Sandra truly experienced what it meant to be the center of attention.

They had lingered in the stall for quite a while—partly because Sandra was genuinely exhausted, but mostly due to Arden's lingering jealousy.

It was a Friday night, and The Roxy was at its peak. The crowd had grown wilder as the hours passed—alcohol pumping through their veins, music booming louder, the atmosphere dissolving into chaotic ecstasy.

If it were anyone else, they might have slipped away quietly, vanishing unnoticed into the night. But Arden was no ordinary man.

When they finally stepped out, he didn't shove his way through the crowd. Like a king, he stood tall, without a word, commanding the room with effortless dominance he exuded. People couldn't help but notice him, and slowly—almost as if drawn by an invisible force—the crowd parted, allowing them to pass.

Sandra, nestled against Arden's chest, felt the weight of countless gazes on her. Envy, curiosity, and barely concealed desire flickered in the eyes of the men around them.

Arden, however, thrived on it. Every jealous glance only made his steps more deliberate, his expression more triumphant. He carried her with an air of quiet arrogance, as if daring anyone to challenge his claim.

It was a sight impossible to ignore—a tall, broad-shouldered man, his shirt gone, muscles taut and defined, holding a woman wrapped in his oversized T-shirt. Her bright red high heels dangled provocatively with his every step, swaying with an intoxicating rhythm that seemed to taunt every onlooker.

Then, cutting through the music and chatter, came Moya's unmistakable, excited shout—sharp, teasing, and delighted, like a match striking a bonfire.

Laughter, cheers, and knowing whistles rippled through the club like a shockwave. The energy spiked, the already electric atmosphere bursting into something even more feverish.

Sandra's arms tightened around Arden's neck as she buried her burning face against his chest, trying to shield herself from the overwhelming attention.

Arden felt the heat radiating from her skin, the way her body curled against him in growing embarrassment, and his smug grin only deepened. 

His pride swelled as he held her closer, his steps slow and deliberate—each one a silent declaration.

This moment. This woman.

She belonged to him.

🎬🔀

Arden carefully lowered Sandra into the passenger seat of his SVJ, his movements surprisingly gentle despite the lingering heat between them. As he leaned over to fasten her seatbelt, he couldn't resist the pull of her lips—capturing them in a kiss as urgent and desperate as a parched traveler reaching for water in the desert.

His kiss was fervent, his thirst unrelenting, as if her sweetness was the only balm for the fire raging in his chest. The tip of his tongue teased hers, savoring the fleeting taste he craved but could never get enough of. Yet, the more he indulged, the more insatiable his hunger grew, stoking the flames of desire that burned hotter with every second.

"You little minx, you're killing me." he murmured breathlessly, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze, his voice rough with longing.

This woman, knowing her body wasn't in its best state, still dared to give him that lazy, seductive squint—the kind that sent a jolt straight through his gut. It drove Arden wild with desire, igniting a storm of impulses he had to forcibly suppress.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he willed himself to maintain control. He knew all too well that if he gave in now, he might lose himself completely, risking her delicate beauty in his fervor.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind—something was unusual about the fragrance of the lotion Sandra had used. Its scent stirred something in him, a desire more intense than usual. But just as quickly as the thought came, it vanished.

Right now, only one thing mattered: he needed to find a proper place, a bed where he could lay this tantalizing little temptress down and savor every inch of her without restraint.

With sharp determination, he started the car and hit the road. He had to move fast—because if he didn't, the temptation to pull over into some dark, empty alley and let his hunger take over might become too overwhelming to resist.

Actually, Sandra hadn't set out to seduce Arden—she was just a little tipsy.

The cocktail Moya had ordered for her was deceptively sweet, with no harsh burn to warn her of its potency. It went down like juice, and she hadn't realized how much she'd drunk while chatting with Rod.

By the time Arden pressed her against the wall, the alcohol had already seeped into her veins, dulling her inhibitions. Every heated moment between them unraveled her a little more, leaving her lightheaded—weightless, as if she had shed every burden and was drifting toward some euphoric heaven.

And she couldn't deny it anymore.

She loved the way this man conquered her, the way his unrestrained passion consumed her, as if she were the only thing he desired in the world. She loved how utterly—and maddeningly—crazy he was about her.

Most of all, she loved him.

