Marcus's hands slid under her blouse, unhooking her bra, letting it fall, his thumbs brushing her nipples, teasing them to tight peaks, eliciting a sharp cry. "Look at these," he growled, his lips trailing to her ear, his breath hot, his fingers bold. "Fucking perfect tits, Isabelle. Bet you're dripping for me already."
Her moan was primal, her body trembling, her hands working his belt, freeing him, her fingers wrapping around his length, stroking, feeling him throb, thick and ready. "You talk like you've won," she purred, her voice sultry, her lips brushing his, her hand moving with torturous slowness. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard you'll beg, Marcus."
He laughed, his hands sliding under her skirt, pushing it down, revealing black lace panties, his fingers teasing her through the fabric, finding her wet and aching. "Fuck, you're soaked," he growled, his lips trailing to her neck, sucking, marking her with a bruise, his fingers slipping beneath the lace, stroking her clit, making her cry out, her hips bucking. "Want my cock, don't you? Say it, Isabelle."
Her cry was sharp, her body arching, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling hard. "I want you," she gasped, her voice raw, her lips finding his in a fierce kiss, her tongue teasing, her teeth grazing. "Fuck me, Marcus. Make it dirty."
The desk became their battleground, Marcus lifting her onto it, papers and pens scattering, her legs spreading, her panties ripped away, exposing her glistening core. He knelt, his lips trailing down her stomach, kissing the soft skin above her hip, his tongue flicking, teasing, her hands gripping his hair, urging him lower. "Eat me," she growled, her voice a command, her hips rocking, her thighs trembling. "Make me come, Marcus."
His growl was feral, his lips closing around her clit, sucking gently, his tongue swirling, relentless, his fingers sliding inside, curling, hitting her spot, moving in rhythm with his mouth. Isabelle's cries were unrestrained, her hips bucking, her nails raking his scalp, her body trembling as pleasure coiled tight, her voice a litany of gasps and pleas. "Fuck, your tongue," she moaned, her thighs clamping around his head, her body arching. "Don't stop. Make me scream."
He didn't, his tongue relentless, his fingers pumping, his groans vibrating through her, sending jolts of pleasure. Her climax hit like a supernova, her scream echoing, her body shaking, her hands gripping his hair, holding him there as waves of pleasure crashed over her, her breath ragged, her skin flushed.
Marcus rose, his lips glistening, his eyes dark with hunger, his hands freeing himself fully, his erection straining, thick and ready. "You're fucking gorgeous when you come," he growled, pulling her to the edge of the desk, her legs wrapping around him, guiding him to her entrance. "But I'm gonna fuck you now, Isabelle. Ready for me?"
She moaned, her body still humming, her hips pushing forward, inviting him. "Fuck me," she gasped, her voice raw, her eyes meeting his in the window's reflection, her lips parted. "I want you deep, Marcus. Make me yours."
He thrust Into her, filling her completely, her cry sharp and primal, the desk creaking under their weight. His rhythm was relentless, each thrust deep and punishing, her moans filling the office, her body rocking to meet him, the slap of skin a primal symphony. His hands roamed her body, one sliding to her breast, pinching her nipple, the other between her thighs, teasing her clit, making her tremble. "You're so fucking tight," he growled, his lips trailing to her shoulder, biting, marking her. "Love how you take my cock, Isabelle. Gonna make you come again."
Her cries were frantic, her body trembling, her nails digging into the desk, leaving marks. "Harder," she gasped, her voice raw, her hips slamming back, meeting his thrusts. "Fuck, Marcus, make me scream."
He laughed, his pace brutal, his fingers circling her clit, driving her higher. "You're mine," he growled, his lips at her ear, his breath ragged. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel you."
Her second climax hit like a storm, her scream echoing, her body shaking, her walls tightening around him, milking him, her breath ragged, her skin slick with sweat. Marcus followed, his groan raw, spilling inside her, his body shuddering, their bodies collapsing onto the desk, breathless, tangled, marked by nails and teeth.
They lay there, the office silent, their bodies slick, Isabelle's blouse open, her skirt discarded, Marcus's shirt shredded. Her hand trailed to his chest, her fingers tracing his scar, her voice low, sated but sharp. "You're a fucking snake," she said, her smile wicked, her eyes searching his.
