Chapter 49 Cruel Fate
~Hermes~
"You've been quiet since we left SCC. What's eating you?" Jake asks, signaling for another round.
I drain my glass in one go, but the burn do nothing to appease me.
Seeing June in that fitting room - it can't be a fucking coincidence.
I earlier fed Charlotte some bullshit about an urgent office call to leave the building before I see her again, and dragged Jake out instead, though he wasn't exactly thrilled, then somehow, we ended up in the one bar I swore I didn't want to come to.
How the hell does that even happen? Out of all the fitting rooms on that floor, out of all the women I could've walked in on half-naked... it had to be her.
What the actual fuck? For a moment I thought I'd finally lost it. She shouldn't have been there - but she was. Standing in front of me, lips parted, eyes wide.
It was as if fate reached down, grabbed her by the throat, and threw her back into my path - just to spit in my face.
How the fuck is this possible?
I should have said something. Anything. But my throat locked the second our eyes met. Instead, I just stood there like an idiot, tracing the line of her neck, the slip of her back, the way her breath hitched-
"Hermes, buddy?" Jake's hand slaps my shoulder, jolting me back. I regret dragging him out with me. I should've called Gavin instead-at least he knows when to shut up.
"What's running through your head? You didn't want to see Tasha in her dress that bad, huh? That's why you lied to Charlotte about work? And your face looked like you've seen a ghost earlier." He grins like it's a joke.
I sigh, rubbing at my temple as I snatch the bottle off the table. The private room Jake booked feels too small, and loud, even in its silence.
"I brought you here because I thought you wouldn't ask questions. Thought you'd drink and shut the hell up with me." I shake my head, pouring another glass. "Guess I was wrong."
Jake sends me a pouty side-eye. "God forbid a friend is caring." He sighs, then adds, "Is it your hand? Or maybe you're nervous about tomorrow. First gala as CEO-big shoes to fill."
Fuck. Now he's dragging the gala into it, like I don't already have bigger problems.
I lick my lips, shut my eyes. "Jake?" I say, opening them again.
He leans closer, mouth twitching toward that annoying grin.
"Will you shut up if I give you Charlotte's friend? I notice you're already on a nick-name basis with her."
His eyes light up. "Really? You would? Alright, I'll stop playing detective." He mimes zipping his lips.
"Don't get ahead of yourself. I'll take her to the gala first, then-"
My phone buzzes, cutting me off.
It's a message from Natasha, as if summoned.
(Hi, It's Natasha. Got your number from Charlotte)
A scoff escapes my lips. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. My initial plan flashes in my head-the one I had before stumbling into June in that goddamn fitting room.
"Who's that? Gavin or Ted?" Jake asks, leaning closer, and I shift back instinctively, dropping my phone upside down on the table.
"No talking, remember?" I remind him, voice flat.
He nods like a scolded puppy, but a second later, he's grinning again, phone in hand. "Alright then, type in her number."
"Not so fast, buddy. I don't have it yet," I lie smoothly, standing up. "Restroom."
I don't wait for his response.
I'll give him her number... after I fuck her.
The thought makes me chuckle darkly as I flip the phone over. Natasha's message still glows on the screen, but this time, there's a follow-up waiting for me.
(You couldn't see me in my sexy dress because of work. How about you see me without it?)
Fuck. That's what I'm talking about.
I hesitate for a fraction of a second, considering if I should tell Jake, but the image of his eager face flashes in my head, and the thought of shattering it feels like kicking a puppy. So not tonight.
So I walk out, sliding my thumb over the keyboard and typing a reply:
(Rain Private Suites. Room 9. Less clothes.).
If fate thinks it can control my day, I'll prove I'm more than capable of controlling it myself.
\`\`\`
"Oh, so... rough-" Natasha drawls, her hands snaking around my neck as I pin her bare body to the hotel wall.
She leans in, aiming for my lips, but I stop her midway with a hand against her jaw. I wasn't going to let that happen again.
"No lip action." My voice comes out flat, final.
Her lips part like she wants to protest, but she swallows it down, burying her face into my shoulder instead. Her whisper is needy, muffled: "If you won't mouth-fuck me, then give me the real thing."
That's it. I flip her, crashing her body onto the table.
Her back hits the table with a thud, glass rattling, and she lets out a breathy gasp, a little whimper that slides into my ear like smoke. I grip her thighs and shove them apart, sliding my aching cock to her hot, wet entrance in a sharp thrust, nothing tender. Her nails drag against the polished wood, against my arm when I slid in again slow and teasing.
"Ah-Hermes-" she gasps, needy. Her voice trembles and I lock onto it, force myself to catalog the pitch, the breath between syllables. I have to memorize it. Drown in it.
