tiny, cool kisses over her shoulders, her arms, the sensitive curve of her breasts.
“Oh,” Alyssa breathed, her head falling back against the cushions. The firelight wasn't just light; it was a golden syrup pouring over the room, coating the ornate furniture and making Kiara’s blonde hair glow like a halo. She looked over at Scott, who was unwrapping one of the blue tablets.
He met her gaze and swallowed his. A small, almost imperceptible nod passed between them. This was part of the plan, another layer of the experience he was curating for her. For them. Kiara’s hand found hers again, lacing their fingers together. “See?” she said.
” she said.
The world sharpened, then softened at the edges, as warmth radiated from Alyssa's core to her fingertips. Every thread of the silk now felt individually alive against her, humming a percussive rhythm against her skin that matched the gentle, internal click of her own synapses opening. The anxiety from the alcove, the cold plaster, the bruising grip—it all dissolved into a distant memory, unimportant noise in this new, radiant frequency.
She looked at Kiara, and her features were impossibly clear, each lash distinct, the subtle blue flecks in her grey eyes like tiny galaxies. Alyssa could hear her own heartbeat, a steady, reassuring drum, and beneath it, the whisper of Kiara's breath. The desire to touch, to connect, to understand that smooth skin not as a rival's but as another beautiful territory, became a physical need in her hands.
Her fingertips tingled. Without thought, without asking, she reached out. Her palms found the soft, heavy weight of Kiara's breasts through the sleek material of her dress, curious and firm. Kiara exhaled, a soft, surrendering sound, and her body relaxed into the touch, pliant and welcoming. She leaned forward, closing the small distance between them.
Her lips met Alyssa's. The kiss was nothing like Scott's reclamation in the hallway; it was explorative, sweet, a sharing of warmth and the faint, chemical cherry taste lingering on their tongues. Kiara's hands came up to cradle Alyssa's face, her thumbs stroking her cheeks as the kiss deepened.
Alyssa melted into it, her hands moving over Kiara’s shoulders, down her back, learning the architecture of her. Scott watched from his chair by the fire, the amber glow painting one side of his impassive face. He took a slow sip of his scotch, the ice silent in the profound quiet of the room, his eyes tracking the gentle, escalating dance on the sofa.
Kiara guided Alyssa down until she was lying back against the cushions, their bodies pressed together along their full length. The kiss broke for a moment, and Kiara looked down at her, a smile touching her lips. "You're beautiful," she whispered, the words sounding profound and true in the charged air.
"Feel this," Kiara murmured, taking Alyssa's hand and sliding it under the hem of her own dress, guiding it up the smooth, muscular plane of her thigh. Alyssa's breath caught at the heat, the firm strength beneath the skin, so different from her own. In return, Kiara's fingers found the zipper at the back of Alyssa's silk dress.
The sound was loud in the quiet room. The dress loosened, and Kiara eased it down over Alyssa's shoulders, peeling the whisper-soft fabric away until it pooled around her waist. The cool air kissed her skin, raising goosebumps that were immediately soothed by the warmth of Kiara's hands and mouth. Kiara kissed a trail from her collarbone down to the firm curve of her breast, her tongue circling a nipple that hardened instantly.
A low, involuntary sound of pleasure escaped Alyssa’s throat. She arched into the contact, her own fingers tangling in Kiara's blonde hair, not guiding, just holding. Her other hand explored the sleek fabric covering Kiara's back, feeling the muscles move beneath. It was a conversation without words, a slow, shared unraveling that was both alien and deeply, instinctively familiar.
Scott set his glass down on the side table with a soft, definitive click. The sound was a punctuation mark in the room's new rhythm. He stood, a shadow detaching itself from the firelight, and walked silently to the edge of the sofa. He looked down at them, at the contrast of Kiara's golden hair against Alyssa's bare, pale skin, at the focused intimacy of their touch.
He didn't speak. Instead, he reached out and ran the back of his fingers slowly down the length of Alyssa's exposed side, from her armpit to the crest of her hip. The touch was proprietary, a reminder of his presence in the shared space. Alyssa's eyes, heavy-lidded, fluttered open and found his. Her lips were swollen, her expression one of dazed, open wonder. She gave him a small, private smile, an acknowledgment that she knew he was there, witnessing this gift he had orchestrated.
Seeing that smile, Scott nodded, once. He retreated, settling back into his chair, a silent king observing a rite he had commissioned. His withdrawal was permission for them to continue, to forget him again. Kiara, sensing the shift, deepened her attention, her mouth moving lower, her hands sliding the silk the rest of the way down Alyssa's legs until it was completely discarded on the floor.