Sandra turned her gaze toward Arden, studying his profile—the sharp angle of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow. The car sped along, the streetlights flashing past in quick succession, their glow casting fleeting shadows across his focused expression. His lips were set in a firm line, his jaw tense, as though he were suppressing something within.

Suddenly, it struck her—he looked irresistibly cute like this, caught between his simmering desires and the need to stay composed.

On impulse, she reached out, her fingers grazing his chin. The roughness of his stubble startled her, and she instinctively tried to pull away. But before she could, Arden's hand caught her wrist, holding it firmly in place.

He brought her fingertips to his teeth, biting down just hard enough to send a shiver through her. The faint tremble in her hand didn't escape him. He chuckled softly, the sound low, dark, and teasing.

"If you really want to touch me," he murmured, guiding her hand downward, pressing it firmly against his jeans, "why not touch here?"

"Pervert." Startled by the heat and hardness beneath her palm, Sandra yanked her hand back as if burned.

Arden's laughter rumbled through the car, deep and amused. "There are kinkier ones. Want to try?"

Sandra ignored him, turning her gaze toward the window.

Arden smoothly steered the car into the private driveway, his gaze flicking to the woman pressed as far from him as the car door would allow. Her efforts to avoid him only made it harder for him to suppress the smirk curling at the corners of his lips.

"Where is this?" Sandra asked, eyeing the two-story house with a flicker of curiosity.

Arden stepped out, rounded the car, and effortlessly scooped her into his arms. "My home."

A faint warmth stirred in Sandra's chest. "Moya said you never bring women home."

Arden set her down at the entrance, fishing out his keys. "What else did Moya say?"

Sandra's gaze lingered on the soft glow spilling from the entrance hall. The warm light reflected in her eyes as she whispered, "She said you like me."

The living room lay in darkness, and the second-floor hallway was just as dim. Mr. Lam was nowhere to be found—missing the sight of his son, arms locked around a woman, lips reluctant to part from her sweet ones, nearly tumbling from the foyer toward the bedroom.

Upstairs, the steady rush of water echoed from the bathroom. Soft glow of the overhead sconces cast shimmering reflections across glass, mirrors, and droplets—scattering light like diamonds.

Arden cupped Sandra's face, his fingers gently peeling away her false eyelashes. Warm water streamed over her, dissolving the makeup, loosening the iron-bent curls from her hair. Bubbles slid down her skin, washing away the shimmer and glitter until all that remained was her bare, untouched form—the truest version of her.

"This—this is what makes you, you." Arden brushed his fingers lightly over her clean face, his arm snug around her waist. "Sandra, this is you. Don't let Moya drag you down. You'll only regret it."

Sandra's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "I'm already down," she whispered, looping her arms around his neck, pressing closer. "And you seem to like bad women more."

Arden's teeth grazed her ear, his breath deepening. "If you keep this up, you'll be the death of me."

She met his gaze, unwavering. "If I wanted your life... would you give it to me?"

Asking a man driven by desire such a question at a moment like this—what else could he possibly answer?

Give. Give everything. Whatever she wanted, he'd hand it over.

For a man like Arden—someone who rarely cared—this was as close as he would come to obsession. What was a life worth, anyway? Pride and dignity meant nothing. If serving her, surrendering completely, made him a slave... so be it.

At her mercy. As long as she satisfied his hunger in return.

Arden wrapped Sandra in a thick towel before effortlessly scooping her into his arms. Striding into his bedroom, he tossed her onto his custom-made, extra-wide bed. The plush memory foam cradled her body, molding around her like a gentle embrace. A fleeting dizziness washed over her—disoriented by the sudden movement, the lingering warmth of his touch, and the intoxicating softness beneath her.

Concerned about her condition, Arden held himself in check, not rushing to get to the main course. Instead, he took her hand gently, guiding it downward. When her fingers grazed his heated arousal, Sandra flinched instinctively, pulling away as if the touch had burned her.

Arden couldn't help but be amused by her reaction. Though they were no longer strangers, she was still unaccustomed to this—still new to the unspoken rhythm between them. Some things, he knew, required patience, time, and gentle guidance.

"What are you afraid of?" Arden's lips brushed against her cheek, his voice a low murmur in her ear. "Don't you want to feel what was inside you?"

Sandra's breath hitched. "Nasty... shameless," she mumbled, her face burning scarlet. The words barely escaped her lips—soft, breathy, almost a moan.

Arden adored this side of her—the delicate push and pull between shyness and stubborn pride. She tried to play it cool, but the tremble in her hands betrayed her.

