Conquer - A Dave Williams Story c.7

Dear Readers: After a few requests I have written Chapter 7 of Dave's Odyssey. I am working on another piece with the lead character a bit more demanding a little darker- but I may return to Mr. Williams and Alex in the future.

If you are just finding this story - it is helpful to read the first 6 chapters to learn how we have made it to this place - if not, then this should be able to stand on its own, even without the backstory. The first six were in the novel/novella category - this one has moved

As for me here is the common disclaimer - I write for me - to exercise and sometimes exorcise the Post Traumatic demons that walk my brain. If this is not your style, your vibe - no worries - just move on.

If you are one of the anonymous keyboard warriors that criticize everything that other people have poured themselves into on this site - thanks for letting us live rent free in your head.

Enjoy the storm. +++

The Airbus A321 hummed beneath them, the muted vibration of jet engines a steady undercurrent to the low murmur of conversations in business class. Seat 4A had Alex McClear in it, legs crossed, tablet untouched on the tray table, a half-finished gin and tonic in her hand. Beside her, in 4B, Dave Williams looked like a man pretending to read--screen aglow, eyes unfocused.

They'd both dressed the part--she in charcoal slacks and a soft navy blouse open just enough at the collar to remind people she didn't report to anyone but the results; he in a light-blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled once, no tie, watch gleaming just below the cuff. A team, by any visible measure. Comfortable. Competent. Cordial.

But underneath that practiced ease, the air between them carried a different sort of charge. Not hostile--never that. But something had shifted.

A few weeks back, under the weight of too much whiskey and too much grief, they had crossed a line. It hadn't been planned. It hadn't even been logical. It had just happened. One of those nights born out of pain and comfort and that undeniable, stupid heat that neither of them could fully ignore anymore.

Alex glanced over, catching Dave mid-blink. He wasn't reading. He was staring at the same screen he'd opened twenty minutes ago. She smiled--not teasing, but fond. And because they were friends first, and because she knew him better than most, she didn't let it sit.

"You've been on page four since Ohio airspace," she murmured, her voice soft enough that the businessman behind them wouldn't catch a word.

Dave exhaled slowly, pressing the power button on the tablet without looking at it. He turned toward her, mouth curving just enough to qualify as a smile. "Caught me."

"I always do."

He nodded, conceding that truth. Alex had always been sharp, but with him she was surgical. She saw things most people missed--especially the things he didn't say.

She took a sip of her drink, then set it down, her gaze dipping toward the window and the bleached-out desert below. "So," she said, the word casual, but not careless. "You ever gonna tell me what happened with Jonathan?"

Dave didn't answer right away. He shifted in his seat, stretching one leg out just enough to ease a tight muscle. "You really want to know?"

Alex tilted her head, brushing her hair back behind one ear, considering him. "I think I do. But only because... I don't know. I guess I just want to understand. What it meant to you. That night." She caught herself and gave a quick shake of her head. "I don't mean our night. I mean the revenge part."

"I fucked her," Dave said, meeting her eyes now. "I made him watch. It was the sweetest revenge I could have asked for."

Alex absorbed that. There was no judgment in her gaze--only thoughtfulness, and that deeper flicker of something more. Possession. Curiosity. Hunger for details she hadn't earned, but still wanted.

Dave's voice dropped further, the cabin noise absorbing just enough to make the words feel private. "At supper at their house, I made Jonathan tell her that he wanted me to fuck her and that he wanted to watch."

Alex blinked. "He asked?"

Dave nodded. "Said it out loud. Told her he wanted her to have what I could give her. That he wanted to watch." He paused, "In truth, Claire knew about the affair and wanted her vengeance almost as badly as I did."

Alex stared at him, silent. Not in disbelief, but in processing. The image burned its way behind her eyes--Jonathan, hollow and defeated, trying to turn his humiliation into some twisted kink to survive it. Claire, proud and angry and beautiful in her fury, offering herself as both punishment and performance. And Dave--controlled, deliberate, delivering retribution like a man who understood that pleasure and pain could be braided tightly if you were ruthless enough.

"And you did it," she said, voice hushed now. "Right there. With him watching."

"He sat in the corner," Dave said, his tone neither triumphant nor ashamed. Just factual. "Didn't move. Didn't speak. Claire never looked at him, not once. She kept her eyes on me the entire time."

Alex swallowed, the heat crawling down her spine not purely arousal but the thick, complex throb of understanding a man more deeply than she ever meant to.

"I don't know if I admire you," she said softly, "or pity you."

"I wouldn't blame you either way."

There was a long beat, the hum of the plane filling the space between them like breath. Then Alex sat back, drawing in a long sip from her glass, eyes flicking again to the view outside.

"I don't like to share," she said, offhand but not casual.

Dave turned slightly. "You didn't." There was quiet for the next hour, both of them wrestling with the truth. Dave had not missed the part where Alex didn't want to share - and Alex couldn't deny her jealousy.

The plane dipped again, the captain announcing they'd be landing in just under twenty minutes, thanking everyone for flying Delta, as if that voice didn't break something loose inside Dave the moment it came over the intercom.

Dave shifted in his seat, hands braced loosely over his knee, breath drawn through his nose and held. His chest tightened--familiar grief, not raw anymore, but still sharp at the edges.

Alex didn't speak. She just watched him out of the corner of her eye, fingers still curled around her glass, her body angled slightly toward his, open without crowding. She knew. She always knew.

"You okay?" she asked, soft.

He nodded once, but his hand reached for hers.. "I didn't want to come - first conference since Emily was killed driving home from a conference."

"I know," she whispered as her fingers intertwined with his.

Dave glanced over. She wasn't pretending not to care. But she wasn't trying to fix it either. That was one of the things he appreciated about Alex--she never tried to smooth over the wreckage. She stood beside it, looked at it with him, then helped him figure out how to move through it.

"I wasn't sure I'd say yes to this trip," he admitted.

"So why did you?"

He looked at her then, and the honesty came without filter. "Because you were going."

She held his gaze, something flickering behind her eyes that she didn't try to hide. "That's not fair," she said gently, but there was no rebuke in it. Just understanding.

"I know." A pause. "But it's true."

Alex swallowed the last of her drink, then leaned forward, elbows on her thighs, hands loosely clasped. "We never really talked about that day."

"The day Emily was killed or the day at your house?"

"Both, but I think you know what I mean."

Another silence settled--thicker now, heavier with the weight of everything almost said. Dave watched her hands, her fingers twisting her cocktail napkin slowly, methodically.

"It wasn't a mistake," he said.

She looked up.

"That day - with you. It wasn't a mistake, it wasn't about revenge, it was only about being with you. I've made plenty of mistakes - but you are not one of them."

Alex's lips parted, breath catching just slightly, but whatever she meant to say got lost in the soft chime of the seatbelt light flaring back on.

The fasten-seatbelt chime echoed through the cabin again, followed by the low murmur of the flight attendant making final checks. Dave glanced at the window, then at the woman beside him, the one who said friends only weeks ago but had been watching him with an intensity that had nothing to do with friendship since they'd boarded the plane.

She was quiet again. Thoughtful. Her fingers played absently with the charm at her wrist--a delicate silver band she wore like armor. Dave leaned slightly toward her, voice low enough not to carry past the plush divider. "You remember what you said, don't you?"

Alex blinked, glanced over, not following right away.

He didn't make her ask. "That day. Afterward. Friends only, you said. No strings."

She stilled, eyes narrowing--not in anger, but in something far more dangerous: self-defense.

"I remember," she said carefully. Her jaw tightened just slightly, and she looked back toward the seat in front of her like it might offer an escape. It didn't.

Dave leaned in, "I need to say something. You can ignore it or argue it or bury it," he continued, tone still even. Calm. But not safe. "If something's changed... if you've changed... I'd like to know. Before I start assuming things that'll make the next few days complicated."

Alex didn't answer right away. Her throat moved once, a swallow she didn't try to hide, and for the first time since he'd known her--years now, through mergers and messes and midnights--she looked just a little uncertain. Something had cracked.

She opened her mouth to speak but shut it again just as fast. That look in her eyes--calculated, clinical--wasn't holding as well as it usually did. It was softening. Splintering. She glanced down at her hands. "It's not that simple."

"I didn't say it was." Dave's voice had dropped again, and his eyes didn't leave her. "But we both know this thing between us didn't get erased just because we agreed not to talk about it."