Her scent clings to me-the sharp sweetness of her perfume mixed with sweat, sex. I bury my face in the curve of her neck, inhaling like a starved, determined man .This is what I need to anchor myself, not June's perfume, only Natasha's.
Her moan drags long, sultry, "Ah – Nnhn ..."
Her breathy plea coils around my ears, so I press her hips harder into the table edge, feeling her body shudder.
"God-you feel so deep-" she gasps breathless as I thrust in fast pace, "Ohh-y-yes-don't stop, Hermes-ahhh-"
I grit my teeth, dragging her back against me, burying myself deeper, until I hear nothing but that desperate pitch.
June's laugh doesn't belong here. Her mouth doesn't exist, and her scent...her scent is gone.
"Say my name," I snap, hand clamping on Natasha's wide hip, as if ordering her voice to wash me clean.
"Hermes-" she cries, breath shattering into a broken moan, "fuck-please, don't slow down-"
That's it. That's what I'll learn to live with. Not June. Never June.
Only this body under me, this voice crying out for me, this scent smothering every memory I refuse to keep.
Her head falls back, her throat arching as another gasp tumbles free, wet and helpless, "Y-yes-oh god, yes-"
I drive harder, punishing myself with the sound. "Ah-ahhh-Hermes-don't stop-oh, god-"
Her voice trembles like she's about to cry.
I slam forward, hips cracking against her ass, the table rattling beneath her.
"Fuck-yes-yes-" she moans, her nails dragging on my back, the scrape loud against the rhythm of my thrusts.
Her body is tight, slick, hot-demanding me, welcoming me, so it will do, till I get another addiction.
I bite down hard, chasing Natasha's sounds, burying myself deeper until her scream cuts through.
"Ahhh-Hermes-harder-please-"
Her plea is ragged, broken. The way her voice catches-"ahhhnn"-slams through my skull.
.
Fuck June. I grab her hair, yank her head back, forcing her to spill her cries louder.
"Say it again," I growl against her ear, hips jerking rough, bruising.
"H-Hermes-Hermes-oh fuck, don't stop, don't stop-ahhh-"
Her pitch cracks into a whimper that borders on a scream, her throat raw with it.
Her body clutches me, her back arching, ass slamming back against my thrusts with needy rhythm.
The table squeals against the floor with every hit.
Her breath is everywhere-gasping, moaning, whimpering, "ahh-ahhh-ahhhhnn-fuck, yes-"
And me-grinding, forcing, chasing release-clawing at denial.
Natasha is the real deal. This slick heat around me, these wet fucking cries.
I slam in harder, holding her down as her voice breaks into wild sobbing moans, "ahhhn-ahhh-ohhh, god, yes-fuck-"
Her body convulses, dragging me with her, her scream ripping the air open.
I shut my eyes. Memorize her scream, not June's laugh.
Natasha. Natasha. Natasha. Her scream are still ringing in my ear, when my phone buzzes on the table. I want to ignore it-God knows I need this distraction-but something in the way it doesn't stop makes my gut twist.
I snatch it up. My brow arch up, lips letting out a breathless grunt. It's Doctor Lenoir. What happened this time?
"Mr. Hermes...It's your father... He's gone into critical condition. We're rushing him to the OR now. You should come immediately."
The world freezes. My fingers go numb, and for a beat, I hear nothing but the hollow pounding of my chest.
"Fuck!" I roar, shoving away from Natasha. She stumbles, startled, but I'm already tearing my clothes back on, the phone clattering to the floor. My heart is thrashing as I storm out.
When I burst into the hospital, the smell of antiseptic and panic seizes me. Doctors and nurses swarm the hallway, and there he is-Lucien Grande-on a gurney, his face ghostly pale, mouth slack, eyes closed. He looks lifeless..
"Father!" My voice rips from me, but it barely reaches him. His body doesn't flinch, doesn't stir. One nurse pulls at me to step back, but I follow them, my feet dragging me like I can will him back just by staying close.
They wheel him toward the OR, the machines clattering, voices shouting orders. My chest tightens. He's not moving, or breathing on his own. His body looks like a shell, and I can't tell if he even knows I'm here.
At the operating room doors, the lead surgeon stops me. His eyes are grim.
"You can't go in, Mr. Hermes. Wait outside. We'll do everything we can."
The door shuts in my face.
I slam my fist against it, the sound echoing through the sterile hallway. My throat burns. I grit my teeth so hard I think they might shatter.
"Damn it!" I snarl, pressing my forehead against the cold wall. "Fate, you cruel bastard."