Chapter 3: A Stranger in the Dark

Chapter 3: A Stranger in the Dark

GLORIA'S POV

It doesn’t take long. A shift in the air sends goosebumps crawling up my arms. A presence—dark, powerful, and magnetic—draws close behind me, and I freeze, breath caught in my throat. The faint scent of clean musk and expensive cologne wraps around me like silk. My gaze flickers up toward the mirror in front of me, and that’s when I see him.

A towering figure—broad shoulders, sculpted chest, a perfect V of muscles tapering into lean hips—stands behind me. He’s dressed in a tailored suit jacket but nothing from the waist down. Nothing at all. My eyes widen, and my heart skips a violent beat as I catch sight of his thick, erect cock in the reflection. What the fuck...? My mouth falls open slightly. A chill rushes down my spine, but it's not fear. It’s something far more dangerous. Far more primal.

His face is hidden behind a dark mask—elegant but cold—concealing every hint of who he might be. Maybe it’s to keep me guessing. Maybe it’s to keep himself safe. But the anonymity only intensifies the forbidden thrill churning inside me.

He steps closer, his movements smooth and assured. I swear, his hands twitch like he’s barely holding back the need to devour me. His presence is overwhelming, swallowing the entire room with hunger and dominance. My thighs clench involuntarily as heat floods my core. I bite my bottom lip, trying to steady my breath, but I can already feel my body responding—eager, trembling.

He halts behind me, his chest barely brushing against my back. Then—firmly, slowly—he cups my ass with both hands, kneading the flesh as though memorizing its shape, as if measuring how much of me he wants to ruin. His palms are rough and hot, grounding me even as they set fire to every nerve in my skin.

A gasp leaves my lips. I grip the edge of the table in front of me, needing something—anything—to keep me from falling apart. My reflection is flushed, wild-eyed, as his hands roam lower, parting my legs slightly. I can feel the slick heat between my thighs, my arousal pooling and begging for more.

Without warning, he grabs the base of his cock and guides himself to my entrance. My eyes roll back. My knees threaten to give out. And then—he thrusts.

Hard.

Deep.

Unrelenting.

“Ah—fuck!” I cry, stars exploding behind my eyes. My entire body jolts forward from the sheer force of it. My hands clutch the table as I fight to hold on. He’s huge. He fills me in a way that steals the breath from my lungs, that burns and stretches and drives a ragged scream from my throat.

My brain spins. My vision blurs. I can’t think—I can only feel.

He growls behind me, a dark, raw sound that vibrates against my back as he grips my shoulder tightly, anchoring me in place. His hips start moving—pistoning into me with brutal rhythm, each thrust slamming into my core like a wave crashing down. The mirror reflects my flushed face, my parted lips, my wide, glassy eyes. I can’t even recognize myself. I’m a mess of sweat, pleasure, and broken moans.

He owns me.

Every roll of his hips pulls me deeper into his world, a place where shame and reason don’t exist—only want, only raw, aching need. My legs tremble. My breath catches.

It’s too much.

And then it happens.

My climax builds fast—wild and uncontrollable, like a storm rushing through my body. Five thrusts. That’s all it takes. Just five brutal, relentless thrusts and I’m falling apart.

I scream as my orgasm tears through me, white-hot and unforgiving. My body arches against him, my cries echoing in the dark room. I feel like I’m dying and being reborn in the same breath.

But he doesn’t stop.

He won’t stop.

He keeps pounding into me, dragging me through every second of my orgasm, forcing me to feel everything. My whole body shakes, a ragdoll in his grip, wrung out and gasping.

The clapping of our skin meeting is loud—filthy, echoing off the walls, each slap a reminder of just how wrecked I’m becoming. My second orgasm hits me before I can even process the first. It builds from deep within and crashes through me, more intense than anything I’ve ever known.

Tears sting my eyes. My nails dig into the table. My scream is broken, strangled, and desperate.

And that’s when he groans.

A long, guttural sound filled with the kind of pleasure that says he’s coming undone. I feel it—the heat of his release flooding deep inside me. His hands grip my waist, and then one reaches up, squeezing my breast with rough, needy fingers that match the rhythm of his release. His forehead drops to the back of my neck as he groans again, burying himself to the hilt with a final, pulsing thrust.

I cry out one last time, eyes rolling back as the combined intensity of his release and my own consumes me.

And then… silence.

Only our breathing remains—shallow, ragged.

My entire body is limp, trembling. My legs barely work. The table beneath me is my only salvation, keeping me from collapsing completely. Thirteen minutes pass—maybe more—as I fight to catch my breath, my limbs still twitching with aftershocks.

When he finally pulls out, it’s slow. Lingering. He steps away, leaving behind only the chill of absence.

No words.

No glance.

Just the fading warmth of his touch and the ache he carved into me.

I barely manage to stand. My thighs are shaking, my core sore and soaked. My gown is wrinkled and clinging to my damp skin as I pull it down shakily, trying to fix myself up, though there’s no fixing the way I feel.

Wrecked.

Used.

Utterly satisfied.

The door creaks open. The same man who brought me in steps forward from the shadows. His smirk is knowing, and his eyes rake over me like I’m art—ruined and beautiful.

“You can go now,” he says with a wink. “Your work here is done.”

I can barely respond. My lips are parted, but the words are stuck behind the remnants of pleasure. I nod numbly and step out of the room, heels unsteady, legs weak. The hallway outside is cooler, and I gasp slightly at the air against my flushed skin.

Outside, the streetlights blur through the haze clouding my vision. I stagger toward a waiting taxi. My body is still soaked—inside and out. My panties stick to me. My thighs rub together with the evidence of him still dripping down.

Then my phone buzzes in my hand.

A new message.

Unknown Number.

“You moan like you’re mine.”

My breath catches. My heart stutters.

And just like that, the high I thought I was coming down from spikes again.

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