"I wasn't supposed to feel--" She cut herself off, biting back the rest.

He leaned in a hair closer, just enough that his voice came like a shared breath. "But you do?"

Alex didn't respond. Her silence wasn't empty--it was full, brimming with the kind of truth that hadn't found its voice yet. Her fingers flexed against the edge of her seat, and her lashes lowered to hide whatever storm threatened behind her eyes. "I don't know what to do with it, Davey," she said finally, her voice rougher now. "I'm not ready to name it. I don't even know what it is."

"That's fine," he said, nodding once. "Alex, I'm not in a hurry, but I need you to stop looking at me like you wished it never happened, or take it further." He touched her chin and made her look at him, "I think I did a pretty good job of reading your body, but I can't read your mind."

That landed.

She inhaled slowly through her nose, eyes back on the window now, the desert climbing to meet them in a haze of copper and sand. But Dave saw it--the way her lips parted just slightly, like she was holding in something fragile. Not fear. Not guilt. Something closer to hope. Unwanted, maybe. But real. He didn't push.

The air in Phoenix was a furnace. Not the sticky kind that clung to your skin like sweat-soaked cloth, but the dry, brutal heat that felt like standing too close to the mouth of an open oven. Dave didn't complain--he never did--but Alex saw the way he adjusted his collar, fingers dragging along his jaw as they stepped out of the terminal and across the lot to the rental counter.

The car was a white Grand Cherokee--practical - thankfully white and not dark to attract the sun. Dave stepped into the driver's side without asking, which suited her fine. She preferred to watch.

They pulled out onto I-10 just before two, and by then, the city was already receding behind them--Phoenix shrinking in the rearview, Tucson still two hours south.

The radio played low, some instrumental jazz station Dave must've defaulted to out of habit. The air conditioning hissed cool and steady, and the sky outside stretched wide and endless, blindingly blue, the desert blooming in soft, aching tones--sage and sandstone, copper dust and jagged rock rising like half-forgotten gods.

Alex hadn't said much since they left the terminal. She sat with one knee bent, foot tucked beneath her on the passenger seat, head turned toward the window. But her silence wasn't passive. It was thick. Internal. Like she was trying to hold the pieces of herself still long enough to sort through them before they shifted again.

Dave let her have the quiet. He always did, and that--more than anything--was what undid her.

She glanced at him once, eyes trailing along the line of his forearm on the steering wheel, the way the sun caught the darker hairs at his wrist. Everything about him was always so steady. So damn certain. Even when he'd been wrecked after Emily, even when she'd found him that night in his condo, sitting in the dark with an unopened bottle of scotch on the counter and no appetite for company--he'd still looked like someone holding the world up by sheer refusal to let it fall.

That was the day she'd crossed the line. The night they both did. No one cried. No one clung. It wasn't tender--it was necessary. She told herself that at the time.

Friends only. That had been her line. She drew it fast and hard, wrapped in logic and self-protection, knowing damn well that Dave wasn't some wounded soul to rescue. He was dangerous--because he saw her. Because he knew her.

And now, hours from a hotel suite and a week of pretending they were just colleagues again, her heart had the gall to beat faster every time he shifted in the driver's seat.

She hated how much she remembered. The feel of his mouth at her shoulder. The way his breath sounded when he was holding back and how she'd been the one to break him open. She hated that the part of her who said never again was losing the argument to the one who kept glancing at his hands and remembering how they'd felt on her skin.

"You okay?" Dave asked, his voice cutting through her thoughts--not sharply, but gently. Like he already knew the answer.

"Yeah." She swallowed. "Just tired."

"Mmhmm," he said, not buying it but not pressing either. "Long week ahead."

"Full of polite conversations and forced networking." She tried to smile. "Can't wait."

Dave smirked, his eyes still on the road. "You say that like you don't secretly love it."

"I love the deals. I don't love the small talk."

"You're good at it."

"Doesn't mean I enjoy it."

They let the silence settle again, but this time, it was easier. The kind that came with knowing each other's rhythms.

Still, the weight of the earlier conversation hadn't gone anywhere.

Alex traced a finger along the edge of the door panel. "Back on the plane... you said if something had changed, I should tell you."

"I did."

She turned her face slightly toward him, watching the way the desert light painted sharp shadows on his face. "It's not just about what I feel, Dave. It's about what I'm afraid it means."

He nodded once, eyes still forward. "You don't have to explain it."

"Don't I?" Her voice cracked just slightly, soft but raw. "Because you sat there and called me out for looking at you like I wanted more, and the worst part is--I do. And I don't know how to not."

That brought his eyes to her--just for a second, but it was enough.

"And if I do?" she added, breath catching. "Want more."

His hands stayed steady on the wheel, but his jaw tensed.

"Then we talk about it," he said. "We figure it out. Together. When you're ready to stop fighting whatever the hell this is."

Alex nodded once, quickly, eyes back on the horizon--but now the desert looked different. Less empty. Less lonely.

Alex watched him from the corner of her eye, chest tight beneath the linen blouse she'd worn to look professional, restrained, boring. A mistake. She'd spent the last twenty minutes quietly burning beside him, her thighs pressed tight, breath low in her throat. There was something about the way he sat, the quiet masculinity of him--controlled, composed, but never cold. The warmth in his voice when he said her name. The way he'd defended her without even blinking when that smug bastard at the terminal had stepped too close. She wanted him. Desperately.

She wanted to lean across the console, unzip him, take him in her mouth and seal the deal, to make her claim before her courage faded again--before someone else did. God, how she wanted to taste him, feel the weight of his hand in her hair, to watch him come undone for her.

But just as her breath hitched, just as the fantasy curled hot and slick behind her ribs, a shadow slid over her thoughts like an eclipse.

Emily. The image wasn't of the woman herself, but of a sentence buried in the report Alex should never have read--a single line in the autopsy, clinical and cold: traces of seminal fluid present in the oral cavity and pharynx--recent exposure confirmed. She went still.

The nausea was instant and sickening--not jealousy, not grief, not even judgment--but a visceral, shame-laced horror that stopped her hand before it moved, clamped her jaw shut before she could speak. That was how she'd been found. Not just broken and bloodied at the crash site, but full of a man who hadn't been her husband. Her mouth, her throat--a final betrayal preserved in forensic ink.

Alex looked away sharply, dragging in a breath through her nose as if to steady herself. Dave didn't notice. Or maybe he did, but knew better than to ask. And wasn't that the problem? That he always knew better.

Her knuckles whitened on her thigh. She didn't know what was wrong with her--why something so intimate, so raw, had become a wall she couldn't scale. She wasn't a prude. God knew she wasn't squeamish. But something about it all--the grief, the timing, the revenge, the sex, the fucking fallout--made her feel like she was standing at the edge of a canyon without a rope or a plan. She couldn't jump. Not yet.

The resort rose like a mirage from the desert floor--low, sprawling, adobe-colored elegance with manicured palms and stone walkways winding between fountains that offered little relief from the sun but looked damned good trying. The valet took the keys, the concierge handed over room cards with corporate efficiency, and within minutes they were navigating cool, tiled hallways toward rooms that shared a wall but not a door.

Alex hated that detail more than she'd admit.

Dave dropped his bag on the bed with a grunt and a half-smile, checking his watch like he wasn't sure how to fill the next few hours until the welcome reception. She told him she'd meet him by the pool--needed a few minutes alone to decompress, freshen up, maybe cool the fire still simmering in her belly.

By the time she joined him, the sky had begun to dip into late-afternoon bronze, casting long shadows across the deck. He was already stretched out in a lounger near the water, a pair of aviators pushed up in his hair, bare chest bronzed and lean beneath a slate-gray swim shirt he hadn't bothered to zip. His legs--solid, scarred, powerful--were sprawled with unconscious confidence. Beside him was a drink sweating in the heat, untouched.

And standing over him, laughing at something he'd clearly just said, was a woman who could've passed for a swimsuit model on her day off.

Young--maybe twenty-five. Maybe. Auburn hair in a high ponytail, legs for days, and curves wrapped in a black bikini top that did everything it was meant to and then some. Alex had no idea what they were talking about, but her smile was too easy, her laugh too breathy, her eyes fixed on Dave with a heat that had nothing to do with regression analysis.

