Chapter 218
Sophia: POV
The knocking grew louder, more insistent, each thud against the door making my heart slam harder against my ribs.
Lucas's cock was still buried deep inside me, and he showed no sign of stopping—if anything, his thrusts became more deliberate, more punishing, as if the danger outside only fueled whatever sick game he was playing.
"Lucas, stop—" I tried again, my palms pushing against his chest with what little strength I had left. "She's going to—"
"She's going to what?" He cut me off with a particularly brutal thrust that forced the air from my lungs. "Find out? Let her."
My eyes went wide. He couldn't be serious. But the dark gleam in his eyes, the cruel curve of his lips, told me he absolutely was.
The doorknob rattled violently now, and I heard it—the distinct metallic scrape of someone trying to unlock the door from the outside. My blood ran cold.
"Oh god—" Panic clawed up my throat. "Lucas. What if she comes in later?"
"I know." His voice was maddeningly calm as he ground his hips against mine, hitting that spot that made stars explode behind my eyelids even as terror flooded my veins. "That's what makes this fun."
"Your fiancée is right outside," I hissed, my voice shaking with equal parts fear and rage. "You're in here fucking another woman behind her back—don't you feel even a shred of shame?"
His answer came with another deep thrust that made my back arch involuntarily. "Not even a little." His breath was hot against my ear. "In fact, I find it rather thrilling."
I stared at him, momentarily speechless. Four years I'd known this man—four years of his cruelty, his control, his complete disregard for anything resembling human decency—and somehow, he still managed to find new ways to shock me.
"You're fucking insane," I breathed.
"Maybe." He pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, forcing a strangled gasp from my throat. "But you're still taking my cock like you were made for it."
Outside, Claire's voice rose in pitch. "Lucas! Why won't this door open? What are you doing in there?"
Oh god. Oh god, she was going to come in. Any second now, she was going to get that door open and find me bent over Lucas's desk with his cock inside me, and my entire life—what little remained of it—would be over.
"Lucas, please—" I didn't care that I was begging. Didn't care about pride or dignity or any of it. "Please, you have to stop—"
But he didn't. His hands gripped my hips harder, fingers digging in so deep they'd leave bruises, as he fucked me with a ruthlessness that bordered on violence. Each thrust drove me higher against the desk, the edge biting into my thighs, my breasts pressed flat against the cold wood.
"That's it," he murmured, his voice a dark purr. "Beg me. Let me hear how desperate you are."
I wanted to curse him. Wanted to claw his eyes out. But my body—my goddamn traitorous body—was responding to every brutal thrust, every degrading word, building toward a climax I absolutely could not afford to reach.
The sound of the key turning in the lock made my heart stop.
"No—" The word came out as a broken whisper.
Then, just as I heard the lock disengage, Lucas finally pulled out. The sudden emptiness left me gasping, disoriented, as he grabbed my arm and hauled me toward the small break room adjacent to his office.
"Get in there," he ordered, his voice clipped. "Now."
I stumbled through the doorway, my legs shaking so badly I nearly fell. Behind me, I heard the main office door swing open, Claire's voice bright and sharp.
"There you are! Why was—Lucas, what's wrong with you? You're all flushed."
The break room door clicked shut, cutting off her words.
I stood there for a moment, frozen, my entire body trembling with a nauseating mix of fear and unfulfilled arousal.
My skirt was still hiked up around my waist, my blouse hanging open.
Fuck. I scrambled to make myself presentable, fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers as I tried to smooth down my hair, wipe the smudged mascara from under my eyes.
In the mirror, I looked exactly like what I was—a woman who'd just been fucked senseless and left in a state of panicked disarray.
Outside, I could hear Claire's voice, sweet and concerned. "Darling, you look exhausted. Have you been working too hard again?"
"Something like that." Lucas's voice was smooth, controlled—the complete opposite of the man who'd been pounding into me thirty seconds ago. "What brings you by?"
"I wanted to discuss the seating chart for Saturday's gala. You know how Mother gets about these things."
I pressed my ear against the door, my heart still racing. Lucas was responding to her in that gentle, patient tone I'd never once heard him use with me. Asking about her mother's preferences. Agreeing to whatever she suggested. Playing the role of devoted fiancé with an ease that made my stomach turn.
He'd never been gentle with me. Not once in four years. Every touch was designed to dominate, to remind me of my place. But with Claire, he was all soft words and careful consideration.
The realization shouldn't have hurt. I knew what I was to him—a captive, a toy, a way to satisfy his need for revenge against my family. But hearing him speak to her with such tenderness, such care, felt like a knife twisting in my gut.
"Lucas." Claire's voice turned hesitant. "Is someone else here?"
My blood turned to ice.
"What?" Lucas sounded genuinely confused. "Why would you think that?"
"I don't know, it just... it feels like you're hiding something."
"Claire, don't be ridiculous—"
"Then you won't mind if I look around."
No. No, no, no—
Footsteps approached the break room door. I backed away from it, my eyes darting around the small space. There was nowhere to hide. Nowhere to—
The closet. There was a narrow closet built into the wall, probably for storing extra suits or files. I yanked it open, squeezing myself inside just as I heard the break room door handle turn.
The space was cramped and dark, smelling of cedar and expensive fabric. Through the thin crack between the door and frame, I could see Claire step into the room, her pretty face creased with suspicion.
She was beautiful, I had to admit. Blonde hair perfectly styled, designer dress that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe used to. Everything about her screamed old money, class, the kind of woman Lucas was supposed to be with.
Not someone like me. Not the daughter of the family he'd destroyed.
She moved slowly, deliberately, checking behind the door, peering into the corners. Then she dropped to her knees—God, her knees, in that expensive dress—and looked under the daybed that sat against one wall.
My heart was pounding so hard I was sure she could hear it. Sure that any second she'd notice the closet, pull open the door, and find me crammed inside like some kind of guilty secret.
Which, I supposed, was exactly what I was.
Claire stood, brushing off her dress, and turned toward the closet. Toward me.
I held my breath, pressing myself as far back into the corner as I could. Through the crack, I could see Lucas now, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, watching his fiancée search for evidence of his infidelity with an expression of mild amusement.
He looked completely relaxed. Completely in control. Like this was all just another game to him.
Claire's hand reached for the closet door handle.
This was it. This was how it ended—caught hiding in a closet like some cheap mistress, my shame on full display. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable.
But the door didn't open.
Instead, I heard Lucas move. Heard his footsteps cross the room. And when I opened my eyes, I saw him wrap his arms around Claire from behind, pulling her away from the closet and into his embrace.
"Darling," he murmured, his voice soft and coaxing. "There's no one here. I promise."
Claire turned in his arms, her expression uncertain. "Then why are you acting so strange?”