I looked at the face over and over again, trying to recall where I had seen it before. Then it hit me like a crashing wave — the image on my phone, right here in my office, was none other than the man who had made my toes curl two nights ago. A rush of emotions erupted all at once. I didn't know whether to cry or burst out laughing!
Two nights ago, I was downcast. I had caught my boyfriend of two years cheating on me with a girl I had known back in school. He tried begging, but I was too numb to speak, so I did the only thing I knew best: I went clubbing.
I've known Dave, my ex-boyfriend, since I was a teenager. He used to be the perfect man — the kind any woman would dream of. That is, until I caught him giving another woman head. The most painful part? He never went down on me once in the entire two years we were together! He claimed pleasuring a woman that way wasn't something he liked doing — said it wasn't healthy. He even sent me articles about how it was supposedly bad. Blah, blah, blah.
With tears clouding my eyes, I went straight to the club and ordered the strongest and finest alcohol on the list. In no time, a bottle of whiskey was brought to my table with a glass. But I knew what I wanted — and that didn't include a glass. I drank straight from the bottle as I sat there, overwhelmed with confusion about why Dave had done that to me. Cheating.
I had been nothing but faithful to him throughout our relationship. In fact, he was my first in everything — my first kiss when I was seventeen, my first time having sex when I was twenty-three. I practically lived for him. We started dating when I was twenty-two, and now, I'm twenty-four.
I was on my fifth gulp when I noticed, from the corner of my eye, a very hot man. He was saying something to the bartender, who looked toward where I was seated and replied with words I couldn't make out because of the distance between us.
One minute, I was trying to distract myself from the piercing look the man was giving me from the bar. I decided to focus on a woman dancing and grinding her ass on a man's groin — and the next thing I heard was, "Do you mind if I accompany you for the night?"
Looking up, it was him.
His face was so smooth I was almost tempted to rub it. Staring at him, I was confounded.
Don't get me started on his voice! It felt buttery in my ears. I was so flustered that the only thing I could do was nod my head because I knew full well I couldn't find the words to respond to him at that moment.
He sat down on the sofa I was sitting on, and I caught a whiff of his cologne. It was heavenly. I almost passed out right then and there!
Just thinking about it — this stranger was the second person of the opposite gender to sit this close to me, aside from Dave.
Thinking about Dave made me place the bottle to my lips and take two gulps.
I took another long gulp from the bottle, trying to steady my racing heart. The stranger's eyes never left me—dark, hungry, and full of command. His gaze was like a magnet pulling me in, making my breath hitch and my skin flush. When he spoke, his voice was low, rough, and irresistibly demanding.
"Come with me. Tonight, you're mine."
That simple phrase ignited a wildfire inside me. Every nerve ending tingled with a mixture of fear, excitement, and desperate longing. I wanted to forget everything—the pain, the betrayal, the numbness—and lose myself completely in this mysterious man who had appeared out of nowhere but somehow felt like fate.
The room around me seemed to blur as he led me through the sleek, dimly lit hallways of his apartment. The subtle scent of sandalwood and musk wrapped around me like a cloak, heightening my senses and making my pulse pound in time with the growing ache between my legs.
His hands were everywhere the moment we stepped inside. They roamed boldly beneath my shirt, tracing the curve of my waist, slipping inside my jeans. His touch was both commanding and gentle, rough and tender all at once. I trembled with want, feeling the heat of his palms and the certainty in his grip.
"Trust me," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. The words were a promise, a command, and a comfort all in one.
Then, almost without warning, he produced a pair of soft leather cuffs. The sound of the clasps clicking shut around my wrists sent a delicious shiver through me. The sensation of being restrained was foreign but thrilling—this was surrender, trust, a giving up of control that I hadn't known I craved so deeply.
"Kneel," he ordered, his voice firm and unwavering.
Without hesitation, I sank to my knees, my heart pounding like a drum. The world narrowed to the space between us, electric and charged with tension. His cologne enveloped me—warm, earthy, addictive—filling my senses completely.
He stepped closer, his breath hot against my face. "Show me you want this," he demanded.
His hand slid behind me, guiding me gently but firmly as I lowered my mouth to his cock. The first taste was fire and heat and raw, undeniable need. I let my lips and tongue worship him with hunger, deepening my connection to this man who held me captive with a single look.
He groaned, fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. The power and passion in his touch made my body arch instinctively, craving more.
Then, just as my lips brushed his skin, his hand moved to my throat—firm but careful. The pressure stole my breath, making my heart pound wildly against my ribs. I felt exposed and vulnerable, yet a deep, electrifying thrill surged through me.