Alex stood just long enough to see him look up, nod, and smile. A polite smile. Friendly. Nothing more. But he didn't cut it off either. Didn't shift his body away. Didn't signal--intentionally or not--that he was unavailable. And maybe that was the truth of it. Maybe he wasn't.

She dropped her sarong on the empty lounger beside him with a snap of fabric that made him look up. "Hey," he said, and he really did look glad to see her--genuinely pleased, not performative. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she lied, sliding onto the chair with a grace that cost her something to fake. "You're making friends."

Dave blinked, then glanced back toward the analyst, who had already started to wander off--swaying more than walking, hips like punctuation marks on a silent sentence. He watched her go, confused. "What? No. She was just--" he paused, brow furrowed. "Honestly, she had a question about where the reception was tonight."

Alex didn't reply. She reached for the server's attention and ordered a cocktail--strong, fruity, fast. Then another.

Dave watched her but said nothing, maybe sensing the edge in her voice and knowing better than to press. The silence between them settled thickly as other executives and attendees filtered in, drinks in hand, casual and loud. Alex downed her second in half the time it took him to finish half of his first.

By her third, her laugh had changed. It was too sharp, too loose. She flipped her hair more than once, adjusted her top with just a bit too much flourish, and when a young guy with a runner's body and an easy grin wandered over to ask her if she was attending the innovation panel that night, she flashed him a smile hot enough to melt steel.

"Maybe," she said, biting her lower lip. "Depends on what you're doing after."

The young man didn't blink. He just smiled wider and leaned closer. "Hopefully getting to know you a bit better."

She could feel Dave go still beside her--still in that way men do when something doesn't compute, when their assumptions are challenged in real time. He turned his head just enough to catch the look on the young man's face, the closeness, the flirtation dripping off her like sweat.

And only then did something in him tighten. Only then did his body shift. Alex knew it and she felt it. And savored it with a spike of vengeance that didn't taste as good as she thought it would. She was drunk. Not sloppy. Not stumbling. But just far enough gone to know she was about to tip over an edge she'd carefully danced around for months. And maybe she didn't care.

Because he hadn't seen the girl's hands on her hips. Because he hadn't seen the way she'd licked her lips mid-sentence. Because he hadn't seen anything at all. But he was sure as hell seeing this.

Dinner had been scheduled for eight. One of those half-mandatory conference events--open bar, faux-elegant buffet, networking chaos in a courtyard flanked with torches and desert blooms. By the time they arrived, the sun had set, the heat had receded into something softer, more seductive, and Alex's laughter had turned just a shade too loud.

Dave had said very little since they'd returned from the pool. Since he'd sat down beside her in their suite, brows furrowed and mouth tight, and asked in that maddeningly calm voice if she was alright. She hadn't answered--not really. Had just kicked off her heels, pulled a chilled bottle of rosé from the minibar, and turned away from him. He didn't press. He never pressed. And maybe that was part of the problem.

Now, seated at a round table with name cards and branded swag, Alex leaned into conversation with the two younger analysts from Boston. They were charming in that unpolished way--still too fresh in the industry to understand restraint. One of them, Oliver, kept brushing her arm when he laughed. The other, Chase, clearly hadn't stopped staring at her legs since the bread basket hit the table.

And still, Dave said nothing.

He sat beside her, his suit jacket gone, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the bronzed edge of his chest and that hint of ink that always made her stomach tighten. His jaw was set in granite, his eyes shaded in silence as he sipped a club soda and picked at his grilled salmon like it had personally offended him.

She told herself she didn't care. Told herself she didn't need his attention, his approval. That she was a grown woman enjoying herself. But every time she laughed at one of Oliver's jokes or leaned just a little closer to Chase's eager eyes, she stole a glance at Dave.

And he never flinched.

Not when Chase asked if she was free later. Not when she touched Oliver's tie and complimented the pattern. Not when her tongue slipped against the rim of her wine glass like it had earlier on the rim of a cocktail straw.

He'd shut down. Gone cold. Withdrawn into whatever haunted place he went when the ghosts stirred too close.

And she hated how much it stung.

She hated more how aware she was of the line she was dancing on--the tightrope between reclaiming power and making a fool of herself.

Emily would have known what to do. The beloved Emily, with her flawless skin and her deliberate choices and her ability to pull men toward her like gravity itself bent in her favor. Emily had weaponized her betrayal, and dragged her widower through hell in the process. She'd taken her pleasure and buried her shame. Until the car veered off the road and the autopsy whispered truths that still scraped like glass.

Alex swallowed hard. She could still feel the pulse of that image in her mind--the memory of what Dave had told her about the toxic cocktail of lust and justice that night. Emily's final act of rebellion, her mouth still tasting of the man she'd blown just before the crash.

Alex looked at Dave now, eyes shadowed, brow unreadable as he pushed his food around his plate. She wanted to say something. Anything. But instead, she leaned in closer to Oliver and let the young analyst's hand rest a little too long on her bare knee. She didn't see the flicker in Dave's eyes then. But it was there.

The courtyard had thinned out, the torches flickering low, and the desert night curling in with the scent of creosote and tequila. Laughter had dulled to murmurs, and the music had shifted into something low and suggestive--some smooth sax riff designed to pull stragglers toward bad decisions.

Alex had stopped counting her drinks.

She'd stopped pretending her smile was genuine, too.

Oliver had drifted back from the bar with a third round he insisted she try--something with mezcal, chili salt, and a lime wedge she didn't really want. She took it anyway, fingers brushing his as he handed it over with that boyish grin that was starting to rot around the edges. Chase, bolder now, had scooted his chair closer. Close enough his knee pressed into hers under the table.

Dave was gone.

He'd excused himself ten minutes earlier without a word. Just stood, buttoned the jacket he hadn't worn all night, and walked away into the darkness beyond the fire pits. That should've been her cue. But her pride was too drunk to follow.

"Come on," Oliver said, brushing a lock of hair from her face in a way that made her skin crawl. "Now we can have some fun, now that your chaperone left."

"Yes, we can - when the cat's away..." Chase added, his hand sliding up her thigh--more deliberate now, no longer testing boundaries but assuming permission. "We're just trying to help."

Alex stiffened. Tried to laugh. "Alright, that's enough--"

But Oliver leaned in. "You've been teasing us all night, bitch. Don't pretend you didn't know what you were doing in that dress. What--you only wanted the old man to watch you work the room?"

The words landed like a slap. When flirtation warps into something predatory. When the smile you offered becomes an invitation someone else writes rules for, she wanted to run - but it was too late.

Oliver's hand was on her wrist. Chase leaned in, breath ripe with gin and expectation. "You need to come with us, slut."

They were slowly walking her, more dragging her like a drunk friend behind one of the large cabana's, into the darkness, away from the light. Whenever someone would look, one of the guys would say, "She's going to be sick, don't want her to throw up in front of everyone."

She wanted to scream, to protest - instead she just cried - and with all of the alcohol in her, she looked like exactly what Oiver and Chase were saying.

Behind the cabana, they pinned her between them. One lifting her flowing skirts, the other pulling down her spaghetti strap top. Two hands on her ass and two on her tits, with one head biting at her shoulder and neck on one side, with another mouth on the other. When she would try to scream, one of the four hands would move and cover her mouth.

Finally, she hissed, "Let me go," her voice sharp and shaking.

But Oliver didn't and neither did Chase. Not at first. Then a shadow moved. Before they knew what was happening, Dave Williams stood there - no warning, no announcement, just the quiet, controlled violence of a man who'd decided enough was enough.

His hand gripped Oliver's shoulder, fingers digging in with such calculated precision it made the younger man flinch. "She said let go." The tone was calm. Icy. But every syllable hummed with authority that dared contradiction.

Oliver stumbled backward, mumbling something that might've been an apology. Chase paled, unsure whether to defend his friend or run. He chose wisely and bolted.

Alex stood frozen, chest heaving, the rush of adrenaline making her vision blur. Her hand trembled on the table. The weight of what had happened--what almost did happen--slammed into her all at once.

Dave didn't look at her right away. He just watched Oliver retreat into the night like a kicked dog, then turned and offered her his hand. She took it without hesitation. Gently, he pulled her straps over her shoulders and covered her tits with the thin material, "Let's go."

