Chapter 4: A Confession.
The disconnect tone from the Hawks call hung in the air, a silent accomplice. Christian stared at the blank screen, Isaac’s knowing smirk etched behind his eyes. The victory was a live wire in his chest, sizzling and unspent. It needed a ground.
He turned his head slowly. Lana was still on her knees, wiping her chin with the back of her hand, watching him with a look that was equal parts challenge and invitation. The foil wrapper in his pocket seemed to burn, but the triumph burned hotter. He felt invincible.
“Stand up,” he said, his voice rough.
She rose, smooth as smoke, her skirt falling back into place. Before she could speak, he was out of his chair. The rush from closing the deal, from dominating Isaac while being serviced under the desk, was a drug in his veins. He fumbled with his belt, his fingers clumsy with adrenaline, and freed his cock. It was still wet from her mouth, thick and full.
“Get back on your knees,” he commanded, pushing her shoulder down. “Now.”
She went down without resistance, a dark fire in her eyes. He stepped forward, guiding himself past her lips. The second his head touched her tongue, he shoved his hips forward, fucking into her mouth in one deep, relentless stroke. She gagged, her hands flying up to grip his thighs, but he didn’t let her adjust.
He set a brutal, fast pace, using her mouth like a cunt, his balls slapping against her chin. “That was so fucking hot, baby,” he grunted, looking down at her, watching her mascara smear as her eyes watered. “Sucking me off while I closed a multi-million dollar deal. You’re a perfect fucking whore.”
He fucked her face for another minute, the wet, sloppy sounds filling the silent office, then pulled out with a pop. Her lipstick was ruined, spit trailing from her swollen lips. “Get naked. Everything.”
He stepped back, tearing at his own clothes, his shirt buttons pinging off the mahogany desk, his trousers a puddle at his feet. She stood, her movements deliberate, and unbuttoned her blouse. She let it fall, then unhooked her bra, her heavy breasts swaying free. She pushed her skirt and panties down her hips in one motion, kicking them aside until she stood naked before him, utterly unashamed.
“Turn around,” he said, his gaze devouring her. “Bend over. Put your hands on the desk.”
She complied, presenting the full, round curve of her ass, still faintly pink from his earlier grip. He stepped close, running his hands over the warm skin, groaning. “I love this ass,” he muttered, aligning himself. “I love fucking you when you’re bent over like this. When I can see everything I’m taking.”
He didn’t wait. He pushed into her pussy in one hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt. She cried out, her back arching. He was on her immediately, a man possessed, fucking her with a hard, piston-like rhythm that had the desk shuddering across the floor. The high from the deal was a freight train, and he was riding it straight into her.
“You feel that?” he panted, his hands gripping her hips so tight his knuckles were white. “That’s what winning feels like. I want to cum in you so bad, Lana. I’m gonna fill you up.”
He brought his hand down on her ass in a sharp, stinging slap. The sound cracked through the room. A bright red handprint bloomed on her skin. She gasped, then moaned, pushing back against him. He did it again, and again, leaving overlapping welts, each smack driving him deeper into her wet, clutching heat.
“¡Sí, papi, más duro!” she screamed, her words fracturing. “Fuck me! Fuck your puta! ¡Estoy tan cerca!”
He was a machine, fucking her fast and hard, every thought obliterated by the slap of skin and her frantic pleas. He felt her internal muscles begin to flutter and spasm around his cock, a frantic, rhythmic pulsing. “Cum for me,” he demanded, driving into her. “Do it. Squirt all over my fucking cock.”
Her body went rigid. A broken, sobbing cry ripped from her throat as her climax hit, and a hot gush of liquid sprayed from her, drenching his balls and thighs. The feeling of her coming apart, of her losing all control, shattered his own restraint.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, his rhythm breaking into frantic, shallow thrusts. With a guttural roar, he plunged deep and came, pumping his release into her in thick, pulsing jets. He collapsed over her back, his sweat-slicked skin sticking to hers, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
After a moment, he softened inside her and gently pulled out. He turned her around to face him. Her eyes were glazed, triumphant. He kissed her, hard. “I love cumming in you,” he whispered against her mouth. “I love marking you. Filling you up.”
She nuzzled into his neck, her voice a hoarse, satisfied murmur. “Siento tu leche dentro de mí, papi,” she sighed. “I can feel your load deep in my cunt. It’s so hot. Don’t ever pull out. Not ever.”
Not ever.”
The words hung between them in the humid, spent air. He was still inside her, softening, their sweat cooling where their bodies met. Christian looked down at her, at the dark curls stuck to her forehead, the defiant gleam in her eye that was now softened by something dangerously close to affection. The animal frenzy of the last hour was receding, and in its wake, a startling clarity rushed in. The deal was closed. The world was his. And she was here, real and warm and his in a way nothing else was.
He pulled her close, his hands framing her face, and kissed her. It wasn’t like the others—driven by hunger, anger, or strategic need. It was deep, searching, and shockingly tender. He tasted himself on her lips, and the possessiveness it ignited was calm, certain.
When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against hers. “I’m going to leave Taylor,” he said, the words leaving him like a long-held breath. There was no grand pronouncement, just a flat, factual statement that seemed to solidify in the space between them. “I want to be with you.”
Lana’s eyes widened, just for a second, the calculative gleam momentarily eclipsed by pure, unguarded surprise. Then her expression melted into a radiant, triumphant softness. She kissed him again, slowly, her tongue sweeping into his mouth with a new promise.
“I want to be with you, too,” she whispered, the words vibrating against his lips. She said it like a secret, like a prize she’d finally been handed. She held his gaze, her brown eyes luminous. “I have for a long time.”
They disentangled themselves, the physical separation feeling strangely formal after such profound intimacy. He found his trousers and shirt; she gathered her scattered blouse and skirt. They dressed in a silence that was neither awkward nor comfortable, but charged with the new, fragile reality they’d just spoken into existence. He watched her hook her bra, smooth her skirt, repin her hair with quick, efficient motions. She was rebuilding her armor, but now, he felt, she was doing it for him.
She gave him one last, slow look, a small, private smile playing on her lips. Then she turned and left, the door clicking shut behind her with a sound of finality that now felt like a beginning.
Alone, Christian righted his chair and sank into it. He spun slowly to face the massive window. The afternoon sun blasted through the glass, turning the skyscrapers into blazing, golden pillars. The city grid stretched out below, a circuit board of infinite possibility. He felt a surge of pure, undiluted power. He had taken what he wanted from the deal, from her, from the day. He felt, in that moment, like he owned every blinking light, every moving car, every silent, ticking heart in the metropolis below.
Then something hit him.
A cold, precise thought, slicing through the warmth of his euphoria. His hand went to his trouser pocket, almost of its own volition. His fingers closed not on his phone or his keys, but on a small, crumpled piece of refuse.
He pulled it out, smoothing the foil on his blotter under the flat, accusing sunlight.
It was the torn corner of the pregnancy test box. The one that wasn’t his. The one she’d left behind, or maybe planted. Its metallic surface winked at him, a tiny, silent bomb on the polished mahogany, its implications now screaming in the quiet room.