Chapter Text
"Do you know that man?" Jill shouted over the music, nudging you with her elbow as the bass thudded through the crowded club. Her voice was loud, but it still nearly disappeared beneath the pulse of the speakers and the laughter around you. "He’s been staring this way for a while now."
You followed her gaze. On the other side of the bar, in a quieter, dimly lit corner, a small group of men and women sat clustered together, deep in conversation. Most of them leaned toward each other, animated and distracted, but one of them didn’t quite fit. One man sat slightly apart, his posture composed, almost deliberate. His attention didn’t seem to linger on the people beside him.
It was on you. Or at least, that was how it felt. The glasses resting on the bridge of his nose made it difficult to tell for sure. For all you knew, Jill might have been imagining it. And yet… there was something unmistakable about the way his head was angled, the stillness of him compared to the others. Even through the lenses, you could feel the weight of his gaze. He was dressed in a black suit; tailored, far too formal for a place like this. It gave him an edge that was both intimidating and oddly magnetic. There was something faintly unsettling about him… and yet undeniably attractive.
You curved your lips into a small, dismissive smile. "I don’t think so," you said, keeping your tone light. "You’re probably reading too much into it." Jill turned to you with a grin, eyes sparkling with mischief. "I’d bet a hundred bucks he’s watching you."
You raised an eyebrow, amused. "And if you’re wrong?" She crossed her arms confidently. "Then I’ll pay up. I keep my promises."
You laughed softly, shaking your head. There was a warmth in your chest as you leaned closer to her. "Deal," you said, meeting her grin. Despite yourself, you felt a flicker of anticipation, your heartbeat just a little faster than before.
Before you could reply, she elbowed you again, sharper this time. "Hey! he’s getting up." You glanced back toward the bar. The man had risen from his seat and was now speaking with one of the staff members.
You exhaled and shook your head, turning away. "Drop it, Jill," you said, already pulling her back toward the dance floor. "If the manager catches us standing around instead of dancing, he’ll give us another one hour lecture like last time."
Jill laughed as she let herself be dragged along. Still, just before the music swallowed you again, you couldn’t help stealing one last glance over your shoulder only to find that, this time you were absolutely certain his attention had been on you all along.
You pulled your gaze away from the man at the bar, letting the moment slip, and drifted away from Jill toward the dance floor. The crowd thickened as you stepped into the open space, bodies moving in loose rhythms beneath the low lights. A slower song began to play smooth.
This part time job as a dancer at one of the city’s most famous and most expensive bars had slowly turned into something more than a distraction. It had become a habit. A release. Never once had the money been what mattered to you. The tips, the paychecks, the luxury of the place... all of it was secondary. What kept pulling you back was something far more personal.
Your life felt split cleanly in two, almost like it belonged to two different people. One version of you existed from morning until evening; controlled, invisible. and the other came alive after midnight.
By day, you worked as a pharmaceutical chemist at one of Umbrella’s branches, a position you had held for several years. You were good at it, more than good. Skilled enough to earn a generous salary, respected enough to be trusted with complex formulations and sensitive compounds. Your days were spent inside sterile laboratories, surrounded by glassware and machines, carefully measuring compounds, monitoring reactions, documenting results with exacting detail. Every movement had to be calculated. Every mistake could ruin weeks of work.
It was quiet work. Isolated work. Hours spent standing beneath harsh white lights, gloved hands moving with precision, eyes focused on color changes, molecular stability, and purity levels. No applause. No voices calling your name. Just silence, broken only by the hum of equipment and the scratch of a pen against paper.
It paid well... but it never fulfilled you.
You weren’t made to fade into the background, to exist unnoticed behind lab coats and safety glass. Your soul ached for something warmer. Louder. For eyes on you. For presence.
You had discovered that hunger by accident. One night, sitting alone in this bar one night, a dancer had been unable to perform. The song that started playing happened to be one of your favorites something instinctive took over. With a brief word to the bar manager, you stepped onto the floor.
And suddenly, everything changed.
The way people watched you. The way hands came together in applause. The admiration in their eyes as you moved without thinking, letting the music guide you instead of rules or protocols. It was intoxicating. Like a door you hadn’t known existed had been thrown wide open.
From that night on, the world no longer felt entirely gray. Dancing gave color back to your life gave you a sense of being seen, desired and alive.
As the music wrapped around you now, your body moved effortlessly, fluid and confident. For a few precious minutes, there was no Umbrella. No laboratory. No expectations. Just you, and the attention you had been starving for.