He led her across the courtyard, past the pool with its quiet blue glow, past the murmurs of couples clinging to the edge of indulgence, and up the path toward the lobby. Her heels clicked softly on the marble floors. Her head spun--not from alcohol, but from shame, fury, and something darker.

She didn't realize they were in her room until the door clicked shut behind her and she caught the scent of his cologne mingled with something clean, crisp, and masculine. She turned to face him then, arms crossed tight over her chest, the echo of Chase's hand still a phantom on her skin.

Dave stood near the door, watching her. No judgment in his expression--just something deeper. Something that looked a lot like regret.

"You shouldn't have left," she whispered, her voice cracking. "You saw what they were doing."

"I did, and it seemed that you were enjoying it, until you stopped being in control."

"Why didn't you stop it?"

He looked away for a moment. Swallowed hard. "Because I didn't think you wanted me to."

Her throat tightened. She stepped forward, angry now--not at him, not entirely--but at herself. At the way she'd let the evening slip from her fingers. At the way she'd needed to be seen, and punished him for not seeing her the way she needed. "You're a goddamn coward," she snapped. "You could've stopped it before it ever started."

Dave met her gaze then. Fully. Unflinching. "Coward enough for his wife to find love in another man's arms - You don't fucking need to remind me of my fucking failures - believe me, I replay them every goddamn day in my own head."

She stood there, trembling, drunk on more than liquor, and realized that of all the things she'd wanted that night, it was this--his voice, his presence, his goddamn arms around her--that she'd wanted the most.

"Good night, Alex," - and before she could respond he was out the door. She heard his door shut through the walls and she was alone.

It wasn't more than 30 minutes later when Dave heard He heard the knock before he saw her--three sharp raps that carried more challenge than request. Dave opened the door to find Alex standing there, barefoot, damp hair curling around her shoulders, arms crossed over her chest like armor that couldn't quite hold back the storm in her eyes.

He stepped aside, wordless, letting her in. She didn't say thank you. Didn't meet his gaze. Walked in like she owned the space--like she was trying to convince herself she did.

"You sober?" he asked after a beat, closing the door behind her.

She turned to him slowly, her smile brittle. "That's cute. You think I need to be drunk to come to your room."

He didn't rise to the bait. He just stood there, quiet, watching her. She couldn't read his eyes, and that made everything worse. "I don't know, you needed to be drunk for those boys earlier."

"Relax," she added, sweeping her hand through the air like she could erase the moment. "It's not like I'm here to throw myself at you. Again."

That last word snapped like a whip. He took a step forward, measured, deliberate. "You want to tell me what the hell's going on?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said, pacing to the window and glancing out at the desert beyond. "Maybe it's the tequila. Or maybe it's the fact that you seemed very, very comfortable playing Sugar Daddy this afternoon."

He blinked. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Her laugh was jagged. "That little sun-kissed Barbie in the thong bikini with legs up to her chin and zero tan lines? You didn't notice? Seriously? She was practically licking sunscreen off your chest. Before I could even get fucking changed and to the pool."

He frowned, his jaw tightening. "She asked me to help with directions, Alex. It's her first time here and this is a big fucking place. That's all it was."

"Sure she did. And I guess when she leaned over and gave you a view straight out of a porn site, that was just a friendly stretch."

"You're insane."

"No," she shot back, fire igniting behind her eyes. "I'm pissed. I'm pissed because you didn't even see it. You didn't see her, but you sure as hell noticed me tonight when I was talking to Chase and Oliver."

He folded his arms across his chest, his voice low. "I noticed you were slurring your words and hanging on them like a drunk co-ed on spring break. I noticed that."

"And what?" she snapped. "It embarrassed you? You didn't like someone else touching what you don't want to claim?"

His expression darkened, voice sharp now. "Don't do that. Don't stand there and pretend this is about me when you were the one who said--verbatim--friends only. No strings. No expectations."

She sucked in a breath, like he'd hit her. "That was before."

"Before what?"

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. And then the tears came--angry ones, uninvited and infuriating--and she swiped at them like they betrayed her.

Dave softened, just a hair. "Alex..."

"No. You don't get to say my name like that. Not when you stood there this afternoon like some goddamn oblivious gentleman while Barbie played show-and-tell with her nipples. Not when I sat there at dinner, drowning in your goddamn silence while those two assholes assumed I was open season."

His spine straightened. "I came as soon as I saw what they were doing." She hesitated, just long enough. He stepped closer, "Alex, what do you want from me?" Dave felt the fury building up from a place primal and terrifying. A part of him he kept buried. "You know what, never mind, I'll fucking deal with them." He stepped past her, yanked the door open like he was going to storm down the hall and rip someone's spine out. She caught his arm.

"Dave. Stop."

He looked back at her, rage simmering beneath the surface. He didn't say a word - she had known this man for years and the look in his eyes was a pain, a rage, a fury that she had never seen before.

Her voice softened, "If you walk down there right now, it becomes about you proving something to yourself and not about protecting me."

His hand hung limp on the doorknob, the cool metal cold against his fingertips. His whole body felt like it was on fire--tension radiating from his chest to his arms, his legs, his face, as if the fury he'd been holding back for months was finally breaking free, trying to escape, trying to tear him apart.

But when Alex spoke, the words hit him like an anchor. Her voice wasn't angry, wasn't sharp. It was soft. Understanding. She wasn't trying to stop him. She was seeing him--and in that moment, she became the one person who could, who knew him well enough to push him back from the edge.

"If you walk down there right now, it becomes about you proving something to yourself and not about protecting me."

Her words wrapped around him, steadying the storm inside. But it wasn't enough. Not yet. Because everything he'd tried to control--the rage, the grief, the guilt--it all exploded in a single, shuddering breath that escaped his chest like a dam breaking.

She saw it then. She saw the fight go out of him. The walls that had kept him upright for so long started to crumble. Slowly, imperceptibly, as though every inch of him was giving in, yielding to something he hadn't let himself feel since that night--since the moment his world had shattered.

The tears came then--quiet, reluctant, as if he wasn't sure how to let them flow. They streaked down his face, carving paths through the dust of the day. It was the first time she had ever seen him so undone. Completely vulnerable. And it terrified her. Because in that moment, he wasn't just Dave, the unflappable consultant, the calm mentor, the ruthless man who had exacted vengeance. He was a man who had failed. Failed to save Emily. Failed to keep his promises to her.

And now, standing in front of Alex, his grief bled into something deeper--guilt. Guilt that he couldn't protect her, either. She didn't move. Didn't say anything at first. She just watched him, that part of her always perceptive to his shifts, even in his silence. The way his chest heaved with the weight of unspoken things. The way his jaw clenched, as if he were afraid to speak, afraid to admit that he had already lost so much.

"Dave," she whispered, her voice cracking. He didn't hear it at first. Or maybe he did, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore except this moment.

The floodgates opened, and the tears didn't stop. He didn't care about the control anymore. He didn't care about being the strong one. He was just... tired. With an almost imperceptible move, he turned his back to her, wrapping his arms around himself as if trying to hold the pieces of him together. But the weight was too much. Slowly, like a man surrendering to forces greater than him, he sank to his knees on the floor, his face in his hands.

Alex felt her own heart crack at the sight. She knew the look--the same hollow stare he'd had after he'd returned from that mission, when the world felt like it had folded in on itself. The man who had always been so sure, so dominant, now laid bare, stripped of everything but the raw pain he carried around. She could hear his broken breath between the sobs, and it stunned her.

Her instincts kicked in. She wasn't thinking anymore. She moved before she had time to process it--kneeling beside him, tentative at first, and then slowly, with care, placing her hand on his back. His body stiffened, and for a moment, she thought he might pull away. But then, just like before, he melted into her touch. His whole frame seemed to collapse in on itself, and he buried his face in his hands again, like he couldn't bear the weight of what he was feeling.

Alex didn't say anything. She didn't need to. She just let him feel it. Let him cry, let him break. Let him be the man who needed to break. She shifted closer, her other hand resting on his shoulder, giving him the space he needed to unravel.

"I failed Emily", he said through the tears. "Drove her into the arms of another man - her death is my fault." His breath was shaky and his shoulders trembled under her touch. "I failed her. I couldn't protect her. I couldn't keep her safe." The words ran together, fast and almost out of control. It was like his brain was on overdrive and his mouth just had to catch up. He let out a low, choking sob that made Alex's chest tighten.

