Ch. 6 - The Titan's Shadow

MILES

I walk through the red carpet, paparazzi asking questions as usual, followed by the clicking of cameras. I don't pay them any attention. I step through the doors that lead into the gala, heads turning to my direction, hushed chatter as I walk past. The gala is probably worth enough to fund whatever charity they're holding it for, the crystal chandeliers, champagne towers, and laughter that echo wealth.

Moments later, a shadow forms when a woman walks into the gala with camera lights chasing her from outside into the ballroom. As she walks more into the events, the doors shut, and more heads turn in her direction. Lights from inside the hall shine brightly on her, revealing her face. It's Kaitlyn Rhodes. She commands attention with each step she takes. Whispers fly around, not letting the noise fill her head, she continues with her walk, which allows her slender legs under the cover of the dress she has on, to peek out into the world. She looks breathtaking. The blue dress, which hugs her curves; the swerve of her hip from her waist is massive, and the hourglass shape of her body showing more than ever. The gold choker she has on brings out the sweetheart neckline of her dress. The waiter passes by her, she picks up a glass of champagne, and does a cheers gesture in my direction, indicating she caught me staring at her, skimming through every inch of her body with my eyes, wondering how it would taste under my lips. Thoughts of her pinned against a wall with my lips exploring her body pass through my head before I even get the chance to think about it. I imagine her red lipstick on other places, but her lips. "This proposal is just business." I remind myself, trying not to let physical attraction cloud my judgement. Men shift in their seats, their eyes lowered with lust, mouths telling otherwise as they talk about the scandal. Women envious of her as they roll their eyes failing to keep the attention of their sorry excuse of a date. Kaitlyn still doesn't look away; she maintains eye contact, as recognition, and as a reminder, she's not one to back down. Her enthusiastic self only makes the game more interesting.

She walks past my table, making her way up the stairs, eyes glued to her, but she doesn't budge, doesn't flinch; she continues walking until she disappears into the doors. Eyes return to wherever they came from, as did the voices increase, which in this case means gossip. A few minutes later, I follow in the same direction. The library doors are cracked open at the end of the west wing of the corridor. Through them, I catch a glimpse of her silhouette, exposing her back to me. She's staring out into the city through the tall windows, covered by the cold silver of the moonlight. 

I shuld turn away. I should give her the space she so desperately desires to have. But I do. My body moves on instinct, hunger, before reason can interfere. The door shuts behind me with a soft click. She doesn't turn. "Stalking me already, Mr. Howard?" She says, her voice still as she continues at the sight of the city.

"You walked in here knowing the room would burn for you. Don't be suprised I followed that fire." I step closer, my breath heating up on her neck. 

"Careful Miles, fire burns." She replies, the words struggling to come out of her mouth as she turns to face me 

"I'm not scared of a little fire. I built an empire from it." I reply, moving inches closer to her. 

"Prove it"

Two words that tug on my restraint, it feeds on my hunger, my desire and ignites the already present spark between us.

I give in.

My lips crash onto hers. Her red lipstick smears against my mouth as she kisses me back. She tastes like champagne with a hint of rebellion, the kind of mix any man would go crazy for. My lips go lower into her neck, kissing and sucking, not long enough to give her a hickey, but long enough for pleasure. My hands grip her waist, unable to tell the difference between silk and skin underneath it. She gasps into my mouth when I press her against the shelves. "You think you can control this, don't you?" I ask, mumuring against her skin.

"I don't think, I know."  Her breath shaky, giving her up.

My hands trail down the slit of her dress, fingertips brushing upher thigh. She inhales against my neck. I take my time skimming upward, savouring the little sounds she makes. I inch higher and higher, grazing lace, her hips twitch betraying her. 

"You like playing with fire, Kaitlyn?" I whisper, dragging the words across her ear. She bites down on her lips, trying not to give me the satisfaction. But her body betrays her again when I slide the lace aside, fingers finally touching heat. She gasps, nails raking down my chest through my shirt. Her head falls back against the shelves, lips parting as I stroke her slowly, deliberately, each motion designed to unravel her.

"Say it," I growl against her throat. "Say you want this."

She rolls her eyes at me "I'll never give you those words"

Defiant. Stubborn. Perfect.

I thrust a finger inside her, slow, deep. Her sharp inhale breaks her mask for a fraction of second, and I feel her tighten around me. Another finger joins, stretching her, preparing her, making her moans spill louder now, uncontrolled.

Her hand fists in my suit, dragging me closer as though she hates herself for needing the contact.

"God, Miles..." she breathes, voice cracking on my name.

"That's it," I murmur darkly, pumping harder, curling my fingers just right until her body shudders against mine. "Let it go."

Her thighs tremble around me, her hips rolling helplessly against my hand. She bites into my shoulder to stifle the cry that wants to escape, but I hear it anyway. I feel the release ripple through her as she comes undone against my fingers, her walls clenching, her breath shattering in uneven gasps.