As the song faded and the last note dissolved into the low hum of the bar, your gaze drifted downward from the stage. That was when you saw Chris, the bar manager standing near the edge of the floor, watching you intently. When your eyes met, he lifted a hand and gestured for you to come down.
Curiosity flickered through you. You stepped off the stage and made your way toward him, your chest still rising and falling from the exertion, breath uneven. "Is something wrong, Chris?" you asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
Jill stood beside him. She was smiling but not the kind of smile that put you at ease. Chris returned your look with an easy grin. "You were amazing out there," he said.
You narrowed your eyes slightly. "What’s going on?"
They exchanged a brief glance, a subtle shift between them. Then Jill tilted her head and spoke, her smile widening. "You’re good for your bets, right? A hundred bucks?"
"What?" you said, disbelief creeping into your voice.
Chris sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if already tired of the situation. He cut in before Jill could elaborate. "The truth is… one of the customers made a request." He hesitated, then straightened. "Let’s talk in my office."
You followed as he turned and led the way. Jill fell in behind you, noticeably slower, as if savoring the moment. Once inside the office, Chris stepped around his desk and Jill closed the door behind her, the click of the lock sounding far louder than it should have.
"Well?" you asked, irritation bleeding into your tone. "Are you going to tell me what this is about?"
Chris exhaled and let out a quiet, almost awkward laugh. "Alright. One of our VIP clients wants you to join him in his private room." Your eyebrows shot up. "You’re kidding. I’m a dancer here! nothing else. I don’t—"
"I know," Chris said quickly, holding up a hand. "I told him that. But he’s offering a lot of money."
"Chris!" you snapped, anger flaring, "you’re seriously suggesting I sleep with him for cash? There are women here who actually do that. That’s literally their job."
"He said he doesn’t want anyone else," Chris replied, frustration creeping into his voice. "He specifically asked for you." Before you could respond, Jill stepped in, her tone lighter, almost coaxing. "Hey… relax. You might not regret it."
The room went quiet again, the tension thick and uncomfortable. You stood there, caught between their expectations and your own boundaries, knowing that whatever you said next would change the rest of the night.
You let out a short, incredulous breath, crossing your arms over your chest. "No! This isn’t happening," you said firmly. "I dance. That’s it! I don’t cross that line! no matter how much money he’s waving around."
Jill studied you for a moment, her expression shifting. The teasing edge faded, replaced by something more calculating. "You wouldn’t be doing anything you don’t want to," she said carefully. "He didn’t ask for… that. Not explicitly."
Chris nodded, seizing onto that opening. "He just wants your company," he added. "Conversation. A drink. That’s what he said." He hesitated, then admitted, "And he’s willing to pay more than we make in a month for it."
You looked between them, skepticism etched into your face. "And you expect me to believe that?"
"He’s… different," Chris said, choosing his words with care. "Quiet. Keeps to himself. Been here before, but never makes requests like this." You scoffed softly. "That’s supposed to make me feel better?"
Jill stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Look, if you say no, that’s it. No one’s forcing you. But I lost the bet," she added with a faint smirk, trying to lighten the mood, "and I’d rather lose a hundred bucks than see you angry at me all night."
You sighed, rubbing your temple. The music from outside seeped faintly through the walls, reminding you that the bar was still alive, still moving while you were stuck here, being weighed and negotiated over. "Who is he?" you asked at last. Chris exchanged a quick glance with Jill. "He didn’t give a name," he said. "Just paid for the VIP room. Black suit. Glasses."
Something tightened in your chest at the description, an uneasy flicker of recognition you couldn’t quite place. You stared at the floor for a long moment, then lifted your gaze again.
"...I’ll go," you said slowly. "But I set the terms. I leave when I want, and the second things get uncomfortable, I’m done."
Chris nodded immediately. "Of course. I’ll make sure the staff knows." Jill’s smile returned smaller now, relieved. "Told you," she murmured.
You weren’t so sure. As you reached for the door, a strange feeling settled in your stomach an instinctive warning that this wasn’t just another customer, another night.
You left the office and headed straight for the staff room to change. Your clothes clung slightly from the movement and heat of the stage, so the first thing you did was wash up, cool water against your skin, grounding you as you cleaned away the sweat and fixed the small signs of exhaustion. You chose something more refined this time.
