Clara fumbled blindly at the nightstand – click – plunging the suite into darkness. Cool air kissed Clara's skin as he buried his face in her neck, inhaling her lavender-and-sweat scent. "Why bait me?" he demanded against her pulse point.
Clara's voice trembled: "What woman wouldn't want you, Mr. Hartwell?"
His palm slid up her thigh, the silk of her robe bunching under his touch.
"Liar."His fingers dug into her knee.
She gasped: "You're hurting—!"
"Truth. Now." His voice rumbled, eyes darkening.
Clara's mind raced. Smashed like a bug or… In one desperate move, she lunged forward, crushing her lips to his – all teeth and trembling.
Sebastian froze. Then his hand fisted in her hair. "You'll regret that," he warned before devouring her mouth with punishing hunger. When they broke apart, gasping, he flipped her onto her stomach. "Still sore?" he rasped against her spine.
"Y-yes."
"Worth it?"
"...Yes."
His chuckle vibrated through her bones. "Then let's try you on your knees."
······
Clara Morgan woke with a stretch, surprised by the absence of yesterday's searing pain. Had the ointment worked? Or had Sebastian Hartwell's rare moment of tenderness actually healed something? She shook her head violently. No. Imperial Hospital's miracle gel. Only that.
Beside her, Beside her, Sebastian slept like fallen royalty – dark lashes fanned against cheekbones carved by gods. Clara inched closer, breath catching. How many socialites would slaughter for this privilege? Yet here she lay:a Cinderella in borrowed silk sheets. Why? Because I'm obedient? … convenient?
The $1400k deposit in her account made her skin crawl. This was a transaction; she'd sold herself. What if she met someone she loved? Could she confess this? No. She reached for her phone and transferred the money back.
Sebastian's eyes snapped open. He read the notification, then rose like Poseidon from the waves – sheets tumbling to reveal the brutal architecture of his torso. "Compensating me after the fact, Miss Morgan?" His voice iced the room. "Do I look like a rent boy to you?"
Clara recoiled. "N-no, sir! The amount was… obscene."
"Obscene?" His laugh scraped like gravel. "You negotiated terms when you walked into my office." He pinned her with a predator's stare. No greed? What's her angle? A wedding ring? A smirk cut across his face. "Let's play your little game, sweetheart."
Panic seized Clara at that smile – the one he wore before dismantling competitors.
"Since you paid," he purred, closing the distance, "I'll deliver service."
She scrambled backward. "I'll take it back!"
The sheet fell completely. Clara's cheeks flamed nuclear red. Christ. I'll need to buy Plan B by the crate.
Sebastian hauled her against him, calloused thumb tracing her jaw. "Open that pretty mouth, Clara."
······
After showering and breakfast, Clara asked for an hour off to change. Dressed in a crisp suit, Sebastian had reverted to the ice-cold CEO—until they stepped into the hall.
Alexander Han and Julian Lorimer lounged on the sofa, eyes widening at Clara.
"Dr. Lorimer, Mr. Han," she said stiffly, forcing a professional smile.
Julian whistled. "Morning, Sleeping Beauty." He stage-whispered to Alex: "Where's Valentina?"
Alex sighed. "Upgraded."
Lucian's grin turned wolfish. "So. How many rounds did His Majesty demand?"
Clara's neck combusted.
The suite door hissed open. Sebastian leaned against the frame—savior and executioner. "Five last night." His eyes locked on Clara. "Seven including dawn service."
Julian choked on espresso. "Seven? Christ, Hartwell—starting a friction fire?"
Sebastian's smile promised violence. "Want the play-by-play? Two nights ago, she wept through the first three before passing out. Woke up begging for more."
Clara fled to the elevator, their laughter chasing her like hounds.