And then, as if the universe decided it couldn't break him any further, his voice--hoarse, wrecked--finally came, barely a whisper: "I'm so fucking sorry. I couldn't keep her safe... And I failed you, too. I failed you when you needed me most. You're right, I am a coward."

She didn't say anything in return at first. Her hand moved to the back of his head, threading through his hair with gentle strokes, as if to remind him that he wasn't alone. That she was here, right here, even in this mess. "You didn't fail me, Dave," she said quietly. "You didn't fail me."

His sobs grew quieter, more ragged, like he was starting to realize that maybe--just maybe--he didn't have to carry the weight of everything on his own. But it was Alex who was the one to break. "You didn't fail Em - she made choices, bad choices. You didn't fail her, she failed you."

In that moment, as she held him together with nothing but the simple act of being there, she realized what she had been fighting against for so long. All the walls she had built, all the defenses were laid bare. Maybe she hadn't known the full weight of it until now, but standing here with him, watching him break apart in front of her, the truth was undeniable. She'd never been as afraid of losing him as she was in that moment.

Without thinking, she leaned down and kissed the top of his head. He was trembling beneath her, but she didn't pull back. Instead, she let the moment stretch, and for the first time since everything had started--since Emily, since the betrayal, since the reckless passion that had burned between them--she felt the echo of something that had been missing.

The silence between them stretched, but it was no longer thick with tension or unspoken anger. It was a quiet that had settled in after the storm had passed, leaving behind the echo of shattered pieces and the soft hum of raw honesty. Alex felt the tremble in Dave's body beneath her touch, felt the way he was slowly coming back to himself, like a man learning to breathe again after being held underwater for far too long.

His hand, still clutching his own wrist, relaxed. His breath came slower now, more measured, but the ache behind his eyes--the weight of grief that had piled up on him for so long--was still there. It was there in every part of him.

Alex had been silent for a long time, letting him have his space. Letting him wrestle with the ghosts that hadn't yet let go of him. But as she knelt beside him, her own emotions started to settle too, and with it, the quiet truth she had been avoiding for so long came to the surface.

Her throat tightened as she swallowed the words, her voice coming out softer than she intended. "Dave..."

He didn't move, didn't speak, just let her say his name.

She exhaled. "I'm not... I'm not ready to be alone. Not tonight."

The words, so simple, yet heavy with everything that had built up between them, hung in the air like a confession. They weren't just about needing his presence in that moment--they were about something far deeper, something fragile, something Alex hadn't fully acknowledged until now.

She wasn't asking for a solution. She wasn't asking him to fix it. She wasn't asking him for anything except the one thing she knew he could give her: comfort. And maybe, in that moment, it was more than just comfort. Maybe it was the human connection they had both been missing.

The quiet between them stretched again, but now it was pregnant with possibility. He still hadn't looked up, his hands still clutching his knees as if he was trying to hold onto the last bit of control.

"Dave," she repeated, her voice a little stronger this time, a little more desperate. "I don't want to be alone tonight. Please."

It was as much a plea as a confession.

He shifted then, finally raising his eyes to hers. His expression was unreadable at first, distant--like he was trying to decide whether to let her in, whether to cross that invisible line they had both carefully avoided.

But then, as the weight of her words sank in, the anger, the guilt, the confusion all fell away. His eyes softened, the heat in his gaze cooling, replaced by something far more fragile--something that hadn't been allowed to surface for far too long. A quiet understanding.

Alex's heart hammered in her chest as she watched him, unsure of what he would say, what he would do. She hadn't known what she was expecting when she made that request--maybe rejection, maybe silence--but she hadn't expected the look that flickered across his face.

It wasn't just tenderness.

It was recognition.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, his voice low but steady. "You're not alone, Alex. Not tonight. Not ever."

Her heart stuttered at the simplicity of his words. She hadn't realized how badly she needed to hear it until that moment. He stood, slowly, and held out his hand to her, a silent invitation that she took without hesitation.

He guided her to the bed, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she didn't need to say another word. Dave turned off the lights, and they both undressed in the dark. Tentatively then, she crawled under the sheets and he followed her. He laid next to her, skin barely touching, both emotionally exhausted. The tension between them was still there, but it wasn't the same as before--it was softer, more manageable, as if everything had found its place in the quiet space they shared.

Her back pressed against his chest, and his arm curled around her waist. There was no pressure, no expectation--just the simple, raw comfort of shared space, of two people who had been to the very edge of their own darkness and found something familiar in each other's arms.

Alex let out a slow, shaky breath as she nestled into his chest. She could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear, and for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel so alone. She didn't feel so lost.

He began to harden, she felt the heat from his body as his big cock filled with blood and passion. She needed just as much as he did, but not like that afternoon at her place. The two did an intimate dance, like experienced lovers. He gently slid an inch or so down the bed, and her an inch or so up.

She tilted her hips and so did he as she opened her top leg and let him push deep into her. She felt full, she felt whole as he began to slowly roll his hips. He wasn't really thrusting, just little thrusts. However, his girth and length made each of those little thrusts push into that sacred hollow at her cervix.

His hand found her nipple and he began to squeeze as his mouth went to her ear as the thrusting never changed. Didn't slow down, didn't speed up, didn't get more powerful. He was slowly driving them both mad.

To Alex, it felt like it had been hours, but had probably only been a couple of minutes as she felt the orgasm begin to build - like a slow crescendo. Dave noticed it too. She got wetter, her walls started to grip him differently. Soft little whimpers escaped from her lips and her breathing deepened.

Still, Dave didn't change - just kept those tormenting thrusts until finally she whimpered, "I'm going to cum."

Now he pushed a little harder, withdrew a bit more. She could now feel the light slap of his hips against her ass and his balls slapping against her. She moaned, she whimpered. Her eyes rolled back as she arched her back, "Fuck, fuck, fuck" - she whimpered.

Dave felt the first orgasm begin to fade - but that didn't last long as she groaned again, "Fuck, I'm going to cum on your cock again..."

Dave now pushed even a little more firm - a little more forceful and she had another orgasm wash over her. He rolled her now, so that she was face down on the bed as he moved behind her to his knees - she marvelled that his cock was big enough to never fall out as they moved.

Now he started to fuck her - powerfully. She had never been with a lover that demanded orgasms the way Dave Williams did - he didn't give them, he ripped them from you. She was going to cum again. This time, it wasn't quiet. She buried her face into the pillow and screamed as her entire body convulsed.

She lifted her head long enough to growl, "Cum with me - I can't stop. I need you to fill me, and slap my ass..." the sentence was broken between gasps and grunts, but Dave got the picture. He closed his eyes and let the need that had been churning have control

With his left hand on her hip, his right hand cracked down on her ass at the moment he erupted deep inside of her with a beastly growl that would have scared a grizzly. Alex again buried her head in the pillow and screamed.

When they had both caught their breath, and David's cock finally popped free of its velvet nest he rolled to the edge of the bed and stood. Alex looked up at him, on her side, one hand propping her head. "Where do you think you're going?"

David chuckled, "To get a warm washcloth so you can clean up."

She reached out and wrapped her hand around his dick, covered in both of their juices. She gave a little tug and pulled him closer. She spun herself around, and laid her head off of the edge of the bed. "No, first I get to clean you up, and no, I am not pushing any of you outside of me... ever."

The soft light of morning seeped through the cracks of the heavy drapes, warm against the pale linen sheets tangled around their limbs. Dave stirred first, the weight of her body pressed to his chest, her breath a soft rhythm against his skin. There was no awkwardness between them, no reaching for distance or rearranging of bodies to build walls again. Instead, there was ease. Familiarity. The kind that only comes from years of shared secrets and sudden surrender. His arm remained wrapped around her, fingertips tracing the small of her back in slow, thoughtless circles.

Alex blinked awake, her body deliciously sore in the best ways, her mind hazy from sleep and the kind of night that rewrote everything she thought she knew about where they stood. She didn't speak right away, didn't need to. The silence between them wasn't empty--it was full of everything they'd said without words.

She moved to slip from the bed, murmuring something about getting back to her room to shower and prep for the morning sessions. But he didn't release her. Not immediately.

"Shower here," Dave said, his voice rough with sleep, but firm. "With me."

She paused, half-draped in the sheet, blinking down at him. That smirk she wore when she wasn't quite sure if he was joking tugged at the corner of her lips.