Jill insisted on touching up your makeup, her hands steady and practiced as if she were preparing you for something far more serious than a drink in a VIP room. When everything was finally done nearly twenty minutes later, with Jill’s help you made your way upstairs to the second floor, where the VIP rooms were tucked away from the noise below.
Room seven. You stopped in front of the door and stood there, perfectly still. Your heart was racing, loud enough that you were sure it would give you away.
Just a drink. Conversation. Nothing else. You repeated it to yourself, after taking a slow, steadying breath, you knocked.
A moment passed. Then the door opened.
He stood there in the doorway, one hand tucked casually into his trouser pocket, the other still gripping the handle as he pulled the door open. The light from inside framed him and for a split second, you forgot how to move.
The first time you had seen him, he’d been sitting, distant, almost detached. You hadn’t realized then how tall he was. Or how broad his frame was beneath the clean lines of his suit. Standing this close, his presence was impossible to ignore.
"You’re late," he said. His voice was low and cold, smooth but heavy enough to pull you out of your thoughts instantly.
You met his gaze, forcing yourself to stay composed, even as your pulse hammered in your ears. The hallway felt suddenly too quiet, too narrow, as if the space itself were holding its breath.
"I was told to take my time," you replied evenly, lifting your chin just enough to keep your ground. For a brief moment, he studied you; head tilted slightly, expression unreadable behind those glasses. he added, calmly "Come in." A decision already made.
You stepped past him, feeling the subtle shift of air as he moved just enough to let you through. The door closed behind you with a soft click, sealing the noise of the bar outside and replacing it with a muted, insulated quiet. The VIP room was dimly lit, washed in amber tones that softened the edges of everything inside leather seating, a coffee table near the couch, already set with glasses, a bottle resting in an ice bucket.
You took a few steps in, instinctively keeping distance, and turned to face him. He remained near the door for a moment, watching you and gauging your reaction.
Then he crossed the room with unhurried confidence and stopped near the table. "Sit," he said, gesturing to the couch. You hesitated, then complied, sitting at the edge rather than sinking back. Your posture stayed upright, guarded. He poured a drink, the sound of liquid against glass unnervingly loud in the quiet room. He set one glass on the coffee table within your reach, then took the other for himself.
"You look different up close," he said calmly. "So do you," you replied, keeping your voice level. "You didn’t mention what you wanted. Chris said you asked for my company."
A faint smile touched his lips, "And here you are."
He finally sat across from you, giving you space while still commanding the room. He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes never leaving your face.
"You don’t seem comfortable," he continued. "That tells me you’re not accustomed to being bought."
"I’m not for sale," you answered immediately. "I agreed to a drink. Conversation!"
"Of course," he said smoothly. "If I wanted more, I would have been explicit." Silence settled again, thick but not empty. "You dance because you want to be seen," he said at last. "Not because you need the money." Your fingers curled slightly around the edge of the cushion. "You don’t know anything about me."
He set his glass down, "Tonight isn’t about pressure. It’s about interest."
Your heart was still racing, but you forced yourself to breathe evenly, to stay present. Just a drink. Just words. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary.
Seeing your silence, he leaned back against the couch, crossing one leg over the other with unhurried ease. He lifted his glass and took a slow sip of wine, as if savoring not just the taste, but the moment itself.
"So," he said calmly, "how are things at Umbrella?"
You froze. Sitting across from him, you stared in shock, your gaze fixed on his face as your thoughts scrambled. Who was he? Whoever he was, it was obvious now, he knew you. There was no other explanation. How had you not suspected it sooner? No ordinary man dressed like this, carried himself like this, spoke with such quiet authority.
Your voice came out at last guarded. "Who are you?" You didn’t bother hiding the frown that settled between your brows. You watched his reaction.
A smirk curved his lips the moment he saw your expression. He looked entertained, as if this was exactly what he had been waiting for. He lowered the glass slowly. "Sit comfortably," he said, "You look like you’re preparing to run."
"I wasn’t aware this was an interrogation," you replied, forcing yourself not to shrink under his stare. Your fingers curled against your thigh, "Chris said this was just a… request and—"
"And he wasn’t wrong. I did request you."
"That doesn’t explain why you’re asking about Umbrella." Your eyes narrowed. "Or why you know where I work."
"Relax," he said, his tone light, almost teasing. "For now, I have no intention of firing you."
