Chapter 68 Confession No 50: Her Daddy’s Rival
Chapter 68 Confession No 50: Her Daddy’s Rival
THE FIRST GLANCE
The ballroom glittered with the kind of decadence only old money could afford satin draped tables, crystal flutes brimming with golden champagne, and violins singing softly over the hum of elite conversation. Chandeliers loomed above like icy crowns, but nothing in the room sparkled quite like her.
Seraphina Cruz moved through the sea of gowns and tuxedos like a flame in velvet. Her dress was dark wine nearly scandalous spilling low across her spine and clinging to every sinful curve. It was her subtle rebellion, a way to remind her father that she was no longer his little girl, and certainly not a pawn in his corporate chessboard.
But even she wasn’t prepared for the man who stepped into the room.
He didn’t belong to this polished world not completely. His presence was too raw, too commanding, like a wolf among silk clad lambs. Broad shouldered, towering, effortlessly composed in a black-on-black suit that made him look like power incarnate. His dark hair was slicked back with precision, and the silver at his temples made him look all the more dangerous.
He paused at the entry, scanning the room. And then his eyes locked on her.
Seraphina’s heart skipped. Not the kind of skip she could hide no, this was a thud that travelled between her thighs. His gaze was slow, unapologetic, and when his lips curved at the corners, she swore her knees weakened.
He walked toward her like he had all the time in the world, like no one could stop him, and no one dared to.
“Seraphina,” her father’s voice barked beside her. “Come meet a business associate.”
She barely heard him. Because that man, the man, was already beside them, towering, calm, and crackling with quiet authority.
“Ah,” her father continued, tone now strained. “Vincent Maddox. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Vincent.
The name sizzled through her spine.
“Business brought me in,” Vincent said, his voice a low, molten thing. “Pleasure might make me stay.”
Her father stiffened. Seraphina blinked, trying to pull her thoughts together, but the scent of him dark spice and something expensive was already invading her senses.
“This is my daughter, Seraphina. She's studying law.”
A flicker of amusement danced in Vincent’s eyes as if the word daughter barely registered. He took her hand not with polite disinterest like the other men in this room, but with warmth, strength, and the kind of grip that lingered a second too long.
“Charmed,” he murmured. “Seraphina, is it? A name like that belongs in poetry, not courtrooms.”
Her breath caught. His voice wasn’t just deep it was deliberate. Measured. He said her name like it was something he already wanted to taste.
Her father cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable. But Vincent never looked away.
“Your father and I don’t always agree,” he said smoothly, “but tonight, I must thank him. He’s kept you hidden far too long.”
The Dangerous Invitation
Seraphina couldn’t sleep that night. Not with the echo of Vincent Maddox’s voice coiling through her mind like warm smoke. Not with the memory of his eyes trailing down her bare back as she walked away eyes that didn’t just look, but possessed.
Her fingers still tingled from his grip.
She lay in bed, silk sheets twisted around her legs, replaying every second of their interaction. The way he called her name. The way he looked at her like he already knew how she tasted, how she sounded when she moaned. It wasn’t just attraction. It was something else an unspoken pull that terrified her as much as it thrilled her.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number. One message.
"Come to the rooftop. Alone. — V."
Her pulse kicked.
Vincent Maddox had no reason to be at her father's penthouse hotel. He wasn’t a guest. He wasn’t welcome. But that was Vincent’s power he didn’t ask for access. He took it.
She knew she shouldn’t go. Her father would be furious. The press would feast on the scandal. But none of it mattered right now.
Because the curiosity was burning hotter than her common sense.
Slipping out of bed, she wrapped herself in a satin robe. No makeup. No shoes. Just bare feet and bare skin underneath. Her heart thudded harder with every step as she ascended the private stairwell to the rooftop lounge.
It was dark.
Wind kissed her thighs.
And then he was there. Leaning against the glass railing with a tumbler in one hand, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie undone like temptation in human form.
“You came,” he said, not even turning. His voice was silk over gravel.
“I shouldn’t have,” she whispered.
