Adam

Pacing the floor of my office offers me little peace. The more I move back and forth, the more I feel like a lion anticipating his next kill. I avoid looking at my desk or the wall of monitors. If I glance at my desk, I'll see the teacup she destroyed. If I check the monitors, I might catch a glimpse of her in the halls. I can't see her before Claud brings her here to me.

If I do, I don't think I'll be able to speak through my rage. I'm supposed to be using this time to collect myself so I don't lose it when she arrives, but right now, I don't see any probable way that will be possible.

A rapid succession of knocks breaks through my thoughts.

"Mr. Marsters, we're here," Claud's voice crackles through the intercom.

My eyes move to the monitor showing the hallway. There's Claud... and her. My breath catches—I'm not ready to see her. I force myself into my chair and sit. The sight of the cup steals my attention, and though brief, it makes my breathing heavier. I straighten my suit and press the intercom button.

"Send her in."

Claud opens the door, and Isabelle steps in.

"Anything else, sir?" Claud asks from the doorway.

"That will do. Thank you, Claud."

He gives a slight nod before exiting. My gaze remains on the closed door, avoiding her for as long as I can. When I finally look at her, I want to scream at her until she's in tears, but my anger quickly fizzles out. Her eyes are glued on the floor, hands clasped together in front of her. She looks innocent—like a doe caught in headlights. Beautiful by every definition, yet frightened of the impending collision.

A small laugh escapes me. I never imagined I'd see the day I'd find a woman in flannel with a messy ponytail beautiful—yet here she is.

"You didn't like the clothes the stylist brought for you?" I ask, my voice harsher than I now feel, noticing she's wearing the same clothes she arrived to the house in earlier today.

"They're nice, just too form-fitting for my taste."

"Huh, I'll be sure to have Gladys find something... more to your taste in the future."

"I already have a closet full of clothes I like, but... thank," she mutters. Despite her ungrateful comment, I unexpectedly find myself enjoying her gutsiness. I notice she falters as if she wants to say more but doesn't know if she should. She decides to continue. "Adam—"

"Mr. Marsters," I correct her.

She furrows her brows, then sighs.

"Mr. Marsters, I am truly sorry about your teacup, but—"

"Miss Shepherd, do our families have some vendetta unbeknownst to me?" I ask, glaring at her from my chair.

"No. I mean, besides you threatening our livelihood," she mumbles the last part, thinking I can't hear it.

"Then why is it that your family can't keep from destroying my things?" I ask, ignoring her remark. "I show you generosity, and in return of my kindness, you all show a brutal disregard for me and my property. It's starting to feel like a personal attack."

"Generosity?" she spits, narrowing her eyes. "You're kidding, right? You tried to bankrupt my family's business and throw my dad in jail over breaking some flowers. Then you basically imprisoned me in this mausoleum of horrors and refused to feed me because I bruised your ego. If that's your idea of generosity, Adam—"

"Mr.—"

"Adam," she cuts me off, and instantly, my cock stirs. Her fury awakens something inside me for the second time—something long dormant. I slide my hand over my cock, stroking it through my pants. "It's no wonder you're rotting in this place alone. Your personality is that of a dick. So it's understandable that the only way you can manage to get anyone to stick around you is by paying them or blackmailing their family."

"Are you finished?" I ask, rubbing harder, the pressure building from her outburst. It's been years since anyone yelled at me like that, and, surprisingly, my cock indicates I seemed to miss it.

"Yes," she huffs, planting her hands on her hips.

Although her clothes are loose, I recall the delicate nature of her body, especially the smoothness of her hips. I lick my lips, a low groan escaping as I feel my balls tighten, swelling with cum.

"Good," I say shortly. ""I'll allow this outburst—just this once—since it's your first night, but let me make one thing perfectly clear. I won't tolerate being scolded in my house by my property."

"I'm not your property," she snaps, narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms.

"The moment you agreed to stay, you agreed to become mine," I say, keeping my arousal in check.

"Maybe I'm rethinking that," she says, turning toward the door before spinning back around. "And did you and Claud learn agreements and interactions from the same barbarian rock slab?"

"I hope your father has a strong constitution for prison food... and prison extracurriculars," I say, leaning back in my chair. "I truly hope he never drops the soap."

Her eyes flash with fiery resentment, but it quickly fades, replaced by defeat. I know she's mine again. A groan leaks out of me again as she bows her head, and I feel a bead of cum drip from my cock. My mind flashes back to her on all fours in the bathroom, looking up at me as if waiting for permission to stand. That was... intoxicating for a man like me.

"That's what I thought," I smirk. "And as for the cup matter, I'll be adding a year to our prior arrangement."

"What! The thing's hardly chipped," she protests, her eyes narrowing as if she'd kill me with them if they were laser beams. "You're more cracked than it is."

"What did I just say about backtalk?" I growl, deepening my voice to make it more intimidating.

She huffs, her lips curling in a snarl, but mutters, "Sorry."

"Sorry, what?" I ask, smirking at how easily I've baited her

She clenches her fists, the sight of her resistance is torture for my balls.

"Sorry, Mr. Marsters," she grits out through clenched teeth.

"That's a good girl," I say, my grin widening. "But if you think a year is too much, there's always a faster way for you to settle your debt."

What are you doing?

She raises an eyebrow, cautious but intrigued. "How?" Her curiosity getting the better of her.

Don't say it.

"On your knees," I reply.

Fucking idiot.

"Have another towel you need tied?" she fires back, brow arching again.

"Give me a blowjob," I say, pushing my chair back from the desk, grinning wider as her eyebrows shoot up.

Author's Note:

Thanks so much for reading! It means the world to me. This chapter brings the tension between Adam and Isabelle to a boiling point. Their power struggle continues to twist and turn, revealing deep, conflicting desires and more of Adam's broken past. What do you think about this dark dance of dominance and defiance? Your thoughts, reactions, and feedback make all the difference—please comment and let me know!