Your breath caught in your throat, names had flashed through your mind before, but now the last trace of doubt vanished. You knew exactly who he was. You had heard about him before, during quiet complaints and whispered grumbling from your coworkers.. The one responsible for your division. A man who never showed himself, who didn’t care to. His presence existed more as a name than a person. Only a handful of employees ever dealt with him directly, usually for project reports or classified briefings.
And yet, everything you were seeing now the way he dressed, the cold confidence, the sharp intelligence behind his posture, matched the rumors more than it contradicted them.You swallowed and spoke his name, disbelief woven into your voice, your expression still tense and serious. "Albert Wesker?"
His smile deepened, "You underestimate how visible you are," he replied smoothly. "People like you always believe they fade into the background when they want to." You let out a quiet, humorless breath. "You don’t sit in VIP rooms to talk about company performance with bar dancers."
"I sit in VIP rooms to confirm suspicions." he said calmly.
You pushed yourself up from the couch at once, rising to your feet so abruptly that the movement betrayed your tension. The cushions shifted beneath you as you stood, your posture stiff and alert, sitting any longer was no longer an option. Instinctively, you put distance between yourself and him, standing there with your shoulders squared, your body rigid caught somewhere between shock, caution and the sudden realization that this situation was far more dangerous than you had first assumed.
Your heartbeat thudded loudly in your ears. "About what?"
"About you." He rose from the couch then, unhurried, his height suddenly impossible to ignore as he closed the distance between you. He undid one of the buttons on his coat, It was such a small gesture, almost insignificant, yet it carried an unsettling confidence like he was perfectly at ease, fully in control of the situation. The fabric parted slightly beneath his fingers as he adjusted himself, his posture relaxed, his gaze never leaving you, as though he were carefully observing every reaction you failed to hide.
"You lead a very precise double life," Wesker continued. "By day, a disciplined specialist. By night, someone who craves something… less sterile."
Your jaw tightened. "That’s not illegal."
"Is that so?" he said lightly, almost dismissively. "As far as I remember, the employment contract clearly states that once someone is hired by Umbrella, they are not permitted to work anywhere else." His tone was casual, unconcerned, as if he were merely recalling an unimportant clause rather than reciting something that could upend your life. As he spoke, he took a single step toward you. The distance between you shrank just enough to make your breath hitch, his presence suddenly heavier, more oppressive, as though the room itself were bending around him.
"So," you said at last, lifting your chin, "what exactly do you want from me, Mr. Wesker?"
He paused, as if considering how much truth to offer. Then he leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping. "For now?"
His gaze locked onto yours. "Honesty. And your attention."
He straightened again, reclaiming his distance, "Tonight is merely a conversation," he added. "What comes after depends entirely on how useful you prove to be."
Both of you were still standing, the space between your bodies close enough but not yet crossed. The room felt smaller now, the low lights pressing in, the muted noise of the bar far below reduced to a distant hum. Wesker took a slow step closer. He stood close enough that you could feel the heat of him, an unspoken pressure filling the narrow space between you. For a moment, neither of you moved.
Wesker lifted his hand slowly, as if giving you all the time in the world to pull away. Two gloved fingers settled beneath your chin, he tilted your face up just enough to force your eyes to meet his. "You’re remarkably calm," he said, his tone measured, almost curious. "Most people start explaining themselves by now."
"You didn’t invite me here to comment on my composure." you replied. Your voice was steady, even if your pulse betrayed you.
A faint curve touched his lips, not quite a smile. "No," he agreed. "I invited you because you’re interesting. And because you don’t yet understand the position you’re in."
He leaned in just enough that his breath brushed your cheek, close enough to be unmistakable, but he did not kiss you. Not yet. Instead, his voice dropped, "Sit on your knees,"
It wasn’t shouted, just meant to see whether you would hesitate, whether you would push back, or whether you would choose compliance on your own terms.That was what made it unsettling. The command hung in the air, heavy and waiting. Your pulse hammered in your ears as you searched his face for any sign of uncertainty and found none. He straightened slightly, giving you space, as though the choice were entirely yours. As though he already knew the outcome.
"I don’t give orders lightly," he continued, tone even. "And I don’t repeat them."
The room felt quieter. All that remained was the distance between you, his unwavering gaze, and the decision pressing down on you like a held breath.
Slowly, you exhaled and lowered yourself. The carpet was soft beneath you, grounding in an odd way. You kept your back straight, your chin lifted, refusing to let the position define you as small.
His gaze followed every inch of the motion. "Good," he said quietly as confirmation. "You listen when it matters."
"That doesn’t mean I obey blindly," you replied.