"Yes, I'm nasty. I'm shameless," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with mischief. Without warning, he flicked on the overhead light, flooding the bedroom with blinding brightness.

He cupped her face, gently tilting it to the side. 

"Look closely, baby. Watch how shameless I can be with you. His breath heated her ear, his smirk deepening. "And remember... you'll love every second of it."

The mirror on the closet door reflected their entwined bodies—his broad chest pressing firmly against hers, sinking into the plush mattress. From the mirror's angle, only the curve of his muscled back, the dip of his waist, and the sculpted lines of his hips were visible. Her legs, bent delicately at his sides, looked fragile and yielding, as if the slightest shift might shatter her.

Sandra pushed at his chest with small, frantic fists, landing weak, desperate blows. "Pervert... you pervert! You're such a big pervert!" she hissed, her voice trembling with embarrassment.

Arden caught her wrists effortlessly, pinning them against the pillow with a low chuckle. His gaze darkened with amusement. "Too late for regrets now," he murmured, his lips brushing against hers before claiming them completely.

Standing in the cramped restroom stall, pressed against the hard door, wasn't exactly the most comfortable position. Every movement would scrape the skin on her back against the unforgiving surface, and each shift would cause her to collide with the door behind her.

Sensing her discomfort, Arden had held back, using the strength of his arms and core to minimize the strain on her back. But gravity had its own pull—each motion drove him deeper than either of them anticipated. Sandra, unaccustomed to the intensity, struggled to meet him halfway, leaving her breathless, overwhelmed by the sensation.

Now, sprawled on the soft bed, everything felt different. The plush mattress absorbed the impact of his movements, providing just the right amount of support. For Arden, it offered greater control—over his rhythm, his strength, and the pace that left her trembling beneath him.

Arden pulled out all the stops this time—deliberate teasing, grinding, unexpected angles, and rhythms. Waves of desire crashed over Sandra relentlessly. Even with her usual fitness and stamina, she felt herself on the edge of collapse, lightheaded and dizzy from the overwhelming intensity.

Arden couldn't get enough of her, but when he glanced down at the woman beneath him—her eyes hazy, unfocused—he knew it was time to end things before pushing her too far.

The sheets were a tangled mess, hardly a place for restful sleep. With a quiet sigh, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the next room.

Concerned she might be dehydrated, Arden poured a glass of water and gently propped her up. But when he brought the glass to her lips, she didn't stir. With no other choice, he took a sip himself and pressed his mouth to hers, allowing the water to flow between them.

As the cool, sweet water flowed into her parched mouth, soothing her hoarse throat, Sandra instinctively drank deeply, drawing in every drop, even pulling his tongue along with it.

The lingering heat between them hadn't faded, and her teasing only stirred it further. Arden barely held himself together, kissing her for a few moments longer before summoning just enough restraint to pull away. 

He sighed softly and brought the glass to her lips, pressing it gently against her mouth to replace their kiss.

When the last drop of water was gone, Sandra curled into his arms, her body soft and warm against his chest, like a contented kitten seeking comfort. Her form, light and relaxed, melted into him. Arden wrapped his arms around her waist, but his thoughts began to drift toward dangerous territory. His gaze lingered on her lips, the temptation to kiss her again nearly impossible to resist.

He couldn't continue like this. He was human, not some fiction character from an erotic novel. At this pace, he'd need days to recover. And besides, she was his—she wasn't going anywhere. There was no rush to claim it all at once.

With a clenched jaw, he gently tucked her in before getting up and heading back to his bedroom to change the sheets, with his mind still restless.

🎬🔀

Sandra slept soundly, her mind devoid of dreams, weighed down by exhaustion. However, the pressing need to use the bathroom slowly roused her from the depths of slumber, dragging her back to reality.

Opening her eyes, she found herself in an unfamiliar room. She struggled to piece together what had happened before she had lain down, but her mind was clouded with shaky, fragmented memories.

Rising to her feet, she winced at the soreness in her waist and thighs. Her movements were stiff, and her posture felt awkward—like she wasn't entirely in control of her own body.

Standing in front of the mirror, the reflection told the story of the night before—her hair a tangled mess, lips swollen from fervent kisses, and a red mark adorning her left breast. It was a subtle reminder of the intensity of the night, an indelible trace of his desire. 

She confirmed his obsession with her body. But beyond that...