He lifted a hand, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "Then go get your bag. Bring it here."

"Here?" Her brow arched.

He nodded. "Just until we're gone. Less hassle. No chance you run into those two pricks again... and," his mouth quirked with dry amusement, "it keeps me safe from any more analysts in dental floss bikinis trying to seduce a man old enough to be their father."

She stared at him for half a second, caught between stunned and amused--and then grabbed a pillow and chucked it square at his head.

"You did notice her!" she accused, laughing despite herself.

He caught the pillow with ease, tossed it aside. "I am a red blooded male - when a woman with tits that big in a bathing suit that small leans over you - you notice."

Alex rolled her eyes, snorting as she got up and padded toward the bathroom. "You're an asshole, David Williams."

He winked at her, "You're telling me this is the first time you've come to that realization."

He watched her go, heat rising in his chest, a slow burn that was no longer just about lust. It was something more dangerous. Something he hadn't let himself feel since the day Emily stopped breathing. But now it wrapped around his ribs and took root in his spine like it had always been meant to find her. She hadn't just reminded him he could feel again. She made him want to.

From the doorway, she looked back, a towel already slung low on her hips, that unreadable expression on her face--the one she used when she was about to say something true but was still weighing whether she could survive it.

He didn't press. He just opened his arms and said, "Water's warm."

The breakfast terrace was already buzzing when the two of them stepped out of the elevator. Sunlight spilled in through the open archways, casting long slashes of gold across the polished stone floor. Chatter echoed off high ceilings--dealmakers and brokers already half-buried in caffeine and small talk, the conference's unofficial war room unfolding one linen-draped table at a time.

Dave's hand remained steady at the small of Alex's back as they walked. A gesture subtle enough to be missed by anyone not looking, but firm enough to anchor her in place.

She felt the eyes before she saw them.

Oliver and Chase were parked at a table just to the right of the buffet, halfway through their eggs and feigned innocence. The moment they spotted Dave and Alex crossing the room, both men stiffened. Oliver dropped his fork. Chase looked down at his plate as if it held the secrets of the universe. Neither said a word. Neither dared.

Alex's spine went rigid, every cell in her body hyper-aware of the gazes, the whispers--the memory of her laughter too loud, her flirtation too obvious, her judgment too clouded. She could feel it curling at the edges of the room like smoke: speculation, gossip, the kind that people wrap in faux concern and deliver in hushed tones over black coffee.

She slowed her steps.

But Dave didn't.

His hand stayed right where it was--warm, solid, possessive in a way that wasn't crude but protective. Grounding. She didn't need to look up at him to know he'd felt the shift in her. She could feel it in his body, in the way he subtly adjusted his stance, the way his thumb brushed just once against the fabric of her blouse.

Then his voice, quiet and low near her ear.

"Breathe."

She did.

"I'm right here," he murmured. "And no one's going to say a goddamn word."

The heat in his voice was quiet, but lethal. The kind of tone meant to kill rumors before they ever reached the surface. She could practically feel the temperature drop near the analysts' table as they both tried to disappear into their breakfast.

Alex straightened her shoulders.

She wasn't proud of last night--but neither was she going to hang her head, not when the man beside her had faced down grief and vengeance and still chose to stand beside her like this.

As they reached the buffet, she glanced up at him--this complicated, dangerous, maddening man--and whispered, "You know they're terrified of you, right?"

Dave reached for the coffee carafe, deadpan. "Good."

Her laughter was soft but real this time.

She took her coffee black, just like him. And together, they sat down at a quiet table in the corner, the morning sun warming their backs, the storm of last night still lingering--but no longer between them.

They'd found a table tucked along the edge of the terrace, far enough from the main artery of foot traffic that their conversation wouldn't carry, but close enough that Dave could keep an eye on who came and went. It was a habit more than a strategy--he'd never stopped cataloging exits, angles, or the kind of people who watched more than they listened. Old habits from old scars.

Alex sat beside him rather than across, her phone already out, the conference app open to the itinerary. She was focused, still damp from the shower they'd shared--her hair swept into a loose twist, a few strands rebelliously curling around her temple. She smelled like citrus and sandalwood, and Dave was barely pretending not to breathe her in like it was a drug he hadn't realized he was addicted to until this morning.

"So..." she began, scrolling. "Development and Economic Incentives is at ten. That's mine. Then the Public/Private panel at noon with the city planners and zoning guys. And the TIF financing roundtable after lunch." She looked up. "You?"

Dave sipped his coffee--black, hot, and doing nothing to cool the heat simmering just under his skin from the memory of her pressed up against him in the steam an hour earlier. He set the mug down and reached into his pocket for his own phone.

"Same."

Her head tilted. "Same? Since when are you interested in TIF financing?"

He glanced at her over the rim of his cup and shrugged, the smallest smile ghosting across his mouth. "Could lie. Tell you I'm broadening my horizons. Stretching. Learning the sexy underbelly of municipal tax districts."

Alex smirked, arching a brow. "But that's not it?"

He shook his head once. "Not even close."

Her eyes narrowed in amusement. "So what is it then?"

Dave leaned back in his chair, arm resting along the back of hers, lazy and possessive. "Truth? I'm not letting you out of my sight today--not with Dumb and Dumber still lurking around like horny interns on spring break."

That made her laugh--really laugh, head tipping back as she covered her mouth, the sound light and unexpected in the middle of the stiff-collared crowd around them. A few heads turned. He didn't care.

"You know," she said, teasing, "they're absolutely terrified of you now. You growled at Chase last night. Literally growled."

"Good." Dave didn't even blink.

She grinned at him and bumped her shoulder against his. "But that's not the real reason you're following me around today, is it?"

He didn't answer.

Alex turned to look at him fully, eyes narrowing again with playful suspicion. "Come on, Williams. You can admit it. The truth is--"

She dropped her voice, leaned in just enough for her lips to be close to his ear.

"--you just want to spend more time with me."

Dave went still.

Not like a man cornered, but like one caught somewhere between fight and surrender. His jaw shifted like he meant to fire back with something witty, some quick retort, some gruff denial wrapped in sarcasm and smoke.

But he didn't say a word.

Instead, color touched his cheekbones--not flushed, not embarrassed exactly--but something she had never seen on him before. A quiet, almost boyish hesitation.

He looked down, then back up--those sharp eyes softer now, lips parted, but silent.

And for the first time since she'd known him, David Williams didn't have a goddamn comeback.

Alex's smile stretched slowly across her face, wide and knowing.

"Well," she murmured, turning back to her coffee with satisfaction, "that's going in the vault."

He made a low sound in his throat, somewhere between a warning and a groan, and she laughed again. But there was no awkwardness between them, no stilted aftermath. Just the smooth, unspoken understanding of two people who'd crossed the line, liked what they found, and weren't in any hurry to go back.

They were walking shoulder to shoulder, his hand warm and steady at the small of her back, her body still humming with the satisfaction of knowing she'd slept tangled around a man who hadn't once made her feel small for being sharp or needy or just a little feral. Then Dave's phone buzzed in his pocket.

He didn't stop walking, just slid the phone out and glanced down, thumb unlocking the screen with idle familiarity. The muscles along his jaw shifted--tightened just enough that Alex noticed.

"Something work-related?" she asked, eyes narrowing as she glanced sideways.

Dave exhaled through his nose and held the phone so she could see it if she wanted. "Not exactly."

The screen was still lit. The message was short, direct, and absolutely shameless.

Claire: Second round? Just us this time. No Jonathan. No distractions. Think about it.

Alex stopped. Dead in her tracks. People parted around them like water around a boulder. Dave turned, already regretting showing her, but she wasn't angry. Not in the way he expected.

She lifted a hand, palm up. "Phone."

He hesitated--just for a second--then handed it over.

Without a word, she backed up one step, turned slightly so they were both in frame, and raised the phone. Dave didn't smile, didn't pose. He didn't need to. His arm looped naturally around her waist, and Alex leaned into him just enough to speak volumes.

She tapped the shutter.

Then her fingers flew across the screen.

Alex: Dave's cock is now spoken for--and well taken care of. But if I ever decide I want to watch a woman's will be broken piece by piece, you'll be at the top of our list. Until then, keep it professional, Claire. My man isn't up for negotiation.

She hit send.

