"You want me," she purred, breaking the kiss to nip at his throat, her hands working his belt. "Say it."
"F*ck, yes," Damian growled, his hands sliding to her thighs, pushing her robe away. He lifted her, pinning her against the wall, the photos of Eva rattling with the impact. Sophia's legs wrapped around his waist, her nails raking his shoulders as he kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her pulse point.
"Take me," she demanded, her voice raw, her hands freeing him from his jeans. "Now."
Damian didn't hesitate. He pushed her panties aside, entering her in one swift thrust, filling her completely. Sophia's cry was loud, unrestrained, her body arching against the wall as he moved, each thrust deep and relentless. The room echoed with their sounds—her moans, his groans, the slap of skin against skin. Sophia's hands tangled in his hair, pulling hard, her lips finding his In a bruising kiss.
"Harder," she gasped, her nails digging into his back, marking him. "Make me feel it."
He obliged, his pace brutal, his hands gripping her hips with a possessiveness that matched her intensity. The wall shook, a photo of Eva falling to the floor, but Sophia didn't care. Her obsession fueled her, Eva's image burned into her mind even as Damian f*cked her. She imagined Eva's humiliation, her downfall, and it pushed her higher, her climax building with every thrust.
"Sophia," Damian groaned, his lips at her ear, his breath ragged. "You're f*cking insane."
"Good," she said, her voice a sultry purr, her body trembling. "I want you to lose control."
He did, his thrusts growing erratic, his hands roaming her body, one slipping between them to tease her clit. Sophia's moan was primal, her body shaking as pleasure coiled tight. When she came, it was explosive, her cry echoing, her nails drawing blood. Damian followed, his groan raw as he spilled inside her, his body shuddering against hers.
They collapsed against the wall, breathless, tangled, Sophia's robe pooled on the floor. Damian's eyes were dark, a mix of satisfaction and unease, but Sophia's were wild, her obsession unquenched. She kissed him again, slow and possessive, sealing their pact. "You'll destroy her for me," she said, her voice low. "Or I'll destroy you."
Damian nodded, his loyalty bought, but his gaze lingered on the fallen photo of Eva, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Sophia didn't notice, her mind already racing with plans—cameras in Eva's office, hacked emails, even a hired thug if it came to that. Nothing was too far when it came to Eva.
**The Cabin**
Victor's office was a fortress of power, its glass walls framing the city, its dark wood and leather exuding authority. Eva stepped inside that afternoon, a stack of contracts in her arms, her professional façade fragile. The door shut, isolating them. Victor was at his desk, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, his forearms corded. His eyes locked onto hers, the air thick with the boardroom's memory.
"Contracts," Eva said, placing the files on his desk, her dress unbuttoned to reveal lace, the slit exposing thigh. She leaned forward, giving him a view, his gaze hot.
"Efficient," he said, his voice low, but he didn't touch the contracts. He stood, rounding the desk, stopping inches from her. "But I didn't call you for paperwork."
Her pulse quickened, her lips curving. "Then what, Mr. Blackwood?"
His hand gripped her waist, pulling her against him, his arousal evident. His lips crashed into hers, a fierce kiss, his tongue claiming her. Eva moaned, her hands fisting his shirt, as he backed her against the desk, contracts scattering.
"F*ck, Eva," he growled, nipping her throat, his hands under her dress, finding lace. "You're a distraction."
"Then fire me," she teased, her fingers freeing him. "Or f*ck me."
He groaned, lifting her onto the desk, her dress riding up, panties pushed aside. He entered her in one thrust, filling her. Eva's cry was loud, her legs around his waist as he moved, relentless. The desk creaked, the glass walls silent witnesses.
"Victor," she gasped, her nails raking his back. "Harder."
He obliged, his pace brutal, his lips sucking her breast through lace. Eva's moans grew, her climax building. But the door burst open, Isabelle Voss standing there, her eyes wide, a smirk forming. "Victor, I—"
"Get out," he growled, slowing but not stopping, his eyes on Isabelle. "Now."