One corner of his mouth curved, faint but unmistakable. "Of course not. If you did, I wouldn’t be interested."
From where you were, he seemed taller than before, more imposing not because of the position itself, but because of the control he exercised without ever raising his voice. "You’ve been waiting for someone to make a move your whole life," he said, "Why wait any longer?"
"I’m not waiting," you shot back, defiance sharp under your calm facade.
"... Decision time," he continued, stepping closer. "Do you stay, or do you act?"
Your breath hitched, caught between fear and anticipation. Every inch of him drew your attention. "I’m not here to play games," you replied, your voice steady though your stomach twisted.
"No games," he said softly, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Just decisions and choices.." He paused, letting the weight of his words hang in the air. "And now… I want to see how decisive you can be."
Anticipation mixed with something sharper a heady thrill. You could feel his gaze tracing every inch of you, seeing everything you tried to hide. "Start," he said finally. "You’ll show me," he said softly, almost a whisper. "Show me what you’re willing to do."
"You have my attention," he murmured, leaning slightly closer. "Make it worth it."
You said nothing and lowered your head, your chest tightening with every shallow breath. Should you have gotten up and left? Maybe, but the thought of losing your job, your salary, your position, made your body freeze in place. Finding another opportunity with this kind of status and pay was impossible now, and the consequences of leaving or refusing loomed large in your mind.
Finally, your hand moved, almost of its own volition, and you brought it up toward his pants. His eyes didn’t leave yours, unblinking, cold and intense, as if he could read every thought you didn’t dare speak aloud. The air felt thicker around you, each second stretching unnaturally long, every heartbeat a drum echoing in your ears. A cramping sensation twisted in your stomach, a mixture of nerves, anticipation and something darker you didn’t want to admit.
Your fingers trembled as you reached for his belt, clumsily fumbling with the clasp. The sound of the metal clicking open made you flinch, and you caught his gaze for just a moment, seeing the faintest smirk tug at his lips but nothing else, nothing overt, just the quiet control in his stare that made your pulse race faster.
Then, almost hesitantly, your hand moved to the zipper of his pants. You paused, a deep inhale filling your lungs, the silence around you deafening. Slowly, you pulled it down. For a brief moment, you just froze there, heart hammering, the weight of the situation pressing down on you.
Finally, you stroked his cock with your hand, feeling the tension ripple through the room as your movements became slightly steadier. Your other hand fumbled with the buttons, unfastening his pants awkwardly, your fingers shaking from nerves and anticipation. That was enough for now.
Even as you paused, your mind raced, what would come next? Was it power, compliance, fear, or desire driving you? Every sense was heightened: the faint scent of him, the warmth radiating from his body, the controlled rhythm of his breathing. And somewhere deep inside, you knew the tension had only just begun, a slow, simmering current that refused to be ignored.
You wrapped your hand around his cock, feeling its full weight and thickness, heat radiating through your fingers. It was impossibly firm, veins raised like cords that made your chest tighten and your stomach twist with a mix of nerves and desire. Seven inches? Maybe a little less, maybe a little more.. you hadn’t measured, but the size alone made your mind spin.
The pulse of his cock beneath your touch was hypnotic, each throb a reminder of the man before you the controlled, composed Albert Wesker who could command a room without effort, yet here exposed and raw, responding entirely to you. A fleeting thought passed through your mind: if only you had done your job better, maybe you could have escaped the monotony of that lab, earned recognition, perhaps even promotion..
"Suck it," his voice cut through the haze and low. There was no emotion in it, only command. The coldness of his tone sent a shiver down your spine, a mixture of fear and exhilaration tangling together in a way that made your pulse quicken.
You hesitated only for a breath, inhaling slowly, letting the tension in your chest settle before acting. Bringing the tip of his cock close to your lips, you felt the heat of it brush your skin, the slickness making your tongue ache to taste him.
Your mouth opened, small and tentative at first, just enough to take the tip of his cock inside. The sensation was almost shocking, and a tiny gasp escaped your lips as your tongue flicked along it; tasting, teasing, coaxing a reaction. You felt the subtle shift of his hips beneath you, the pulse quickening as your tongue traced slow, deliberate circles along the sensitive ridge, dragging lightly over the veins that pulsed under your touch.
Each movement was a delicate dance, a balance between control and surrender, as your hand held his cock firmly yet reverently, anchoring yourself to the moment.
