Water droplets cascaded down Xavier's chiseled frame as he stepped out of the steam-filled shower. His hand reached for the absent comfort of a towel, only to grasp at the void. The stark realization dawned on him: the towels lay in a heap in the laundry room, all bearing stains and wrinkles from their use the night before. "Fuck," he spat out, his voice a low growl reverberating against the cool tile.
He paused, the stillness of the room prickling his skin. 'Argh, Cathleen is still sleeping, after all.' Xavier's thoughts cut through the silence like a knife. He was accustomed to control, to having everything in its place-his firm under the management of his nephew, his public image shrouded in secrecy. But this, this was an oversight, a ripple in his otherwise placid existence.
With a dismissive shrug that shed water from his body, he stepped with purpose out of the bathroom. The air outside was cooler, carrying the lingering scent of jasmine from Cathleen's perfume. It was then that his gaze fell upon her, the sight arresting him mid-stride.
In their bedroom, Cathleen's eyes were like a steel blade that had been taken out of its case. She didn't move from the bed she was stuck in. Her body was covered in bruising and bandages from the accident that had taken away her ability to move, but not her determination. The pain of her wounds mixed with the sudden, unwanted flush of redness that came over her cheeks as she looked at what she saw.
Xavier stood there, an unashamedly manly figure. The fact that he was naked made it clear that they had never been close. Her close look didn't make his body shake; instead, it seemed to swell with pride. He looked like an old Greek statue that she had studied in college, but he was alive in a way that marble could never capture.
Her shaky breath showed that she wasn't as cool as she seemed. The way her eyes were pulled to his rock-hard cock made her feel like they were betraying her and going against her will. Xavier's size was almost mythical, a taunt to her senses. It was the kind of thing that was talked about in dressing rooms and at ladies' luncheons, but here it was, showing off without any shame or pretense.
"Lost for words, Cathleen?" Xavier's voice was a low rumble, thrumming through the charged air between them.
She wanted to lash back with that sharp tongue of hers, to cut him down to a size more manageable than the reality pressing upon her now. But shock rooted her words to the floor, as surely as her battered body was confined to the bed.
"I never thought you'd be the shy type," he added, the corners of his mouth lifting in a cruel mimic of a smile.
A flicker of defiance sparked within her. Cathleen, the woman who had faced down legal titans in the courtroom and who had woven arguments so tight that not even the most cunning could slip through, found herself grappling with a vulnerability she despised.
"Shy is hardly the term I'd use," Cathleen managed to say, her voice steady despite the tumult inside her. "Surprised, perhaps. I wouldn't have pegged you for an exhibitionist."
"Surprises are the spice of life, aren't they?" He retorted, stepping closer to the bed, the air seemingly bending around his imposing form.
It wasn't desire that made Cathleen's heart beat faster; it was a rhythm that meant both danger and challenge. That wasn't the love and kindness she had dreamed of before. This was something darker, like a board game where she was still learning how to play. She looked briefly at her wheelchair, which made her present weakness even worse, and then back to Xavier as if she were comparing being confined to her wheelchair to being free.
"Turn away if it offends you," Xavier dared, his voice threaded with a dominance that echoed the ruthlessness that made him a titan in the shadows of his own industry.
"Offended? No." Cathleen's retort sliced the distance between them. "But let's not pretend this is anything but what it is-a crude assertion of power."
His laughter was a shard of ice. "And here I thought you enjoyed a good power play, Cat."
"Enjoyment implies choice," she said coldly, the red on her cheeks now a banner of her fury rather than embarrassment. "And right now, Xavier, you've mistaken my silence for acquiescence."
Xavier loomed over her, the sunlight casting an ethereal glow on his bare skin. "So then, Cat," he drawled with a predatory grin, "why would a cock surprise you because clearly, you have seen plenty?" His voice was taunting, wrapped in velvet darkness.
Cathleen's heart hammered against her ribs, a wild thing caged by her composure. She lay motionless, the crisp sheets now twisted around her like the coiled springs of a trap. Her cheeks betrayed her, blooming with an involuntary rush of heat as his hand moved with deliberate provocation.
There he stood, beside the bed, shaking his cock for her-an insufferable man who mistook her silence for experience, her calculated calm for familiarity with the games he played. Cathleen's sharp tongue, her weapon that had never failed her in court, clung to the roof of her mouth, thick with lust and indignation.
"Xavier," she managed, her voice a blade cutting through the charged air, "your assumptions are as baseless as they are crude."
If only he knew. Poor Cathleen, shielded behind her fortress of legal victories, untouched yet by the intimacy she defended others from. This dance of theirs, this push and pull, was laced with the threat of revealing truths she guarded so fiercely.
If Xavier had known the truth-that she hadn't been with a man-he wouldn't be there; he wouldn't be shaking his cock for Cathleen like a male stripper on a pole, taunting her with the shadow of experience she did not possess. But Xavier Knight was cold and ruthless; he hunted without care and loved without attachment. He lived far from the spotlight that threatened to unveil him, just as it threatened to expose her own secrets.
She watched him-the man who hated the cameras yet played his seduction before her eyes alone. He was a sex god to many, but to Cathleen, he was the enigma that tested her limits, pushed her boundaries, and called forth the primal desires she had hidden beneath layers of litigation and logic.
The room seemed to close in, each breath a shared conspiracy, every heartbeat a reluctant drumroll to the inevitable collision. Theirs was a battleground of wills where family, love, and betrayal were the spoils, and violence and abuse were the haunting specters that danced in the periphery of their passion.
"Are you going to stand there all day?" Cathleen's voice broke the tension: "Or is there a point to this display?"
Her defiance sparked the air between them, and in this game of power, neither was willing to yield.
"I have to say, wifey, you'll never see a cock like this with any of your clients." He said that and disappeared into the walk-in closet.