His voice dropped to a low, gravelly whisper, vibrating against my skin. "Do you want me to choke you?"
A flush of heat flooded me. Desire clouded my mind, sharpening every sensation. With a voice thick and trembling, I whispered back, "Choke me, Daddy."
His grip tightened just enough to make me gasp. The mix of pleasure and sting sent waves of fire coursing through every nerve. My mind spun in a dizzy dance of need and surrender—I was his, utterly and completely.
Every breath was a sharp, desperate rush; every exhale a release into sensation. I felt alive like never before, caught in the fragile balance between danger and delight.
He lowered me gently onto the soft rug, his hands never losing their commanding touch. His lips traced slow, reverent kisses along the delicate skin of my inner thighs, sending shivers rippling through my body. The warmth of his breath and the gentle pressure of his tongue teased me mercilessly.
Each flick of his tongue was a promise—an unspoken vow of pleasure and attention. My hips moved instinctively, chasing the waves of bliss that crashed through me. His hands explored my curves, guiding me, opening me, owning me.
The connection between us was electric, charged with trust and raw desire. I surrendered completely, lost in the exquisite fire he ignited inside me. Every gasp, every shiver was a wordless conversation—a language of craving and fulfillment.
His eyes locked onto mine, dark and intense, filled with a hunger that mirrored my own. There was no judgment here, only a fierce acceptance that made me feel safe even in my vulnerability.
Golden's touch was both tender and possessive, guiding me through waves of pleasure and pain. The leather cuffs, the choke, the commanding presence—it all pushed me beyond what I had ever imagined.
When he finally claimed me, it was raw, hungry, and relentless. My moans filled the room—a wild symphony of surrender and fire, echoing off the walls and deep into my soul.
Time lost meaning as we moved together, bodies entwined, breathing heavy and hearts pounding in sync. I felt every inch of him, every whispered command, every shared sigh.
But then, morning came too soon.
I woke alone on the cool sheets, the faint scent of sandalwood still lingering in the air. The cuffs lay discarded on the floor, silent witnesses to the night's passion. The memory of last night burned fierce and fresh in my mind—every touch, every gasp, every whispered word.
There was a bittersweet ache deep in my chest as I sat up, the sun filtering softly through the curtains. The man who had turned my world upside down was gone, leaving me with nothing but the warmth of his memory and the sting of his absence.
Quietly, I gathered my things, my fingers trembling as they touched the cool leather cuffs one last time. The ache between my legs pulsed—a reminder of the fire he had ignited, and the freedom I had found in surrendering to him.
Without a backward glance, I slipped out into the dawn, ready to face whatever came next—alone but stronger, alive with a new understanding of desire, power, and the wild edge where control and surrender meet.
Two days later, as I tried to piece my life back together, my phone buzzed with a notification that stopped me cold.
An image had been sent to the FBI department — a clear, unmistakable photo of a man with a chilling reputation. A terrorist who had wiped out an entire community, a shadow haunting headlines worldwide. The name below the photo struck me like lightning:
Golden Penny.
The man I had spent the night with—the one who had whispered commands, cuffed me with such care, who had ignited a fire inside me unlike anything I'd ever known—was a fugitive on the Red Notice list.
My heart pounded as I stared at the screen, the truth crashing down like a tidal wave. Desire had blinded me to danger, and now I was caught in the storm of a man who was far more than the stranger I thought he was.
Golden wasn't just a name. He was a ghost, a force, a secret that threatened to consume everything.
And I was right in the middle of it.
I stared at the photo on my screen for what felt like hours. The sharp angles of his face, the intense, dark eyes—so familiar, yet now cloaked in menace. My body remembered the softness of his touch, the thrill of surrender, but my mind screamed in warning.
How had I been so blind? How had desire and loneliness made me forget the world outside my own pain?
The name "Golden Penny" echoed in my head—a name whispered in fear across news reports, a man hunted by every law enforcement agency on the planet.
I was entangled in something far beyond a reckless night.
Fear prickled down my spine, but beneath it, a strange pulse of curiosity and defiance beat strong. Who was he really? What was the story behind that captivating gaze and dangerous hands?
Part of me wanted to forget everything, erase the night like a fevered dream. But another part—one that thrilled at the edges of danger—wanted to know more.
I needed answers.
As I sat there, torn between dread and intrigue, my phone buzzed again. A new message, this time just two words:
"Meet me."
No name, no number. Just those two words.