Chapter 3: Elevator Showdown
The elevator doors hissed shut, sealing them in a tomb of polished steel and low light. Cassandra stood rigid in the corner, her perfume clashing with the scent of Zac’s cologne and Fatima’s sweat. “A malfunction,” Cassandra said, her voice thin. “It’ll be a moment.”
Zac never looked at her. His eyes were on Fatima, dark as a storm. “Come here.” It wasn’t a request. He turned Fatima to face the mirrored wall, her back to his front, his hands heavy on her hips. Over her shoulder, his reflection locked onto Cassandra’s. “Watch,” he told Cassandra, his voice flat.
He pushed Fatima’s skirt up, his fingers hooking into the lace of her panties. She gasped as he tore them down her thighs. The humid air kissed her exposed skin. His belt buckle clicked open, the zipper a rough sound. He entered her in one slow, claiming stroke, filling her utterly. A choked sound escaped Fatima’s lips. Behind them, Cassandra breathed in sharply.
“You see this?” Zac growled, his pace agonizingly deliberate, each deep thrust rocking Fatima against the cold railing. He never blinked, his green eyes holding Cassandra’s horrified gaze in the mirror. Fatima’s moans built, helpless and hot. “This is mine.” His hand fisted in Fatima’s hair, arching her back. “Say it.”
“Yours,” Fatima whimpered, the word shattered by his rhythm. Pleasure coiled, tight and inevitable. “Zac, please—” His thrusts turned brutal, punishing, a public brand. Cassandra’s reflection showed perfect, frozen fury. Fatima screamed, her climax tearing through her as Zac slammed home, his own release a hot curse against her neck. The elevator hummed, still climbing.
He pulled her from the chair, his hand a vise on her wrist, and marched them both out of the stunned bar without a backward glance. The elevator doors closed on Cassandra’s shattered expression and the murmur of speculative voices. Inside the mirrored box, he pushed her against the wall, his body caging hers, his breath hot on her neck. "You see what you do?" he rasped, his erection pressing insistently against her thigh through his trousers. "You make me ruin everything."
The penthouse suite door hadn't fully closed behind them before he had her blouse open, buttons scattering across the marble foyer. He bit her shoulder, a sharp, punishing claim. "I can still smell him on you from that fucking bar," he lied, his voice thick with a jealousy that had no root. His hands shoved her trousers and underwear down in one rough motion. "Bend over that table." She obeyed, the cold glass a shock against her bare stomach. He didn't bother undressing fully, just freed himself and drove into her with a single, brutal stroke. She cried out, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth surface. "You take all of it," he grunted, setting a ruthless, driving rhythm. Each thrust rocked her whole body forward. "Every fucking inch." She was so wet, the slick, obscene sound of their joining filling the quiet room. He gripped her hips hard, his fingers digging into the bruises he’d made earlier, owning what was already his. "Come for me," he demanded, his hand snaking around to press against her clit. "Now." Her climax tore through her, sharp and involuntary, a raw scream torn from her throat. He followed