“But you did.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy and electric. The city lights glittered below, but the real fire was in the air between them. Vincent turned then, slowly, taking her in like a man who already knew what was under the robe. His gaze was sharp. Possessive.
“You know who I am to your father, Seraphina,” he said, stepping closer. “You know what this would mean.”
She didn’t answer. Her breath hitched as he reached for the belt of her robe not pulling, just touching. Testing.
“Tell me to stop.”
She didn’t.
Instead, she whispered the truth that had been burning since the ballroom.
“I don’t want you to.”
The First Touch
The belt of her robe slipped through Vincent’s fingers like silk through fire. He didn’t pull it yet. He let it rest there, letting the weight of the moment settle between them like a decision that couldn’t be undone.
Seraphina’s breath caught in her throat.
She could feel the cool rooftop air against her skin, and the even hotter burn of his presence just inches away. His hand was still resting on the knot of her robe, heavy and possessive. The city hummed below, a thousand lights bearing witness to a sin not yet committed but craved.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispered, not moving an inch.
“The best ones usually are,” Vincent murmured, lowering his mouth to the curve of her neck.
His lips didn’t touch yet, but the heat of his breath grazed her collarbone, making goosebumps ripple across her skin. She wanted him to kiss her. To devour her. But the anticipation the tease it was maddening.
His knuckles grazed the side of her thigh, just under the robe, his touch deliberate light enough to make her ache, firm enough to say: I know what you want.
“You’re your father’s jewel,” Vincent murmured. “Polished, pampered forbidden.”
She blinked up at him, a mixture of anger and desire flaring in her chest. “And what are you?”
He smiled. Slowly. Darkly.
“The man who shouldn't be here.”
His fingers moved again this time tracing the inside of her wrist. A soft, reverent touch. Intimate.
And then he finally kissed her.
Not on the lips.
But just below her ear. Soft. Hot. Dangerous.
Seraphina exhaled a moan she didn’t mean to let slip, and he chuckled softly, the sound of a man who knew exactly what he was doing to her.
“Tell me to stop,” he repeated.
“No,” she whispered, almost like a prayer. “Please don’t.”
That was all he needed.
The robe fell open.
His hands were suddenly on her waist, pulling her against him with a strength that made her knees buckle. Her bare chest met the warmth of his tailored shirt, and she gasped at the contact. He kissed her then on the lips this time slow and deep, the kind of kiss that warned her she would never forget how he tasted.
“You're not a little girl anymore,” Vincent growled against her mouth. “And I’m done pretending I haven’t noticed.”
The kiss deepened. His hands were in her hair. On her hips. Lifting her slightly onto the ledge behind them dangerous, reckless, thrilling.
Seraphina wrapped her legs around his waist, the city blurring behind him as she clung to the man she should fear. The man she shouldn’t crave.
But it was too late.
The first touch had already ruined them.
The Rooftop Ruin
The city was beneath them, glittering and oblivious. But up here, on this high-rise rooftop wrapped in shadows and want, Seraphina was no one’s daughter.
She was only his.
Vincent’s hands slid under the silk of her robe now parted and forgotten gliding along her bare back like he was mapping sacred ground. Her thighs clenched tighter around him as his mouth moved from hers to the base of her neck, leaving wet, hot trails that made her arch against him.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured, voice husky, thick with restraint.
“I’ve never” she began, but he silenced her with a kiss, softer than before.
“I know.”
He didn’t ask how far she’d gone before.
He didn’t ask permission again.
Because her body was already answering him pulling him closer, surrendering piece by piece with every gasp, every soft cry she made when his palm cupped her breast and his thumb rolled over the peak of it.
“You’re dangerous, Vincent,” she whispered. “You could ruin me.”
“I plan to,” he said simply, kissing her again like a man on the edge of hunger.
He laid her back on the ledge, jacket beneath her, his mouth trailing lower. Slow. Torturous. Her robe was completely open now, her skin kissed by the night air and by his lips.