Her skin felt electrified, every point of contact sending bright, clean signal flares to her brain. Kiara’s mouth was on her stomach, her navel, and Alyssa’s hips lifted off the cushion in silent, aching invitation. Scott’s surveillance reports, Chad’ pathetic searches, the cold threat assessment—all of it was atoms away, meaningless static. There was only this expanding warmth, this stunning vulnerability, and the exquisite, gentle pressure of Kiara's tongue finally, slowly, finding its way home.
Alyssa cried out, a sound of pure, shattered surprise that echoed softly in the high-ceilinged room. Her back arched, a perfect, tense bow, and her hands clenched in the sofa's leather. Wave after wave of sensation, brighter and clearer than any she'd known before, washed through her, leaving her trembling and breathless. Kiara rose, her own face flushed, and kissed Alyssa deeply, letting her taste herself on Kiara's lips.
Breathless and shimmering, Alyssa pulled back, her hazel eyes wide. "I want you to feel that," she breathed, her voice raw with empathy and the drug's forced connection. Her hands went to the straps of Kiara's dress, her movements clumsy with urgency and wonder.
"Show me," Kiara whispered, sitting up to help her, shrugging the dress off her shoulders until she was just as bare. The firelight played over the sculpted landscape of her body, the defined muscles of her abdomen and shoulders a testament to a different kind of discipline than Alyssa's. Alyssa stared, captivated, then pushed gently until Kiara was lying back.
She mirrored the path Kiara had taken, her kisses slower, more awestruck, learning the texture and taste of this new skin. Her hands roamed over Kiara's tight stomach, the dramatic flair of her hips, the powerful lines of her thighs. When she finally lowered her head between Kiara's legs, she did so with a reverent curiosity, guided by instinct and the palpable, shuddering feedback from Kiara's body.
Kiara’s moan was a low, resonant thing that vibrated through the cushions. Her fingers threaded through Alyssa’s brown waves, not pushing, just holding on as Alyssa learned her rhythm. From his chair, Scott watched the transformation on Alyssa’s face—the intense focus, the parted lips, the flicker of her eyelashes as she listened to the sounds she was pulling from another woman. It was a different kind of power she was wielding, one of generous, focused giving.
He felt the MDMA’s own effects now, a softening of his internal edges, a heightened visual clarity that made the scene before him feel like a meticulously composed painting. The emotional calculus that usually governed his mind—the threat assessments, the layers of control—quieted into a placid, observational pool. He saw not just the act, but the profound trust Alyssa had displayed in him to let this happen, to allow herself to be this open, this new.
Kiara’s climax was a silent, tensing event, her body going rigid before a long, shuddering release melted her into the leather. Alyssa rose, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, a look of triumphant, soft wonder on her face. She crawled back up the sofa and collapsed beside Kiara, their bodies curling together naturally, skin to skin, a tangle of warm limbs and quiet, satiated breathing.
She crawled back up the sofa and collapsed beside Kiara, their bodies curling together naturally, skin to skin, a tangle of warm limbs and quiet, satiated breathing. After a few minutes, the shared warmth between them shifted from a contented glow into something more intent. Alyssa turned her head, her lips brushing Kiara's ear. "You've been with him before?" she whispered, the words a shared secret in the dim light. She hesitated a fraction, then added, her voice even softer, "Have you ever... fucked him?"
Kiara pulled back just enough to meet Alyssa’s gaze. She shook her head once, a slow, definitive no, her grey eyes holding a flicker of something unreadable, like professional courtesy or genuine surprise. A smile, conspiratorial and gentle, touched Alyssa's lips. She whispered again, her breath a ghost against Kiara’s skin, and this time Kiara’s expression shifted, her eyebrows raising slightly before she nodded in agreement.
In a synchronized, languid motion, they untangled their limbs. On hands and knees they moved together, a silent, fluid procession across the deep carpet towards Scott’s chair. He watched them come, his head resting against the leather, his body relaxed but his eyes tracking their every movement with a kind of suspended expectation.
Alyssa reached him first, her fingers going to his belt with a focused determination that was not clumsy. Kiara's hands settled at his waist, mirroring her actions. The metallic rasp of his belt buckle seemed louder in the room's static hum. The button of his slacks was unfastened, the zipper purred down.
They freed his hard cock. The firelight played across his rigid flesh. Without a word spoken, Alyssa leaned forward, her tongue tracing the length of him slowly.
Without a word spoken, Alyssa leaned forward, her tongue tracing the length of him slowly. The taste was clean skin and salt, entirely different from the stranger in the alcove, and a soft sound of pure satisfaction vibrated in her throat. Kiara watched for a moment, her head tilted, then she bent her own head and took him into her mouth with a confident, practiced ease that made Alyssa’s eyes widen.
