Chapter 22 Poisoned Trust
Olivia’s POV
Mark staggered into the room, falling like a log of wood in the coach.
He was drunk.
He’d left the bar looking like a mess, half of his shirt was untucked, he pulled his tie and tossed it to the floor.
I had followed quietly, making sure he didn't notice my presence.
The plan was simple.
Tonight, he would be mine.
I quickly removed my clothes and switched into lingerie.
I had left the grocery bag in front of his door as there was nothing in it. I had simply needed an excuse in case someone saw me.
I walked in and looked around his unit, however, the only room that was of interest to me was his bedroom.
His head rested against the couch, his eyes partially shut with his mouth parted as he breathed unevenly.
I took a deep breath and straightened my black silk lingerie. It wasn’t just revealing; it was strategic.
Men like Mark didn’t fall for tears. They fell for control, for something that made them feel powerful again.
I tied my hair to the back like hers leaving two strands in front.
I hated what I was doing, but if pretending to be Becca would get me what I wanted, then fine.
“Showtime,” I whispered.
I quietly walked towards his bedroom; the door was open and there he sat with his back to her.
He stirred when I walked in, groaning low, his voice rough. “Becca?”
Becca, the name made my stomach twitch but I smiled anyway.
“I’m here,” I said softly.
He blinked slowly, I bet his vision was blurry from the amount of drinks he took.
He wasn’t seeing me. He was seeing the woman who broke him. The woman I would never stop hating.
He tried to sit up, but his body sagged against the couch. “You came back…” he slurred.
Yes,” I whispered, kneeling beside him. “I missed you.”
He smiled, lazy and drunk. His hand lifted clumsily, brushing against my cheek.
For a moment I hesitated but once I felt the trickle of my juices down my leg, I knew I had to take care of business.
I reached for his glass and set it aside. “You’ve had enough to drink,” I said, pretending to scold him.
The flirting, the games, it had to stop. I wanted him and there was no better time than now.
I could feel my panties get wet with anticipation.
I walked closer to him and watched as his cock grew larger and thicker.
"I want you Mark," I muttered seductively, trailing my hands down .
He pulled me forcefully towards him once I got close enough and turned me around so that my back was to his chest.
He held my two hands captive with one of his own and tilted my head back to whisper in my ear. “This is not going to be soft and sweet, but rather hard and dirty, sweetheart.” he grumbled.
Without warning, he ripped my panties from my body and inserted two fingers into my pussy. “You are so wet” he said as he stroked my pussy with his hands.
Perfect, just want I wanted. The drugs effect was working.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, he was fucking on.
I couldn’t think about the details, but I knew I wanted to be pleased.
“Don't do this Mark,” I pretended to leave
He caught my wrist weakly. “Don’t go.”
The way he said it,soft, desperate. It sounded nothing like Mark Simmons, the arrogant man who thought the world bent to him.
I leaned closer. “Alright,’’ I whispered.
He nodded, dazed, and pulled me down beside him.
The smell of whiskey clung to him;strong, bitter, familiar.
“Becca,” he murmured again.
I should’ve corrected him. But I didn’t.
If that name got me closer to him, then so be it.
I brushed my lips against his. Our lips locked together.
The kiss was slow, hesitant. He responded weakly, his hands moving up to my waist, fingers fumbling against the silk.
He kissed me harder, but his coordination was gone. I guided his hand to my shoulder, then to my neck, pretending he was the one leading.
“Mark,” I whispered. “Maybe you should stop.”
He didn’t. Or maybe he couldn’t.
I said his name again, softer this time. “Mark, please…”
It wasn’t a plea,it was a performance. The kind of sound that would look convincing on video.
He wasn’t in control. I was.
I turned slightly, letting my hair fall forward to hide the tiny camera light blinking behind the vase. Eric had placed it earlier, just like Carmen asked.
He wouldn’t remember much. But the recording would say enough.
I trailed my hands down to his dck. I pulled it out from the shorts, massaging it slowly.
The drugs I have given Eric was to increase his libido.
Mark got so hard that he cupped my breast.
He sucked my nipples, like an hungry man.
“Please stopp,” I moaned.
His breathing grew rougher. His hands slid down, clumsy and impatient.
The drug should have pushed him past the edge by now.
He was about to thrust his penis in me when something felt strange
His movements slowed. His head dropped back against the cushion.
“Mark?”
There was no response.
His chest rose and fell slowly, his eyes shut.
I shook his shoulder. “Mark, wake up.”
There was still no reaction, he had fallen deep into slumber.
I sat back, my pulse racing. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
The drug wasn’t supposed to knock him out. It was meant to lighten everything,to blur lines, not end the night.
I stood up and paced around the room, trying to think.
The faint hum of the city filled the silence.
He looked peaceful, completely unaware of what had almost happened. His shirt was half-open, his lips parted.
For a second, I hated him.
I crouched beside him, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “You don’t get to sleep while I burn,” I whispered.
But he didn’t hear me.
I sat there, staring at him for a long minute, then forced myself to move. The plan wasn’t dead yet.
I unbuttoned his shirt, leaving it just low enough.
Then I took the blanket and covered half his body, making the scene look natural.
When the camera caught it, it would look like the aftermath of a night he wouldn’t admit to.
I slid the lens from behind the vase and adjusted its angle. The red light blinked again.
Perfect.
He stirred faintly, groaning.