His tongue traced a line down her navel, and Seraphina’s hands gripped the edge beneath her, the wind dancing through her hair as she bit her lip to keep from crying out.
But when he slipped one hand between her thighs, coaxing them wider, she stopped holding back.
“Vincent”
“Say it again,” he breathed, fingers stroking where she was already warm and aching.
“Vincent”
She was losing herself. Every rational thought scattered like the breeze that danced across her flushed skin. He didn’t rush. No, Vincent worshipped her every stroke, every kiss, every whisper designed to push her closer to the edge she had always been too afraid to leap from.
Until now.
She shattered with his name on her lips, trembling in his arms, and when he lifted his head to look at her, there was nothing gentlemanly in his gaze anymore. Just pure, carnal male satisfaction. And hunger still left to be fed.
“We’re not done,” he said darkly, leaning down to kiss her again.
The night was thick with heat both from the city and from them.
Seraphina’s back arched as she lay spread across the cold rooftop ledge, her silk top pushed up, her skirt bunched around her waist, nothing left between her and Vincent but pulsing desire. His mouth teased her thighs, hot breath dragging shivers up her spine.
“Tell me what you want, baby,” Vincent rasped, voice low and sinful.
“You,” she moaned, “I want you to ruin me.”
That was all he needed.
His tongue found her folds, slow and sure, his fingers digging into her thighs to hold her still. She cried out softly, biting her knuckle to stifle the sounds as he feasted on her like a man gone feral. Every flick, every circle, every lash of his tongue pushed her closer to madness.
“Vincent, please, I’m going to”
“Do it,” he growled. “Drip for me.”
She came hard, her entire body shaking, his name a strangled whisper. But he didn’t stop. He devoured her through it, then stood, towering over her with dark, stormy eyes.
“You think that was ruin?” he asked, undoing his belt. “That was foreplay.”
She gasped as he pushed into her thick, slow, and deliberate stretching her wide and filling her deep. Her nails scraped against his back as he began to move, each thrust purposeful, each moan drowned by the wind and city hum.
The rooftop was their stage his hips slapping hers, her legs locked tight around him as they chased ruin together under the stars.
“So fucking tight,” he growled, gripping her hips and pounding harder. “You were made for me.”
Her cries echoed off the concrete walls, and she didn’t care who might hear.
Vincent leaned down, licking the shell of her ear.
“What would your daddy say if he saw you like this taking his rival’s cock like a good little slut?”
She whimpered, teetering on the edge again, her orgasm building like a dam about to break. With a final thrust, he plunged deep and spilled inside her, groaning her name like it was a prayer and a curse.
They lay tangled, breathless, his body still resting on hers.
Then, buzz. Her phone lit up beside them.
“DAD CALLING”
Seraphina’s heart stopped. Vincent’s hips shifted. He was still inside her.
“Answer it,” he whispered, lips brushing her ear. “But don’t you dare let him hear you come.”
Silent Sin
Seraphina stared at her phone as it vibrated on the concrete rooftop, the name “Dad” glowing like a warning.
Vincent was still buried deep inside her, his cock twitching, hardening again. He hadn’t moved an inch, but the devilish smirk on his face told her everything.
“Answer it,” he murmured again, his breath hot against her cheek.
“Put it on speaker.”
She looked at him like he’d lost his mind.
“You’re insane.”
“And you’re wet.”
He rolled his hips slowly, just once enough to remind her who was still in control of her body. A soft, involuntary moan slipped from her lips. She slapped a hand over her mouth.
The phone stopped vibrating.
Then started again.
“If you don’t answer now,” Vincent said, voice thick with warning, “I’ll start fucking you like I don’t care who hears.”
With shaking fingers, she picked it up and slid her thumb across the screen.
“H-Hello?” she said, voice trembling.
Her father’s voice rang through the speaker, clear and unsuspecting.
“Sweetheart, are you home? I just left the office and are you out?”
Vincent began to move.
Slow, deep strokes. Torturous, controlled. Her eyes widened as she fought to keep her voice level, her thighs already trembling again from the friction.
