She Used Me for a Dare… Now I Own Her Mother Chapter 556: Rally the Boys
Previously on She Used Me for a Dare… Now I Own Her Mother...
"How dare you humiliate me like this..." The man’s voice cracked, vibrating with frantic, breathless fury. "I’ll fucking destroy you, you old, pathetic bastard!"
CRACK.
A heavy fist smashed directly into the glass. The sound of the vanity mirror splintering and raining down onto the marble counter exploded through the room like a gunshot. Shards clattered violently into the sinks and skittered across the floor, followed by the man’s ragged, hitching gasps and a pained hiss as blood met broken glass.
Inside the cubicle, the world turned to stone.
Neither of them breathed. Neither of them moved so much as a millimeter.
Alex stood completely locked in place behind her, his chest pressed flat against the curve of her back, his rigid length still buried to the absolute hilt inside her.
Beneath him, Naomi was trembling — not with fear, but with a white-hot, suffocating rage.
Her palms were pressed flat against the cold metal partition of the stall, her knuckles white, her forehead resting against the hard surface as she fought to keep her ragged breath from making a sound.
Every single nerve ending in her body was screaming.
The frustration clawing through her chest was agonizing, bordering on madness. She had spent the last strech of this stall having her pride systematically dismantled, her discipline unraveled, and her senses drowned in feverish, humiliating lust. She had finally cast aside every ounce of professional detachment, completely surrendering to the dark urge to be broken, to feel his full, unyielding weight ruin her.
She had gotten what she wanted. He was finally inside her, buried to the hilt, stretching her tight, drenched heat so completely that her vision had hazed over from the sheer fullness of it. Every nerve in her body had been balanced on a razor’s edge... aching, slick, and begging for him to pull back and tear into her with the punishing rhythm she had been starved for.
And then this pathetic, trust-fund brat had to stumble in, throwing a tantrum like a spoiled child and freezing the world in place.
Naomi’s jaw locked so hard her molars ached.
All she wanted was to rip the cubicle door clean off its frame and snap that brat’s neck with her bare hands. Just crush the life out of him, kick his bleeding body out of the way, and clear the room so she could finally be ruined in peace.
Naomi twisted her neck, glancing back over her bare shoulder.
Whatever remained of her cold, professional composure was gone. Her pupils were blown wide, black and feverish with an unadulterated, desperate hunger. A fine sheen of sweat glistened along the curve of her collarbone, her parted lips swollen, glistening, and trembling with every jagged breath she forced through her teeth.
She couldn’t wait. Not for the brat outside, not for the quiet, and certainly not for Alex’s permission.
Her core throbbed around the unyielding fullness of his cock, so heavy and deep it made her dizzy.
Driven by sheer, clawing desperation, she pushed back.
With a slow, agonizing roll of her hips, she tried to take control herself. She ground her backside hard against his groin, sliding back against his rigid length, desperate to force the punishing friction her body was starving for.
A muffled, shuddering gasp caught in her throat as the movement sent a white-hot spark of pleasure arcing straight up her spine. Wet, slick heat parted and clung to him, the sound impossibly loud to her own ears in the suffocating quiet of the stall.
Behind her, an amused smile touched the corners of Alex’s mouth.
He felt every clench of her inner walls, felt the frantic, shameless way she tried to ride him against the metal partition.
He had no intention of giving her an easy release. He did not want her satisfied. He wanted her starved, strung out on the edge until her mind snapped and she was entirely at his mercy.
His hands clamped down on her hips like iron bands.
With effortless, crushing leverage, Alex locked her in place, killing her movement mid-stroke. He held her completely still, buried to the root, refusing to give her an inch of rhythm.
He leaned down until his lips brushed the damp, feverish skin of her ear.
"What do you think you’re doing, woman?" Alex whispered, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated straight through her skull. "Do you want him to notice us? Want him to kick the door in and watch?"
Naomi didn’t even glance toward the door. Her fingers dug ruthlessly into the cold metal of the partition, her knuckles stark white as she strained against his iron grip. She looked him dead in the eye, her dark gaze glittering with raw, unhinged need.
