POV Floris
“Why the hell are you creeping into my room?”
My voice was sharper than intended, but he didn’t react. Not with anger. Not even with that cold smirk he usually wore when I snapped.
Just a quiet step forward, slow and unhurried, like he already knew I wouldn’t run. Like he didn’t need speed when control was his currency.
“I’m here,” he said, his voice so low it felt like silk against my nerves, “to reward you.”
My arms fell. “Reward me?”
A pause. His eyes scanned me like he was reading a line of code he’d written himself. “For being such a good girl.”
I blinked. “I don’t—”
“For doing what I trained you to do,” he continued, each word a slow blade. “Observe. Adapt. Disobey when it matters.”
“That wasn’t—” I started, heat flushing my cheeks, but the rest of the sentence never made it out.
His tone sharpened. “Kneel.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. It wasn’t a request. It was the law.
And before I could even process the absurdity of it—before logic could remind me to be outraged—my knees hit the floor like they belonged there.
No resistance. No inner debate. Just a primal submission that came from somewhere far below pride.
The tile was cool under my skin. My spine straightened instinctively. Hands on thighs, palms up. Chin down. Heart screaming.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I looked up at him through my lashes, stunned by my own obedience.
And there it was. The smile.
Not warm. Not cruel. Just full of power. Like he’d flipped a switch in me and found it exactly where he expected.
He moved closer, and his thumb brushed my jaw—soft, reverent, almost affectionate in a way that made my throat close up. “You know what to do.”
My lips parted, dry and aching, breath hitching somewhere between shame and something hungrier. A heat coiled in my belly so fast I couldn’t hide it, and I hated that he saw.
“Eric—” I whispered, the word barely air.
His voice dropped, almost tender. “Open.”
And I did the second before he unzipped his pants with that maddening slowness, dragging his cock out like a dare. When he stepped closer, I could smell the crisp scent of him—salt, spice and control.
His hand tangled in my hair, guiding me with calm authority as he pressed himself between my lips.
Thick. Heavy and already rock-hard. He filled my mouth before I even fully adjusted, and when I gagged slightly, he groaned.
“Eyes on me,” he ordered.
I looked up, lashes wet, cheeks burning, saliva slicking my chin as he began to move—controlled thrusts that grew deeper, slower, rougher.
My throat tightened around him, and I moaned, the vibration making his fingers grip harder in my hair.
“Fuck, Floris,” he breathed. “You look like sin with my cock in that pretty little mouth of yours.”
He pulled out with a wet pop, and I gasped for air. My legs shook as he hauled me up with no effort at all and threw me onto the bed.
I barely had time to land before his palm smacked down across my ass—hard, stinging, a sharp reminder of who I belonged to. “On all fours.”
I scrambled to obey, hands fisting in the sheets, heart galloping like I’d run miles. My dress was shoved up around my hips in one motion.
No more patience. No more teasing.
I felt him behind me, hot and hard, tip nudging my entrance. “Eric—” I gasped, but he didn’t wait.
He shoved in with one brutal thrust, making me scream into the mattress.
He was thick—too thick perhaps—and the stretch knocked the wind out of me. Every inch of him split me open like he owned the space, like I was just something built to hold him.
His hips snapped forward again, deeper this time. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Could only feel.
“You’re soaked,” he growled. “All that attitude, but this cunt tells the truth.”
My fingers clawed at the sheets as he started pounding into me from behind, hard and fast and unrelenting. The bed creaked beneath us, the headboard slammed against the wall, and I could hear myself—moaning, whimpering, gasping his name.
“Say it,” he demanded, voice ragged.
“I— Oh god, Eric—”
“Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I cried, sobbing with how badly I needed to fall apart. “I’m yours— Please, I’m—”
The door slammed open and we froze in our place.
Sia stood in the frame, frozen. Silent. Her eyes locked on us, wide with something between horror and disbelief.
No clever remark. No venom-laced insult. Just… stunned silence. Like her brain couldn’t process what she was seeing.
My face buried into the pillow, breath caught in my throat—not from shame, not even from the obscene fullness of Eric still buried inside me—but from the weight of her stare.
That sharp, clinical gaze I’d seen dissect boardrooms now cut straight through my spine.
But Eric didn’t stop, he didn’t even slow down. He turned his head slightly, voice calm. “Close the door.”
Her fingers twitched at her sides. Still no words.
“Sia,” he said again, still moving inside me like her presence meant nothing, “close the fucking door.”
She blinked. Swallowed. Then turned and shut it. The click echoed like a gunshot.
He leaned over me, his breath warmly in my ear. “I told you I’d reward you,” he whispered. “I never said it would be clean.”