Isabelle's smirk widened, but she left. Eva's heart raced, the interruption chilling, but Victor's hands tightened, his lips at her ear. "Don't stop," he said. "Only you."
The words reignited her, and she kissed him, her body moving with his. She came, her cry muffled, her body shaking. Victor followed, his groan primal, shuddering. They collapsed, breathless, tangled.
Isabelle's interruption lingered, a threat. Victor's forehead rested against hers. "This isn't a game, Eva," he said, soft but firm. "Not anymore."
"Maybe," she said, forcing a smile, pulling away. "But I'm not done playing."
He chuckled, his eyes promising more. As she left, her body humming, Isabelle's gaze was a warning, and Sophia's message echoed: *"I know what you are, Eva. A liar. A slut."*
**Eva's Struggle**
Eva stood in her apartment, the city's lights blurred. Victor's touch lingered, his words—*"Only you"*—echoing. She'd wanted to control him, but he was no pawn. Sophia's obsession was closing in—cameras, hacks, Damian's digging. Eva called Victor, her voice steady. "I need you. Tonight."
"My place. One hour," he growled, sending a shiver.
Dressing—black lace, trench coat—Eva steeled herself. She'd bind Victor to her, but Sophia's madness was a shadow. The game was escalating, and Eva wasn't sure who'd burn first.
__________
The Blackwood Enterprises tower gleamed under the city's twilight, its glass facade reflecting the fading sun like a mirror to ambition. Inside, the executive floor buzzed with the quiet intensity of power—phones chirping, keyboards clacking, the murmur of deals sealed in hushed tones. Eva Carter moved through this world with the precision of a predator, her tailored emerald dress hugging her curves, its modest neckline offset by a slit that flashed a glimpse of thigh with each step. Her raven hair was swept into a sleek chignon, her makeup subtle but sharp, accentuating the fire in her hazel eyes. As Victor Blackwood's personal assistant, she was a fixture here, her forged credentials a secret buried beneath layers of charm and competence. But tonight, at the Blackwood gala, she'd play a different role: a siren weaving her spell, not just for revenge, but for something dangerously close to love.
Eva's mission was clear—use Victor to dismantle Liam and Sophia's world. Liam, her ex, and Sophia, her former best friend, had shattered her with their betrayal, their cruel words and tangled bodies burned into her memory from that damning video. But the game had grown complex. Victor was no mere pawn; his commanding presence, his piercing gaze, and the quiet vulnerability he'd shown in stolen moments had cracked her defenses. New players—Isabelle Voss, the ruthless VP; Damian Holt, Sophia's hired investigator; and Sophia's spiraling obsession—tightened the noose. Tonight, Eva would deepen her hold on Victor, but every step risked exposure, and Sophia's shadow loomed closer.
The gala was held in the tower's rooftop ballroom, a cathedral of opulence with crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city's glittering sprawl. Guests—CEOs, politicians, socialites—mingled in a sea of tuxedos and gowns, their laughter and clinking glasses a symphony of wealth. Eva stood near the bar, a flute of champagne in hand, her posture relaxed but her senses sharp. Victor was across the room, his black tuxedo tailored to his broad shoulders, his dark hair streaked with silver catching the light. He was surrounded by admirers, his deep voice carrying authority, but his eyes found hers, a fleeting glance that sent a shiver down her spine.
She felt the weight of other gazes too. Isabelle Voss, in a sleek silver gown, her blonde hair a cascade of ice, watched from a corner, her green eyes narrowing as she noted Victor's attention on Eva. Isabelle's ambition was a blade, honed to protect her influence, and Eva was a threat she wouldn't ignore. Somewhere in the city, Sophia was plotting, her obsession with Eva a festering wound. Eva's phone, tucked in her clutch, had buzzed earlier with a cryptic message from an unknown number: *"You can't hide what you are."* Sophia's work, no doubt, and Eva's resolve hardened. She'd play this game, and she'd win.