It was time to go home. She considered leaving a note, something simple, like when he had left a year ago.

What to write?

"Thanks for the night, I guess. It was... something. Take care."

She searched the room, but her dress was nowhere to be found. His closet, filled with men's clothes, offered no alternatives.

She grabbed a thick shirt and slipped it on. The length was perfect, falling just above her knees. She cinched a tie around her waist, improvising a makeshift belt. It gave the shirt a more fitted look, almost like a shirt dress. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort, especially without any lingerie beneath it.

Then it hit her—her thong was probably lost somewhere on the stairs from last night, forgotten in the rush as they stumbled upstairs.

She pushed open the bedroom door and paused, glancing down the hallway. The sunlight poured through the window at the end, casting a warm glow over everything. She hesitated, unsure whether it would be strange to walk outside dressed like this. The shirt dress was practical but still felt off—too casual for daylight.

But if she walked out at night in this, she'd likely be mistaken for some professional she definitely didn't want to be associated with.

"Maybe I should ask April to send me something," Sandra thought, but then remembered that she didn't have her cellphone, and she didn't know Arden's address.

She could also call Moya. But would she? It felt awkward, considering her situation with Arden.

As Sandra pondered her next move, she walked down the stairs, not noticing her thong anywhere along the way. By the entrance, her two high heels were tossed haphazardly near the doorway, and her little red dress seemed to have vanished too.

She was still hesitating about who to call when a deep voice echoed from behind her, "Good afternoon, little beauty."

She turned around, her gaze meeting a figure near the dining area. Backlit, his face was concealed in shadows. His build reminded her of Arden, but his voice was unmistakably different.

She hadn't expected to run into anyone other than Arden here, and the uncomfortably revealing outfit she was wearing only made her feel even more uneasy.

The man walked toward her, holding a teapot in his hand. "Would you like some afternoon tea?"

It was only then that she noticed the three-tiered cake stand on the coffee table, laden with pastries and biscuits. She had always thought afternoon tea was something only aristocratic ladies enjoyed, but it seemed even men indulged in it.

The man approached and took a seat across from her, pouring tea from the teapot. "I'm not sure what you prefer, but it seems Arden only has black tea. Would you like some milk with it?"

"No, thank you," Sandra replied politely, then reached for the teapot to pour him a cup in return.

He accepted the gesture with a faint smile, his thin lips curving into an expression that struck her as oddly familiar.

Sandra hesitated, curiosity getting the better of her. "Are you... Arden's brother?"

"Brother? Hahaha..." The man paused, then burst into laughter, pointing at her in amusement. "I like you."

His confession was so direct that Sandra was left speechless, unsure how to respond.

Unfazed by her awkwardness, the man picked up a pair of pastry tongs and gestured toward the dessert tray. "Would you like something sweet? Perhaps cream puffs or strawberry cake?"

Sandra frowned slightly at the thought of the rich, sugary treats. Instead, she picked up a small plate and selected a salmon sandwich from the top tier. "I'll have this, thank you."

The man set the tongs down without taking anything for himself. He studied her briefly before asking, "You're not into sweets? On a diet?"

Sandra shook her head with a faint smile. "Not exactly. I'm just hungry, and this one's more filling."

"Hahaha..." The man laughed heartily, making Sandra feel a little embarrassed. Had she said something odd?

"Not bad," he said, nodding in approval. "You're refreshingly straightforward."

Sandra smiled awkwardly, focusing on her sandwich. She was genuinely hungry, and the sandwich was delicious enough to distract her from the stranger's keen gaze.

The man waited patiently, observing as she finished the last bite before breaking the silence. "How's your relationship with Arden progressing?"

Sandra paused, taking a sip of tea to soothe the suffocating feeling that suddenly rose in her chest. Keeping her tone calm, she replied, "We're just friends."

"Oh?" The man's voice held a note of disbelief.

Sandra inhaled deeply, bracing herself before adding, "To be precise, we're just... sex partners."

"Stupid woman, what nonsense are you talking about?"

A deep, angry voice roared from behind Sandra. Startled, she turned to see Arden rushing down the staircase, skipping several steps before leaping down the last few entirely.

He strode across the room, his expression dark. Without hesitation, he grabbed her arm and pulled her protectively into his embrace.

Turning to the man seated across from them, Arden's tone softened, though still remained firm. "Dad, she's my girlfriend, Sandra."

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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