Just like that, the energy between them shifted--again. As the text whooshed off into the digital ether, a line had been crossed, burned, and danced over, all in the span of a single pulse of Alex's thumb. Dave stood there, one eyebrow arched, trying to decide whether he should be concerned, aroused, or impressed. Probably all three. She handed the phone back like it was a finished transaction--cool, effortless, entirely unapologetic--and began walking again, her hips swaying with that loose, feline confidence that made him forget how to breathe.

"Jesus," he muttered, catching up, sliding his phone into his pocket. "Remind me never to piss you off. She is your biggest client."

Alex threw him a glance over her shoulder, dark eyes gleaming, lips curving with wicked satisfaction. "She's also a woman who knows power when she sees it. She'll respect honesty. Besides, she's not used to being told no - it's good for her." She leaned in, her voice velvet and smoke. "She'll think about it for a week. Maybe longer. But she won't be the last to find out you're mine."

His hand found the small of her back again--possessive, grounding. "And what exactly is it that you claimed?"

She stopped walking, pivoted, her voice dropping into that smoky register that had wrecked him the night before. "You. Every scar. Every secret. Every part of you that you've tried to keep locked away in that concrete vault behind your eyes." Her hand came up, fingers tracing the edge of his jaw, then resting over his heart. "You may not know it yet. But you're mine."

Something visceral stirred in him. Not lust--that had burned hot and violent last night--but something older, deeper. A need to belong. To be hers.

"And watching me break a woman's will to resist?" he asked, mouth brushing her temple, breath warm against her skin.

Her answer was a whisper. "Only if I get to help."

His groan was low and rough, but it was drowned out by the sound of her heels clicking away from him again, toward the ballroom doors. She didn't wait to see if he'd follow. She didn't have to.

He was already hers.

They slipped into the back of the room just as the keynote speaker dimmed the house lights and clicked the first slide into place--a forgettable opening about market trends and consumer patterns that neither of them had the slightest interest in. The room was packed, the air too warm, chairs too close together. But with Dave's thigh pressed against hers and his hand resting on the inside of her knee like a territorial brand, Alex found she didn't mind a damn bit.

They sat in that charged quiet for a moment, just long enough for Dave to lean in, his lips grazing her ear in a whisper meant for no one else.

"So," he murmured, voice low and rough with meaning, "does this mean we've graduated from just friends, no strings?"

Alex didn't look at him right away. She kept her eyes on the screen, where a chart was trying--and failing--to explain the correlation between brand loyalty and influencer authenticity. Instead, a sly smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth as she tilted her head slightly toward his.

"Depends," she said, her voice a murmur laced with heat and wicked amusement, "are you asking because you want to braid friendship bracelets... or because you're afraid I might invoice you for the orgasms?"

Dave chuckled under his breath, that slow, gravel-deep sound that always made her toes curl.

"Depends," he echoed, matching her tone. "Are you promising there's more where that came from... or threatening to collect interest?"

Alex finally turned to meet his gaze--green eyes sharp, daring, laced with something deeper than their usual volley of innuendo. "I'm saying the only strings I want between us," she whispered, "are the ones you tie around my wrists the next time you decide I've been too mouthy."

It was a promise. It was a challenge. It was everything they'd been dancing around for years, suddenly stripped bare and burning hot beneath the surface of polite conference etiquette.

Dave didn't smile. He didn't have to. The glint in his eye told her he understood every layer of what she'd said... and was already strategizing how to answer with actions instead of words.

He slid his hand just a fraction higher beneath the table. Alex didn't move, just slid her legs open and reached down and moved his hand even higher - the summer skirt sliding up, hidden beneath the white linen table cloth.

Dave didn't need to be asked twice as his hand found her molten core. He wasn't going to be aggressive, but he was now determined to make her cum sitting in the presentation. He scooped a bit of her wetness and slid his finger to her clit.

If anyone would have been watching closely, they would have seen Dave's powerful forearms flexing as his fingers danced over Alex's clit and from time to time slip far enough inside to massage her G spot.

Alex was good, the only visible sign to the world would have been the catches in her breathing, the flaring of her nostrils, and the occasional time she closed her eyes. Dave played her expertly, building her up and letting her down only to build her up again.

Dave never looked at her, he didn't have to. The presentation was drab, but he stayed apparently focused as he moved from penetrating her with his fingers to circling her clit. He was in no rush - they had an hour. He went agonizingly slow, teasing her, tormenting her. Alex was already so worked up from his attention to her g-spot that the slowness on her clit actually ached.

His rough fingers continued to massage her clit as I sipped absently on her water. Her pussy was soaked, she gently pulled a napkin from the table and slid it under her ass to keep from staining her breath. Dave stopped long enough to chuckle and murmur, "Slut."

He worked methodically on her clit, speeding up and slowing down until she was right on the edge. The ornery side of him began to form a plan. He moved his pinky to her wet slit and got it wet as his middle and ring fingers continued to play with her. By now, Alex had slid her hips forward on the chair just enough that Dave's plan could happen.

Dave changed to his middle and pointer finger on her clit as he snaked his pinky finger down and gently slipped it into her ass as he leaned close, "Be a good girl and cum for me, Alex." That was all it took. Her hands under the table gripped his wrist as she breathed through an orgasm. "Fuck, fuck, fuck" - she whispered as came

When he finally pulled his hand away from her soaked pussy and satiated asshole she whispered, "You, Sir - are a bastard."

He chuckled, "You didn't stop me, now did you?"

The session ended in the slow, grinding way all corporate seminars did--too many graphs, too little insight, and just enough caffeine to keep the majority of the room from openly dozing off. When the lights came back on and the crowd began to shift toward the exits, the low din of conversation filled the air--murmurs about lunch, side deals, and vendor booths.

Alex moved with Dave toward the doors, but her attention snagged two women lingering just inside the aisle. They were both well put together--sleek hair, sharp eyes, the kind of women who knew how to make a power dress look like a weapon. And they weren't subtle. One leaned toward the other with a not-so-quiet laugh, eyes cutting straight to Dave like they knew exactly how he'd spent the last hour--his fingers beneath the hem of Alex's skirt, stroking her until her breathing betrayed her.

Alex heard the whisper, the not-so-veiled jab at professionalism, the amused mention of "under the table benefits." Her spine straightened. Her chin lifted. She wasn't ashamed--but she damn sure wasn't going to be someone's quiet little secret either.

But before the first syllable of her rebuttal could slice the air, Dave's hand was there again--firm and warm against the small of her back, grounding her in a way that didn't ask, but told.

"Leave it," he murmured, his voice low and steady, the rumble threading through her like smoke. "They aren't important."

His breath tickled her ear, and something about the way he said it--the weight behind those words--made her exhale and let it go. Let them go. They were irrelevant. She had nothing to prove to anyone, least of all women who'd never be touched the way he touched her. They wouldn't get his eyes, his hands, his attention. They could whisper all they wanted.

He was hers now.

The afternoon slipped by in a blur of panels and networking, hands shaken and promises made beneath the shallow polish of polite ambition. Dave was a force, steady and sharp, but always tethered to her--brushing knuckles, grazing hips, a glance across the room that said you're not alone, not anymore.

They ducked out early from the last session, begging off with a fabricated dinner meeting. Instead, they found a quiet booth in the far corner of a seafood restaurant that overlooked the harbor, and for once, the conversation wasn't about mergers or growth strategy. It was about the people they used to be, the long nights they'd shared in silence, and the ache of wanting something they both pretended they could live without.

He ordered steak. She picked at scallops. They split a bottle of something white and expensive that neither of them could pronounce, and when she reached for his hand across the table, Dave didn't hesitate. He laced his fingers with hers and didn't let go.

It was dark by the time they made it back to their room, the hallway thick with hush and the distant sounds of a television behind one of the doors. Dave swiped the keycard, pushed the door open, and stood back to let her enter first.

She stood in the quiet hush of the room, the air still humming with the charged silence that followed them in. Dave moved to shrug off his jacket, but Alex stopped him--not with words, but by stepping into his space, her fingers catching his lapels, tugging them back into place. Her eyes lifted to meet his, cool and slow, a glint of mischief behind the steadiness of her gaze.

"Don't move," she said, voice low, threaded with something new--command, curiosity, something that hadn't had space to breathe until now.

Dave stilled, his body obeying even as something darker flickered behind his eyes. He was built to lead, to dominate--but he wasn't arrogant enough not to recognize the shift in current when it came. And right now, Alex wasn't asking. She was taking.

