Chapter 7: Unraveling Control

Chapter 7: Unraveling Control

GLORIA’S POV

The moment I finally manage to calm down from my high, I find myself panting hard, raking my fingers through my hair and trying to steady myself after that crazy, blinding rush of pleasure.

What the fuck?

Did I seriously just touch myself in public—out here in the open—where someone could have caught me, with his name spilling from my lips? Tristan's name?

What the actual fuck was that?

My thoughts spiral as I tremble slightly, still trying to catch my breath. I finally glance down at my phone. The voicemail has stopped. That damn voice—his voice—had the power to hypnotize me, twist me into knots, make me forget my fucking name. Make me want him all over again.

God, what is the meaning of all this?

I rake my fingers through my hair again, this time out of sheer frustration. I need to get back to the gala. Maybe find my husband. Maybe just get the hell out of this insane place. I can’t do this anymore. I am done. Done with this madness. I just want to go home.

But just as I turn to leave, my phone rings again in my hand. My gut twists the second I see the caller ID. That same damn number.

That bastard.

Oh my God. What have I gotten myself into?

I press my hand to my forehead, a pulsing ache blooming behind my eyes. My head is spinning. My fingers tighten around the phone. I stare at the number like it’s some kind of curse crawling out of the screen, poisoning everything it touches. Then, with a heavy breath, I answer. Against every ounce of better judgment in my body, I pick it up.

“You really need to give up and just leave me the fuck alone!” I scream into the phone, voice shaking with emotion.

But all I get in return is a laugh. Loud. Cocky. Arrogant. A sound so maddeningly self-assured it makes my skin flush with heat.

“Oh yeah?” he says, his voice smooth and sinfully confident. “Why would I ever want to leave you alone? I’ve found something beautiful… something delicious. Why the fuck would I let that slip away?”

His voice drips with possessive hunger, and I bite down hard on my bottom lip.

“You’ve already had a taste of me once, okay?” I snap. “Isn’t that enough? What more do you want?”

“I want more of you,” he growls, voice darkening with heat. “I want everything. Everything your husband’s ever had… and everything he’s never been able to give you.”

“Oh, so you do know I have a husband?” I hiss.

“Oh yes,” he says. “I know all about him. And I also know he’s not giving you what you really need… not the way I can.”

“What the fuck?” I breathe, reeling.

“I know you’re tired of him. I know he’s not giving you that kind of burning attention that makes your legs tremble. You know I could make you melt—quiver. You felt it, didn’t you?” His voice drops to a near whisper, and I can hear the heat in it. “You know I can give you that again. Even more. So why keep pretending you’re still faithful, Gloria? Hm?”

My stomach flips as he keeps going.

“Wasn’t that why you got tangled up with me in the first place? Don’t make me spell it out. I could show you my face this time, baby. You want that, don’t you? You want to see me whispering filth into your ear while I make you come in ways you didn’t even know your body could. I’ll have you crying—begging—for more.”

The way he says it… I tremble right where I’m standing. But it’s not from the night air.

No, it’s the sound of his voice. That deep, rich timbre, laced with cocky promise, sinful temptation.

His voice is sex incarnate.

I shudder, my thighs pressing together involuntarily. My pussy clenches so tightly I can barely breathe. I wonder—just for one dark, dizzying second—how that voice would sound while he's fucking me. Growling. Grunting. Groaning out my name. Uttering filth that drives me to the edge and over.

Oh my God…

I snap out of it. I shake my head sharply, trying to break the spell.

“Okay, you need to stop. I can’t do this!” I declare, voice strained, shaking with panic and want.

He just chuckles. “I know. You keep saying that… but you’re still listening, aren’t you?”

He’s right. Goddamn him.

“Stop fighting what you want, Gloria.”

I bite my lip again so hard it almost bleeds.

“I’m going to send you an address,” he continues, voice velvet-smooth, like he’s already inside my head. “Meet me there. Just a few minutes. If you don’t come… that’s your loss. But I’m warning you, baby—I’ve got something really special waiting for you. Something prepared just for tonight. If you skip out… well, you’ll miss more than you can imagine.”

And then, just like that, he hangs up.

The bastard.

I close my eyes and clench my teeth, chest heaving. “Fucking bastard,” I mutter under my breath and shake my head briskly, trying to come back to my senses.

This is crazy. Absolutely insane. I can’t—no, I won’t do this. I can’t let him get to me like this again.

I chuckle nervously, rubbing my fingers against my temples as my thoughts spin in a frenzy.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

The logical side of my brain kicks in, trying to hold on. Just go back inside. Walk into the gala. Sit at the table. Wait for your husband. Then go home. Pretend this never happened.

Simple. Rational. Safe.

But then…

That other side of me—the darker one. The reckless, wicked voice whispering deep in my belly. It rears up, clawing at my sanity, telling me to do something wild. Something unhinged. Something dangerous and raw and real. It begs me to chase the thrill.

And my phone pings.

A notification.

A message.

From him.

I tap it open without thinking. The address. Of course. He’s already sent it. Just like he said.

Oh my God, he’s serious. He really thinks I’ll come running.

The arrogance of him—how fucking confident does he have to be to just assume I’d show up?

I shake my head again, hard this time. “No. No. I’m not doing this.”

I say it out loud to myself. Like a mantra. Like a final verdict.

I’m going to meet my husband. That’s it. I can’t do this. Not again. Never again.

I’m about to turn around—make my way back to the gala—when my phone vibrates again.

Another message.

This time, a voice note.

Goddamn it. I should delete it.

But I don’t.

Something compels me—pulls me—to press play.

I raise the phone to my ear.

What spills into my ear next makes my whole body seize.

His voice—low, deep, unsteady—moaning. Moaning. Crying out.

He’s touching himself.

He’s pleasuring himself.

“Oh fuck,” his voice groans, strained, wrecked with desire. “Feels so fucking good… thinking of you… your wild, crazy pussy wrapped so tight around my cock… oh god…”

My eyes go wide. I stop breathing.

He’s coming.

Coming with my image in his head.

He’s jerking off to me.

My knees almost buckle. My hand presses hard against the nearest surface, trying to keep myself from collapsing under the weight of that thought.

My nipples grow painfully tight beneath my dress, pebbling against the fabric. My breath catches in my throat. My core pulses so hard it’s like my entire body is contracting.

He wants me. He’s losing control over me. And it’s driving me insane.

“I’m waiting for you, baby,” his voice purrs, ragged with heat. “Don’t make me come without you. That would be so fucking unfair.”

The voicemail ends. Silence rushes back in.

But my mind? It’s chaos.

My heart thunders. My pussy clenches so hard I nearly cry out. My whole body is trembling, aching, flushed and wet with the need I’ve been trying to deny.

“Fuck… fuck…”

I can’t help it.

I can’t help it anymore.

Goddamn it.

I can’t believe I’m about to fall for this.