Testing My Control

Darius

I stood beside the bed, scowling down at the young woman sprawled across my dark sheets. She wore nothing but delicate, transparent black lace.

"Am I... having a wet dream?" she mumbled.

A soft, seductive smile played across her lips. She blinked her heavy gray eyes open and brazenly scanned every inch of my wet, naked chest. She traced the water droplets trailing down my skin with her hazy gaze, inspecting me like an exquisite cut of prime meat displayed on a silver platter. An uncharacteristic heat flared beneath my collar. I clenched my jaw, fighting the sudden spike in my pulse as her eyes lingered on my stomach.

It was happening yet again. Over the past several months, I had been forced to endure an endless, exhausting parade of eager women trying to throw themselves into my bed. I could not catch a break from the relentless barrage of unsolicited seduction. Just last week, I walked into my private office to find an ambitious new intern stark naked on my leather executive chair. She had her legs spread wide across my desk in a cheap, blatant invitation. A few days after that incident, I sat in a crucial meeting with a potential business partner. His young daughter, who barely looked old enough to drink, slipped her bare foot up my trousers beneath the boardroom table. She aimed straight for my crotch with a practiced smirk, shooting me seductive little glances as if she actually knew what she was doing.

It made me wonder what on earth drove these women to act so damn desperate to crawl into my bed.

Actually, I knew precisely whose scheming hand orchestrated this ongoing circus. My father. Ever since my wife passed away, the stubborn old man had developed a relentless obsession with setting me up. I was not drowning in prolonged grief. That chapter of my life closed long ago, and I had made my peace with the past. I simply harbored zero interest in the messy emotional entanglements and fraudulent romance he envisioned for my future. I refused to play house just to satisfy his ego.

When my body demanded physical satisfaction, I took care of my primal urges cleanly. I am a man, not a monk. I chose women who understood the explicit boundaries of our encounters. I demanded strict arrangements without romantic baggage, emotional attachments, or the danger of unwanted offspring. We satisfied our physical needs in a safe environment, and we parted ways. It was always a clean, one-time transaction.

But my father hated my clinical methods. Envious of his wealthy peers boasting about their growing families, he was frantic for an heir. He complained endlessly about being the only man in his elite circle without grandchildren to parade around the country club. He claimed his friends teased him about my single status. When I bluntly rejected every polished socialite he pushed into my path, the old bastard clearly assumed a fresher, more youthful body might finally override my strict logic and entice me to breed.

This woman lounging in my sheets was undeniably his latest recruit.

Yet, staring down at her, I had to give my father credit for his ruthless selection. She possessed the kind of breathtaking, hourglass figure that could push any disciplined man over the edge. Her lush curves were barely constrained by the dark lace holding her breasts. The sheer fabric clung to her slim waist, highlighting the dip of her hips and the long length of her bare legs. Her flushed skin looked incredibly soft against the expensive hotel silk.

I arched a skeptical brow. Did she bump her head on the way inside my hotel suite? She had deliberately infiltrated my private quarters to seduce me, yet she had the gall to feign that this was her own slumbering fantasy.

"I lack the patience for cheap hotel games tonight." I muttered the words under my breath, thoroughly dismissing her poor attempt at acting coy.

I turned my back on her tempting display and strode toward the bedside counter where I kept my telephone. I needed to summon my secretary. I planned to have building security drag her out of my room and throw her onto the street. My secretary could settle whatever monetary compensation my father had promised her for this humiliating stunt. I wanted this mess cleaned up and removed before she became another massive headache.

Before my fingers could reach the plastic handset, her soft arms wrapped tightly around my naked waist.

I froze on the spot. The sudden, burning contact of her bare skin against my back sent a shockwave through my entire system.

She crawled forward and kneeled on the mattress behind me. She pressed her flushed cheek directly against the tight plane of my abdomen. Her face rested agonizingly close to the damp white towel precariously clinging to my hips. I felt the heat of her cheek seeping into my tense muscles.

"Please don't go. Please don't leave me too." Her voice broke in a desperate, trembling whisper. "This is just a dream, right? It is just a dream. You don't know how useless I would feel if even the man in my fantasy walked away from me."

Her hot, rapid breath ghosted against my bare skin. The rush of air brushed right above the terrycloth knot of my towel, sending a startling jolt of raw electricity straight down to my groin. My muscles locked tight. My hands balled into rigid fists at my sides. Every ounce of my disciplined control began to fracture under the sudden weight of her vulnerable touch.

She pulled back slightly, creating a fraction of distance between us. I looked down over my shoulder. She stared up at me through glassy, heavy-lidded eyes. A heavy scent of whiskey radiated from her parted lips, mixing with the sweet, intoxicating scent of her perfume. She was intoxicated, swimming in a deep haze of alcohol.

"Am I not attractive enough for you? Why can't anyone pleasure me the right way?" She leaned closer, her gray eyes swimming with genuine frustration and bitter shame. "I am twenty-three years old. I have never been made to feel pleasure. I have never reached an orgasm in my entire life. My first lover failed me. That asshole never satisfied me once."

Her raw confession slammed into my chest. She spoke with a desperate vulnerability that did not match the calculated seduction I expected from my father's paid pawns. She sounded genuinely broken.

Biting her swollen lip, she let her hands slide down my waist. Her delicate fingers curled around the edge of my white towel.

"Even if this is a hallucination, I want to know what real ecstasy feels like." She whispered the words hungrily, staring down at the fabric shielding my body.

With an agonizingly slow tug, she dragged the towel downward. The rough material slid over my hips, exposing more of my heavy groin to the cool air of the suite and the intense heat of her unwavering gaze.

My eyes darkened with dangerous predatory intent. Every shred of my cold corporate logic ordered me to step away, to grab her wrists and push her off the bed. I needed to pick up the phone and end this madness right now. She was intoxicated. She was a trespasser.

But my cock swelled relentlessly against the falling fabric, hardening into a thick, aching erection right in front of her face. Blood rushed south with punishing force. The primal urge to conquer her obliterated my rationality.

Fuck.