Ch. 7 - Playing games

KAITLYN

"You taste like sin," he whispers to me, dragging his thumb from my core to my bottom lip, smudging more of my lipstick, before impaling his fingers into my mouth. I let go of his fingers with a wet sound, smiling wickedly. "Then I guess we're both damned." I feel him from beneath me; he's hard, straining against the limits of his self-control. I catch a glimpse in his eyes, and he considers taking me right here, but instead, he steps back, forcing air between us, though every muscle in me wants more. I straighten my dress, lipstick ruined, hair tousled, chest still rising unevenly. "Careful, Miles," I say, straightening the gold choker against my neck. "You're playing my game now." he smirks at me, adjusting his cufflinks. "Games have winners, Kaitlyn. Don't forget that." And that's exactly what I'm going to be, Miles. My eyes flick to him one last time before I walk away, hips swaying, accomplishment filling my chest. The door clicks shut behind me.

By eight a.m., I've slipped into my amour, a black, fitted dress that stops a little above my knee, paired with heels sharp enough to double as weapons and my Hermès Kelly Cut bag. The memory of Miles from the library fills my head, my skin still feeling his touch, my core still in search of his fingers, or better still... But my mind doesn't allow it. I'm furious enough at myself for letting him get as close as he did last night. Images of my childhood overpower the ones of miles, and there I am in our kitchen with my mother on the floor, with my father on top of her, lifting his hands to offer her a slap, just because she said the wrong thing. And that image reminds me why I am the way I am.

I am not her, nor will I ever be.

I carry the silent mantra in my heart.

The city is already alive when I step outside into the car. I inhale, straighten my shoulders, and let the city carry me forward.

At work, I stride past my workers, as their echo of greetings welcomes me into the building. Their genuine smiles at me, without the sounds of gossip masking them, fill my heart. I walk into my office, shutting the door behind me. Before I get to my desk, I hear a knock on the door. "Come in." It's Olivia, she walks into the room with her head down, a nervous habit of hers, which tells me bad news is coming. "Miss Kaitlyn, I have news, and it's not the good kind." She confirms my theory. "Anything new?" My hand makes its way to my forehead to stroke my worry lines. "We lost three more-" "Clients?" I ask before she has a chance to finish her sentence. "Yes, clients." Dropping the folder, she's kept close to her chest since she walked in. "Here are the details of those clients." "You can go." I say, finally dismissing her. She doesn't move, "There's something you should know about one of the investors." Looking back up at her. "Go on." "They've requested a private meeting in person."

Silence swallows the room. I sink into my chair, fingers repeatedly tapping on the folders before finally tearing them open. A laugh escapes from my mouth. Three more gone.

How many more before the foundation cracks?

The irony surprises me. I built my company on strength, on the image of a woman who couldn't be shaken by external factors or be torn down by people, and here I am staring at the earthquake waiting to happen. I get ready for the meeting, pick up the necessary files, and hand them over to my assistant. I slip into the back seat of the car, and Olivia into the passenger seat. She informs the driver of our destination, as I rehearse the lines I plan to sell to the investors, to make them see my worth as a business partner. Today, I will win, I promise myself.

The car ride ended sooner than expected, the trees we passed by were out of sight, and the other cars that drove against us were also gone, which indicated we had arrived at our destination. We stopped at a restaurant, which gave rich, old money vibes, from the tall windows, with flower arrangements beneath them, to the detailing that paints the front door with head-to-toe glass. I'm welcomed by a pair of doormen in tailored black suits, which fit perfectly. As I walked in, the place seemed abandoned, maybe more rented out than abandoned. "They're on the second floor." A member of the pair says, with head bowed down, "Alright. Thank you!" I walk towards the elevator, push the necessary buttons that carry me to the second floor. I step out and find the restaurant in all of its glory, the light blinding my eyes, the gold finishes found on most of the furniture. I look up to find a group of older-looking men sitting at a round table, my supposed investors. My legs carry me to the table, head turns as I'm walking. When I get there, the men stand on their feet offering hands that I receive with a smile, which seems way too cheery.

I apologize for the misunderstanding that comes from the scandal. They explain how they understand and ask how I plan to resolve it, to which I explain my plan to them. "That cannot work," Jake says, shaking his head. "You need not only to explain yourself but also distract the world from the past scheme." The two other men nod in agreement with Jake, with occasional "yes" coming out of their mouths as Jake speaks.

The elevator dings.

A sound loud enough to cut through the conversation, heads turn in unison to the doors. The sight of black leathered shoes comes first, then the click of the sole against the marble tiles. His trousers then come into view, tailored, charcoal grey, breaking just above the ankle. The crisp line of his suit jacket follows, cut sharp enough to wound. A white shirt, open at the collar, teases at casual rebellion beneath his armor of wealth. A watch, sleek, silver, obscene in its quiet value, catches the light as he adjusts his cufflink.

Then I look up at his face

And it's him.