“Oh, wow,” Alyssa breathed, pausing to watch the other woman work. The sight was profoundly more intimate than she’d imagined it would be.
Scott’s hand came down, not to guide, but to rest heavily on each of their heads, his fingers splaying in their hair. A low groan rumbled from his chest, the first real break in his composed silence since they’d returned to the suite. The drug in his system translated the dual sensation into something hyper-clear and layered: the wet, eager heat of Alyssa’s inexperienced but devoted attention, and the smooth, knowing rhythm of Kiara’s technique.
“Switch,” Kiara murmured, pulling off with a wet sound. She didn’t wait, just gently guided Alyssa’s head to where she had been, then took over the slow,舔舐 path Alyssa had started. Alyssa moaned around him, the vibration drawing another sharp hiss from Scott. They found a rhythm between them, a silent, sharing collaboration, their hands brushing against each other as they moved.
The fire cracked, spitting a ember onto the hearth. Scott’s grip in their hair tightened, just for a second, a spasm of pure feeling. “Enough,” he said, the word thick. He pulled them both up by their hair, not harshly, but with an undeniable force. Their faces were flushed, lips slick and parted, eyes reflecting the fire’s wild dance.
He stood, pulling them with him toward the large, low table in front of the sofa. With a sweep of his arm, he cleared the crystal decanter and glasses to the carpet with a muffled thud. “Kiara,” he said, his voice a command. He nodded toward the table’s edge.
Understanding flashed in Kiara’s eyes. She hopped up onto the polished mahogany, leaning back on her elbows, her body a gorgeous, willing arch. Scott turned to Alyssa, his gaze holding hers. “You first.” He guided her, his hands on her hips, turning her to face Kiara. “Remember what you just learned.”
Alyssa’s heart hammered against her ribs. She looked at Kiara, who gave her an encouraging, sly smile. “Come here, gorgeous,” Kiara said, her voice a husky invite. The MDMA wrapped the moment in a bubble of fearless connection. Alyssa bent, kissing Kiara deeply as she positioned herself between her legs, the world narrowing to the shared taste and the approving sound Kiara made into her mouth.
Behind her, she felt Scott’s hands, warm and certain, on the curves of her ass. He guided himself into her with a single, slow thrust that stole her breath from Kiara’s lips. Alyssa cried out, the feeling of being filled while her mouth was otherwise occupied overwhelmingly complex and perfect. He began to move, a deep, rolling pace that pushed her forward with each stroke.
Kiara reached up, her hands curling around Alyssa’s shoulders, holding her close. “That’s it,” Kiara whispered against her cheek, her own breath coming faster. “Just feel it.” Alyssa obeyed, losing herself in the dual sensation—the softness under her hands and mouth, the hard, driving force behind her. The slick sounds of their bodies mingling filled the space between the pops of the fire.
Scott’s pace intensified, his control yielding to a more urgent need. His thumbs dug into the muscles of Alyssa’s hips, anchoring her. The tableau was one of his precise design, yet he was now a participant, caught in its current. He watched Alyssa’s back flex, saw the sheen of sweat form on her skin in the firelight, heard the broken, pleasured sounds muffled against Kiara’s body.
“My turn,” Kiara gasped, her hips lifting. Scott understood. He pulled out of Alyssa, who whimpered at the sudden emptiness. He guided her gently to the side, where she slumped against the sofa, watching with heavy-lidded, awe-struck eyes.
Kiara flipped onto her stomach with a fluid grace, looking back over her shoulder. Scott took her without ceremony, one hand braced on the table, the other fisted in her blonde hair. This was different—harder, faster, a driven punctuation to the earlier languor. The table creaked a steady protest against the wall.
Alyssa watched, her hand drifting between her own legs, mesmerized by the raw power of it, by the complete abandonment on Kiara’s face. This was what he could do. This was the force he contained. Scott’s gaze found hers over Kiara’s shoulder, and the connection was electric, a silent acknowledgment that she was witnessing a part of him, too.
His movements became shorter, sharper. With a final, deep grind, he stilled, a stifled groan ripped from his throat. He held there for a long moment, his head bowed, before slowly pulling away.
Silence descended, broken only by their ragged breathing. Kiara lay still on the table, a beautiful, spent figure. Scott righted his clothes, his movements regaining their usual economical precision, though his breath was still not quite even. He walked to Alyssa, crouching down in front of her where she sat on the floor.
He didn’t speak. He simply took her face in his hands, his thumbs wiping at the smudges on her cheeks. He studied her eyes, reading the aftermath of the chemicals, the sex, the surrender. She leaned into his touch, utterly porous.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough.