Understood! I'll expand the Nathaniel–Mercy scene in Chapter Eight by about 600 words, keeping the story, dialogue, and explicCHAPTER EIGHT
NATHANIEL
The knock on my office door drew me out of the pretense of studying the file on my desk. I wasn't reading. My eyes barely moved across the lines. My mind was coiled tight, every muscle in my body aching for release. All I wanted was for someone to walk through that door—Mercy, preferably—and allow me to reclaim the control I needed. Caroline was off-limits for now. Her image was forbidden here. I needed a substitute, a conduit, to channel the chaos of desire that had been building since I'd seen her on Daniel's arm.
"Come in," I drawled, though I didn't need to. The door opened, and she entered with deliberate steps, every inch of her a challenge to my self-control. She had arrived late, thirty minutes beyond my patience, but now that she was here, I could finally allow myself to indulge. The tension in my body was raw, almost unbearable.
I closed the distance between us in two long strides. Her purse thudded onto my desk, loud enough to echo in the otherwise silent office. She gaped, startled, and my hand went beneath her skirt, skimming her soft skin, searching for what she had promised. Pants? None.
"I keep it easy for you," she said, a smirk curling on her lips. It was teasing, confident, and submissive all at once.
Easy or not, I can make it quick, savage, consuming, I thought, letting my hands move with intention. My body obeyed before my mind could protest.
"Thanks. I'll be a bit rough, can I?" I asked, the words slipping out, though I didn't need her permission. My voice betrayed restraint I barely felt.
"Stop being gentle-minded and give it to me hot," she shot back, voice low, challenging, seductive. That smirk ignited a fire in me I had been starving to feed.
I pressed her onto my desk, turning her so her back faced me, bending her over with calculated force. My hands roamed with precision, lifting, caressing, controlling. The condom I had prepared was tight and ready, my body responding with feral hunger. I entered her, hard, deep, and fast, letting moans of release escape my chest. Each movement demanded a release from the tension that had become unbearable.
Her name faded from my mind. Caro, I replaced Mercy's image with Caroline. Her face, her laugh, her curves—every thought, every detail, sharpened the sensations. I lost myself in the illusion, punishing my body, yet feeling every bit of my obsession with Caro in the rhythm of thrusts. My hands gripped her waist, dragging her closer, as if pulling Caroline herself into my arms.
The room was a haze of heat and moans. I pushed harder, faster, until finally I let go, emptying myself in the protective barrier I had prepared. The pent-up need, the frustration, the obsession—all dissipated in a sharp, consuming release.
I withdrew, staggering slightly, letting my hands fall away. Mercy lay on the floor, her breaths shallow, her body recovering. I retrieved the condom, secured it in a small waist bag, and dropped it into the bin beside me. My gaze fell on her, and I retrieved my wallet from the drawer, counting eighty thousand before dropping it onto her lap.
She lifted her head, smiling faintly, her pride intact despite everything. "You know you don't have to do that every time we..," she said lightly, guestuting between us laughing. She adjusted her skirt with practiced ease, already attempting to reassert composure.
"You can stop the instant you are no longer comfortable with our arrangement," I said, voice low, authoritative. She nodded, a soft, genuine smile spreading across her face.
"No, I'm comfortable. Thanks so much. I need this," she replied, patting the money on her lap. She quickly hid her true feelings. She stood up and practically forced herself to walk straight, her limping gait as she exited was favoring one leg, that caught my attention. That little catwalk, subtle and calculated, made me grin. Every motion was for me, it reminded me of how rough I was with her, that was cool served her well, but I reminded myself: it was a necessary proxy. Caroline was the true obsession, the only one who mattered. Mercy was a tool, a release, temporary, yet essential to my focus and control.
I moved to the office toilet, washing off sweat and the residue of our encounter, returning to the desk with my mind sharper, though still clouded by thoughts of Caroline. Words on the page blurred; obsession refused to loosen its grip. The sooner I faced Caroline, the sooner the tension might finally release entirely.
Later, my P.A. arrived, trailed by a petite makeup artist. "I can work with this look," she said confidently, adjusting my hair, smoothing my face into the persona I needed. After an hour of meticulous transformation, the mirror reflected a sharper, more lethal version of myself—unrecognizable even to those who knew me well.
Satisfied, I settled the bills, called my driver, and watched the women leave my office. Jacket in hand, pulse racing, I felt anticipation surge anew. Soon, Caroline would appear. Rain drummed against the windows, a chaotic rhythm that matched my heartbeat. Soon, every obsession, every plan, every desire would converge. Tonight, everything shifted.
Once in the car, I handed the driver the address of her flower shop. Every second of the drive, every raindrop on the windshield, felt like a countdown to the inevitable collision with Caroline—the woman who haunted every corner of my thoughts.