Page 76 of I'm sorry, Princess

I smirk, stepping past her toward my office. She’s good at hiding her reactions, but I know exactly what’s going through her mind.

And I can’t blame her. I do look like someone who just walked out of hell.

“My office. Two minutes,” I bark, my voice raw, leaving no room for discussion.

Feelings? I’ve never been good with those. Never cared for them. Never had them. But last night? Last night was a fucking shock to my system.

Those brown eyes, locked on mine, her soft hands pressing against my abdomen. Her long, nude nails digging into my skin like she was claiming me. That vanilla scent, it’s poison in my veins, a toxin I can’t flush out.

Her little cries echo in my head, the sound of her sweet, wet pussy dripping onto my hand as I fucked her with my gun.

The memory sends a jolt through me, and my dick throbs painfully against my pants. I grit my teeth, willing the image away as the door opens.

Ashley steps inside, closing the door softly behind her.

“Did you ask for me, sir?” she says, her tone careful, almost soft, but not soft enough.

She’s a perfect distraction, standing there with her 5’5” model frame, long legs that stretch for days, and those D-cup tits that are always strategically on display. Her full lips are painted with her signature red lipstick. She’s done it for me before, left my cock messy and slick, the red smudging against my skin like a mark of her devotion.

“Obviously,” I say sharply, leaning back in my chair. “I’m the one who called you in here, didn’t I?”

She hesitates, her movements cautious as she approaches my desk. I can see it in her eyes, she’s nervous.

She should be.

“Now get on your knees,” I command, my voice rough and impatient as I unbuckle my belt. If the fight didn’t drown the chaos in my head, maybe this will. A blowjob might quiet the storm. She’s just another mouth. Nothing more. She’s nothing.

Ashley obeys, her hands moving quickly to grab my cock. She massages it slowly, deliberately, her wet tongue flicking across the tip. She knows how to tease, how to prolong the buildup.

But I feel nothing.

The numbness presses in, heavy and suffocating. Her touch, her mouth, it’s mechanical, a means to an end. My mind drifts, clawing at anything to break the emptiness.

“Look at me,” I snap, my voice sharp and demanding.

Her green eyes lift to mine, glossy and tear-filled as she struggles to keep pace. But they aren’t what I want to see. My hand fists in her long, dark hair, forcing her head still.

And for a moment, the illusion shatters. Her green eyes blur, replaced by brown.

Soft brown eyes framed by blonde hair. Her hands were smaller, her touch softer. Her nails, long, nude, perfect, digging into my skin as she looked up at me, her lips trembling.

My grip tightens. “Fuck, Serena” I growl, my body reacting against my will. The memory of her scent, that fucking vanilla poison, floods my mind, and I lose control.

Her lips are still working, her nails stroking my length, and all I see is her. I thrust harder into her mouth, forcing her to take all of me, searching for some release that I know won’t come.

I push deeper, harder, her throat constricting around me as I drive my hips forward. Her gagging only fuels me, but it’s not enough. It never is.

The door swings open, and standing there is Andres, his face etched with displeasure.

The moment shatters, and I’m dragged out of my euphoria, my focus snapping back to reality.

I glance down and see her, black-haired, green-eyed Ashley, wiping her mouth, her face flushed.

What the fuck have I done?

Did I really get to the point where I had to imagine her, her, just to get off with someone else? Which was a massive fail, by the way. My jaw tightens, and the anger I’ve buried beneath layers of indifference starts to claw its way out.

“Get out,” I bark, my voice cold and final.