“Y-Yeah, I’m, I’m with a friend,” she managed, biting her lip until it nearly bled.
“You sound out of breath. You alright?”
Vincent’s thumb reached up between their bodies and began circling her clit. Slow. Teasing.
“I’m fine. Just stairs,” she said, barely able to speak through the waves building again.
“Well, listen I'm thinking of having dinner with Vincent D’Amore tomorrow. The guy’s been sniffing around our business, but maybe he’s not so bad.”
She froze.
Vincent locked eyes with her and chuckled low in his throat, pushing deeper.
“Maybe you’ll come along, Sera?” her father continued.
Vincent leaned in and whispered, “You’ll be full of me while he shakes my hand.”
Her stomach twisted.
“Sure, Daddy,” she breathed. “Dinner sounds great.”
But then Vincent thrust hard. Once. Deep.
She dropped the phone.
“Seraphina?”
“Sera!”
She fumbled to grab it, her thighs quivering violently.
“Sorry!” she gasped, desperate to end the call. “Bad signal talk soon!”
She hung up, collapsing against Vincent, chest heaving, pussy clenching around him.
“You’re sick,” she whispered.
“You love it.”
A Table for Three
The dinner reservation was for three.
Seraphina hadn’t expected her father to place her between him and Vincent at the elegant downtown restaurant, but there she was heart racing, throat dry, thighs pressed tightly together beneath her sleek silk dress.
Vincent looked sinful in black. Shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Silver watch glinting as he swirled his wine, never once looking at her directly, but she could feel him.
Every. Damn. Second.
“To new beginnings,” her father toasted, raising his glass.
“To dirty little endings,” Vincent murmured under his breath, his voice meant only for her.
She almost choked.
Vincent’s hand slid beneath the tablecloth again. Just like earlier. Only this time, they were in public.
Crowded, intimate, too close public.
His fingertips found her inner thigh, smooth and warm, tracing up until they reached the heat between her legs. No panties. Per his earlier demand.
“You remembered,” he whispered, smiling into his wineglass.
“Good girl.”
Seraphina could barely breathe.
Her father was talking about hedge funds, completely oblivious to the fact that his daughter's legs were now parted just enough for his rival to tease her slick folds under the table. Vincent's fingers were slow. Knowing. Calculated. He pressed two fingers in with a practiced curl.
Her entire body clenched.
“Is the food okay, princess?” her father asked.
“It’s, spicy,” she croaked, gripping her fork so tight it nearly bent.
Vincent chuckled under his breath, fingertips now circling her clit as the waiter refilled their water. The nerve. The audacity. The way her body wanted more. Her hips subtly rocked into his hand, seeking pressure, release anything.
“You look like you’re about to beg,” he whispered, mouth close to her ear.
“One wrong sound and daddy will know you’re nothing but a wet little toy for me. Do you like that?”
She nodded. Barely.
He pinched her clit and her breath hitched.
“Bathroom,” she muttered quickly, standing up so fast her chair nearly toppled.
“Are you okay, Seraphina?” her dad asked.
“She’s fine,” Vincent answered smoothly, rising too.
“I’ll walk her.”
She rushed to the hallway, heels clacking, heart thundering in her chest as she pushed into the private restroom. The door barely clicked shut before he was behind her, locking it with a soft, dangerous snick.
“You left me hard under the table,” he growled, grabbing her hips and turning her toward the mirror.
“Bend over. Right now.”
“But someone could”
“Exactly. Now.”
She obeyed.
Hands braced against the marble counter. Dress bunched at her hips. Eyes wide in the mirror as he pulled his zipper down and lined up behind her.
“This is what you’ve been begging for all dinner, Seraphina. Let me give it to you properly.”
And he did.
Hard. Fast. One hand over her mouth, the other pressed flat against her belly as he drove into her again and again, punishing her for every stolen glance, every tease, every wicked thought she’d had since meeting him.
“You’re mine now. Not his. Mine,” he growled into her ear, biting her neck as she trembled against the mirror.
The sound of voices outside grew louder.
People were coming.
And she was about to scream.