She slid her hands down the length of his chest, fingers trailing over buttons with no real urgency--no rush. Her touch was a deliberate tease, her confidence growing with every inch she claimed. Dave's breath caught when she circled behind him, brushing her hand across his shoulders, nails tracing the base of his neck. She leaned in, pressing a kiss beneath his ear, her lips barely touching his skin.

"You've taken twice," she whispered, her voice now velvet laced with steel. "It's my turn."

He turned his head slightly, eyes finding hers--amused, curious, aroused. "Is that so?"

Her fingers were already at his belt. "Mmhm. I think it's only fair."

She worked the buckle open, her touch deft, then dragged it from the loops with a practiced flick that had his mouth twitching. There was heat between them now, old and familiar, but this was different. This wasn't her surrendering to what he made her feel--this was her owning it.

The belt hit the floor with a soft thud, and she slid her palms beneath the hem of his shirt, pushing it upward slowly--just enough to reveal the firm plane of his abdomen, the muscle beneath the skin that tensed under her touch.

"You're going to let me," she said, her voice a little rougher now, and it wasn't a question.

Dave didn't nod. Didn't speak. But his hands stayed at his sides, his mouth parted, eyes locked on her with a hunger that gave her all the permission she needed.

She kissed him then--harder than before, deeper. She took his bottom lip between her teeth, pulled, released, and when he made a sound--low, barely there--she smiled into his mouth.

She walked him backward, steering with the flat of her palms against his chest, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the sofa. She gave him the lightest push and he sat, legs open, hands braced on his thighs, watching her as she peeled off her blouse--not in a rush, not for him, but because she wanted to.

Her bra followed. She let it fall, let his eyes drag over her without offering a word of praise or permission. She wanted him silent - Wanting.

She sank to her knees between his legs, her palms sliding up the inside of his thighs, her smile slow and dangerous as she reached for the waistband of his slacks. "Relax," she said softly. "I know exactly what you like. I've always known."

Dave's eyes darkened as her fingers found their prize, as her mouth followed soon after. And when his hand twitched toward her, the instinct to take control rising--

She caught his wrist without looking up and pushed it back down. "Not tonight," she murmured, mouth brushing the base of him. "Tonight, you're mine."

Alex knew exactly what she wanted. Her blowjob was slow, teasing, and methodical. She wanted him rock hard, she wanted him to be soaked with her saliva. She pushed him as far into her throat as she could and gagged - then would release. She held herself down until she had to come up for air.

Then she would change, to just suckling on the sensitive tip while gently stroking him with one hand. She wanted him ready for what came next.

After a few moments she stood, slid her skirt down her thighs, leaving her in only her heels - which she was going to leave on. She climbed on the couch, straddled him and rested her hands against the wall as Dave lifted his chin and started to eat her pussy. She was soaked, her wetness covering his chin.

She was in control - tonight he wouldn't cum from a blowjob and she wouldn't allow herself to cum from his amazing tongue.

When she knew she couldn't take anymore without exploding in an orgasm she slid to her knees and looked him in the eye. He started to speak and she put a finger to his lips. "I need you to be quiet for now. I need you to take that beautiful cock in your fist and keep it in position for me. If you can do that, nod your head." Dave smirked and nodded as his fist gripped his cock and pointed it skyward.

She kissed him, deep and hard. The urgency of their kiss increased until they were panting and laughing. Alex lowered her hips until the head of his thick cock slid into her - after her moan she whispered, "Leave your hand there." Moving slowly she rubbed herself over him, lubricating and caressing the tip of his cock

Alex lifted off of Dave's cock, causing them both to moan. With a little movement of her hips she positioned herself over his cock - only this time it wasn't her pussy opening for him - it was her ass. Dave didn't say a word, just raised an eyebrow as she sunk down slowly.

"Fuck, when you slid your finger in my ass today it became all I could think about," she purred as she lowered herself to his fist. "Okay, lover - you can move that fist now, it's done its job."

David's hands rested on Alex's hips. While he didn't help her move, he balanced her so she had the freedom to move. David started to speak but Alex was not having anything to do with that.

"Shhhh," Alex said gently. "Let me take care of you."

As she lowered her ass deeper onto his cock, the feeling of being stretched so wide made her gasp. Both let out a groan, enjoying the sensation of being joined for the first time in this way. She started to move slowly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair, loving the sensation of riding on top of this gorgeous man.

She started to move faster, her strong, toned thighs allowing her to bounce above him easily. David's large hands gripping her helped to propel her up and down over him, faster and faster, their hearts racing, her pussy leaving a puddle every time it came down against his pelvis. The lubrication dripped down, allowing her to pick up more fluid as it pooled around his cock. Alex watched the flex and strain of David's arms as they bounced her tiny body over him. His eyes were open, watching her eyes as her ass swallowed his cock with every descent.

David finally made an audible sound, "Fuck, you are amazing," he groaned, propelling her over his cock even faster. He watched her gorgeous breasts bounce in unison with their pounding, her nipples as sharp and erect as tacks. Alex moved her hand and scooped up some of her juices from between them before she reached up to his mouth, pushing her fingers between his parted lips. He sucked on her juices, groaning at the delicious taste of her.

"I'm not going to last much longer... fuck" he said, screwing his eyes shut, trying to delay the inevitable.

"Open your eyes," Alex urged. David obeyed. "Look at me. Keep your eyes on me. Cum in me. Fill my ass, fill it, own it, claim my ass as yours." Alex's bouncing didn't relent, she pushed down harder and deeper, pounding his cock with everything she had.

"Ohhhhhhh," David groaned, so close to the edge.

"That's it, give it all to me - cum in me, Davey," she whispered. Hearing her say his name tipped him over the edge and he convulsed, shooting hot, thick cum inside her, filling her ass with his cum. He roared, an animalistic sound of pleasure.

His roar pushed her over the edge. Her entire body convulsed, even as she rode the orgasm out of him. Her fucking was frantic as her body was on full autopilot. Her ass filled by his cock - she felt it begin to build as the first orgasm rolled into the second.

That was when she let go, a flood of hot, musky liquid shot from her pussy and covered Dave's stomach. "God damn - you made me squirt - fuck, fuck... "

Alex did not let up until her body needed to rest and his body relaxed. She lay on top of him, chest to chest, his arms wrapped around her tightly. They didn't move until his softening cock slipped out of her ass and what felt like a gallon of cum followed.

He chuckled, "Going to have to really tip the cleaning staff. You are messy."

She chuckled right back at him, "I've never done that from anal - what the fuck are you doing to me?"

Dave took a deep breath. "You never told me you liked anal."

Alex grinned, "Would that have lured you to my bed before... " she stopped, he knew what she meant.

He shook his head, "No - but damn that was amazing." Dave hadn't moved--not because he couldn't, but because something in him had shifted. It had been somewhat jokingly said that he didn't have control issues, that he purchased the entire subscription -and they weren't wrong.

A smirk started in Alex's eyes and went all the way down her body. She shuddered. Dave laughed, "What are you thinking?"

Alex didn't respond, she just reached for her phone, the movement casual, unhurried, like she was adjusting a necklace or tying her hair. The camera opened with a soft click. She didn't ask permission--just turned the lens toward the two of them. Her hair was mussed, her cheeks still pink and glowing, and Dave... Dave looked like he'd just had is brains fucked out. His hands still gripped her hips, not to push her off, but to keep her there.

"Alex, what the hell are you doing?"

She hit send, then started to type: Alex: 8:15 PM: "Just a heads-up, he's off the market. I know he melted you - but he's mine now - permanently."

Claire: 8:22 PM: "Out of professional courtesy... and a healthy respect for what that man can do to a woman-- Any chance you're open to sharing?"

Alex: 8:23 PM: "Only if you ask nicely. On your knees... and then only maybe."

Claire 8:25 PM "Just promise me one thing-- If you ever decide to share, and if you do ever want to truly see me beg. I'd let him remind me."

Alex: 8:26 PM: "I know what he did. We both know why he did it. I can imagine the memory of his cock and your orgasms keeps you up some nights. But, that was then...

Claire 8:31 PM: I understand, if you ever decide to be generous... No games, no audience--just him. Just me. Revenge may have broken me, but he made me feel alive for the first time in years. And that... I wouldn't mind remembering.