As you suck it, licking and teasing with small motions, your breathing hitched. You swallowed, your lips pressing just slightly harder as your tongue traced a long, slow path along the sensitive underside. Your hands remained steady, aware of his presence, aware of the tension you were drawing out of him with every deliberate movement. A quiet groan slipped past his lips and the knowledge that you had pulled that sound from him sent a subtle thrill through you.
His hand rose and settled against your cheek, tilting your face upward until your eyes aligned with his. Behind the dark lenses of his glasses, nothing could be read, and that was somehow more unsettling than anger or desire. His face was calm, perfectly composed, as though this moment cost him nothing at all.
"Open your mouth wider," he ordered. You obeyed without thinking. "I expected you to resist a little more," he remarked coolly, the faint edge of mockery unmistakable in his tone.
You withdrew from him, leaving only a breath of distance between you, holding yourself just beside his body. "You sound disappointed," you replied quietly.
As you spoke, the warmth of your breath brushed against him, and you noticed it immediately the slight twitch of his brow, the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw.
“On the contrary." His gloved hand came to rest on your head, fingers threading through your hair with deliberate precision. He guided you forward again. "I find compliance far more interesting," he continued, voice low and even, "when it isn’t forced."
His hand remained there, steady, directing rather than demanding, the pressure subtle but impossible to ignore. You started taking his cock into your mouth again, careful to adjust as best you could. It was large, almost too much for you to manage, but the firm pressure of his hand in your hair guided you. Your hands gripped his thighs for support, grounding yourself as the tension built.
You tried to take as much of him into your mouth as you could, but the size made it difficult. you pulled your head back just slightly, tilting your eyes upward to meet his gaze, he was staring at you, lips parted, chest rising and falling with slow deep breaths. Your mouth opened wider, a conscious effort, as you tried to take his thick cock, letting your eyes stay locked on his as you inhaled and exhaled through your nose.
"Well… I must say," he murmured, "this certainly isn’t the usual way employees try to make an impression, is it?"
You couldn’t respond. Your mouth was full, hands gripping his thighs to steady yourself as he pushed deeper. Each movement drove him further into your throat, his balls brushing your chin, saliva gathering at the corners of your mouth. Only a soft, muffled moan escaped you.
A low, satisfied hum left him. "mhm…," he continued, tone deceptively casual, "the problem is clear, isn’t it? You can’t even speak."
His movements were deep, and you could feel his cock reaching the back of your throat, fucking your mouth relentlessly. Tears streamed down your cheeks, unrelenting as your body reacted to every thrust.
as tears traced down your cheeks. He let his thumb wander down through your hair, brushing a tear from your cheek with gentle precision. He whispered, "It’s amusing, how silence becomes your most honest response."
You struggled to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling unevenly as the tension in the air weighed on you. Desperation made your hands slam against his thigh. He pulled his cock from your mouth, you gasped, drawing in a deep and shaky breath. Your throat burned slightly, and a mixture of saliva and precum clung to your chin, evidence of just how deep you’d been taken.
Before you could even process the moment, his gloved hand closed over yours, pulling you up with an effortless strength that left you stunned. You hadn’t expected him to be capable of such sudden force; you felt your entire body drawn toward him as though gravity itself had shifted. You stumbled slightly forward and then steadied yourself, standing before him, facing the full weight of his presence. His gloved hand reached up, cupping your chin.
"You should see your face…" he murmured, "…you look much prettier this way, with my cock in your mouth, than ever before." Before you could react, he bent down and captured your lips with his own. The kiss was rough and harsh.. no softness, no warning. It demanded your full attention, your entire focus, and it burned with the kind of controlled authority only he could radiate.
Your hands instinctively moved to his chest, feeling the firmness beneath the fabric of his suit, trying to find balance while your mind reeled from the intensity of his gaze, the roughness of his kiss and the intoxicating proximity of his body.
Even through the harshness, there was precision. Every movement of his lips, every subtle tilt of his head, every pressure of his hand reminded you that this was exactly as he intended. He was in full control, and you were caught entirely in the orbit of his presence, every heartbeat and breath synchronized to the quiet, ruthless command he exerted without needing to speak.
He broke the kiss, his lips pulling away that made your chest tighten. "Take off your clothes," he commanded. Knots of tension twisted in your stomach, your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. Your mind teetered between protest and surrender, but the pull of him; the dominance, the intensity, the overwhelming awareness of being seen and owned kept you rooted in place, helpless and enthralled all at once.