"I don’t care," she whispered, her voice rough, ruined, and dripping with venomous surrender.
A ragged shiver ripped down her spine as her hips gave a weak, helpless twitch against his unyielding frame.
"...Just fuck me. That’s all. If that little bastard touches this door, I’ll tear his fucking throat out myself."
The declaration hung between them.
Then the man’s voice came again, calmer now, the tantrum forced down into a phone call.
"Cole? Raymond Cole... so that’s his fucking name."
The name stopped both of them.
Naomi’s head snapped back toward Alex. The lust haze broke just enough for the voice to land. This was the same brat who had tried to humiliate the old man and ended up eating the humiliation himself.
Alex already knew. He only shrugged, still buried in her, still holding her hips still.
Outside, the man kept talking, suspicion sharpening every word.
"What’s his backing? Which family does he answer to? Tell me everything about that bastard."
A few seconds of static crackled from the receiver, followed by the broker’s low, detailed answer.
As the report continued, a slow, ugly chuckle began to rumble in the young man’s throat. It started as a dark scoff, then bloomed into a loud, mocking laugh that bounced off the cracked marble walls.
"Nothing?" the brat sneered, his tone dripping with pure, vicious relief. "A washed-up real estate relic? His company collapsed five years ago? No clan elders, no Sacred Family backing, and he’s buried under millions in dead debt?"
He spat loudly onto the floor, the sole of his shoe grinding the spittle into the tiles.
"And here I thought some sleeping dragon had walked into the club," he hissed, the humiliation from the dance floor twisting into venomous hatred. "I thought you had to be some untouchable titan to put your dirty, wrinkled hands on her... the woman I’ve spent three months and millions just trying to buy a single drink for! And you’re just a penniless, toothless dog who got lucky."
He began walking toward the exit, his expensive shoes crunching casually over the stray shards of glass near the sinks.
"Rally the boys," he ordered into the phone, his voice flat, vicious, and completely unhurried. "Take the black sedans and lock down the service alley behind the lower VIP valet. He won’t take the main entrance; an old dog like that will slip out through the private rear exit to keep whatever scrap of dignity he has left."
He stopped at the heavy restroom door, tapping his signet ring against the wood in a slow, ominous cadence.
A brief silence fell over the tiled room, broken only by the faint, indistinct murmur of the receiver against his ear.
Suddenly, the rhythmic tapping stopped dead.
"What?" His voice dropped into a sharp, incredulous rasp.
He listened for another second, his jaw visibly clenching until a dark, murderous vein bulged against his temple.
"He isn’t leaving? The coward went down to the first-floor suites instead?" A venomous sneer twisted his words. "He actually thinks he can hide behind room service and sleep off his little victory?"
The muffled voice on the other end hurried to speak again, but Julian cut straight through it with a savage snarl.
"I don’t give a single flying fuck about the hotel’s customs!"
His composure shattered completely, laying bare a raw, psychopathic entitlement.
"Fuck the Meridian, and fuck their sacred rules! If their management has a problem with blood on their imported carpets, tell the miserable bastards to send the cleaning bill straight to my father!"
He spun on his heel, his expensive leather shoes grinding broken glass into powder.
"Surround his suite right now and lock down the entire corridor. When I give the word, blow the door off its frame, shatter his legs, and hold him down until I get there. No one humiliates me and lives to see morning. That old dog dies by my hands tonight."
A sharp beep echoed as he terminated the call with a vicious swipe.
"Old bastard..." he spat onto the tiles, kicking the baseboard with enough force to splinter the wood. "You think four walls are going to protect you? Just wait. I’m going to rip you apart myself."
With a violent shove of his forearm, he hit the brass crash bar. The heavy door hissed open, slammed shut behind him, and cut his echoing footsteps short in the corridor.
Silence swept back into the room.
Inside the cubicle, Alex let out a low, amused chuckle against the damp curve of Naomi’s neck.
"Today really isn’t your day, is it, darling?" he whispered, his voice silky and laced with dark amusement. "Looks like your old man is already in serious danger."