"And you're a bloody inferno," Marcus said, his voice rough, his hand brushing her hair, his smile smug. "But I'm not spilling yet."
She laughed, pushing him off, standing, adjusting her blouse, her body still humming, her composure fractured but returning. "This isn't over," she said, her voice a promise, stepping into her skirt, her eyes glinting. "You'll break, Marcus. I always win."
He stood, zipping up, his shirt hanging open, his smile unwavering. "Keep dreaming," he said, stepping closer, his hand grazing her cheek, his lips brushing hers, a fleeting tease. "You're a hell of a ride, Isabelle, but I'm still in the game."
The board meeting was a crucible, Eva standing at Victor's side, her crimson dress a beacon of defiance as she presented a defense of his leadership, citing forged data to deflect the scandal's blame. Isabelle, seizing the moment, questioned Eva's credentials, her voice dripping with venom, planting doubts among the board. "Ms. Carter's records are… inconsistent," she said, her eyes locked on Eva, a predator circling. "Perhaps we should investigate her qualifications?"
Eva's pulse raced, but she countered with icy precision, deflecting to Isabelle's own audit failures, buying time. Victor's hand brushed hers under the table, a silent anchor, but his eyes held questions, Liam's absence a weight. "Liam's gone," a board member muttered, "hiding in Barbados, leaving us to clean his mess." Victor's jaw tightened, his brother's exile a wound, but Eva's steady gaze held him, their bond a lifeline.
Across the city, Marcus met Elena Voss in a clandestine lounge, her impatience palpable. "You're late," she hissed, her dark eyes cold. "The merger's closing, and we need Blackwood's data. Find Liam—he's a loose end. Barbados won't hide him forever." Marcus nodded, his offshore accounts funding Elena's sabotage, but Isabelle's pursuit was a growing threat. He'd fed her false leads about Eva's past, buying time, but her fire was closing in, and Liam's silence was a puzzle he needed to crack.
Eva, back at her apartment, locked the door, the bracelet glinting. Isabelle's attack echoed, Marcus's duplicity a shadow, Victor's trust a fragile thread. Liam's exile in Barbados was a reminder of her victory—and her guilt. She sank to the bed, whispering Victor's name, a vow to fight, to survive, unaware of the inferno Isabelle and Marcus were stoking, a blaze that would soon engulf them all.
###
The Caribbean night draped Barbados in a velvet shroud, its humid air thick with the scent of hibiscus and saltwater, a stark contrast to the cold steel of the Blackwood Enterprises tower thousands of miles away. In a sprawling villa perched on a cliff overlooking the Atlantic, Liam Blackwood stood on a marble balcony, his white linen shirt unbuttoned to reveal a tanned, muscular chest, his dark hair disheveled, his blue eyes clouded with whiskey and despair.
He was a fallen prince—once a rising star in Blackwood Enterprises, now exiled after a scandal orchestrated by Eva Carter shattered his reputation. The leaked documents exposing his financial missteps had driven him to this island hideout, where he drowned his shame in liquor and isolation, his silence a wound to his brother Victor's legacy. Unbeknownst to Liam, Damian Holt, a private investigator with a knack for exploitation, had tracked him here, planting a femme fatale to ensnare him in a blackmail scheme to leverage Liam's vulnerabilities against Blackwood Enterprises.
Across the ocean, in the city, Eva stood in her apartment, her black velvet dress clinging to her curves, the silver bracelet Victor gave her a fragile tether to his love, now strained by doubt. Her forged credentials teetered on exposure, and Isabelle Voss's boardroom attack had planted seeds of suspicion among Blackwood's board. Marcus Kane's offshore accounts, tied to rival CEO Elena Voss (no relation to Isabelle), threatened the company's merger, and Victor's questions about Liam's whereabouts gnawed at Eva's guilt. Tonight, Eva would confront Victor's doubts in a desperate bid to solidify their bond, while Isabelle pressed Marcus for answers, unaware of Damian's scheme unfolding in Barbados, a plot that could tip the scales of power