Samar Pratap Singh, the great business tycoon of Asia, a perfect Husband, a doting son, loving father, was busy right now, engaged in the most crucial and the most favorite activity of his life.
He was busy fucking his secretary like mad bull in pool of his farmhouse outside the city away from his perfect family life. The rhythmic slap of skin against skin echoed off the farmhouse walls. Samar gripped Trisha’s hips, his knuckles white as he anchored her to the edge, he wanted the friction, the heat, the way her small frame shuddered under his weight....
Her screams tore through the quite night of lust. To anyone else, she was the composed and obedient employee but here, she was just a vessel for the sensation he forced upon her. The sound fueled him, sending a surge of adrenaline through his veins that made his muscles ache. He leaned down, his chest slick with sweat, pressing his torso against her back to stifle her cries.
He felt the tightness of her muscles, the way her breath hitched in jagged, desperate gasps. Every thrust was deliberate, aimed at driving her further into that dizzying haze. His vision blurred slightly at the edges a cocktail of exhaustion and pure, unadulterated lust. He wasn't being gentle.
He was reclaiming her, marking the space between them with every forceful lunge. He wanted her loud, he wanted her wrecked, he wanted to destroy her completely in this desire.
His pace quickened, becoming more primal as the friction intensified, turning from a steady rhythm into a punishing..as the pool water ripples. He could feel the internal tremors beginning to ripple through her, a precursor to the release he was demanding. Samar gritted his teeth, his jaw tight enough to crack, as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. The scent of her salt, perfume, and raw arousal hit him like a physical blow, pushing him toward the release.
He drove deeper, seeking that exact point where her resistance crumbled entirely. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat matching the frantic motion of his hips. He watched the way her spine arched, the delicate vertebrae standing out in sharp relief against her fair skin, and he knew he was close. One final, brutal lunge, harder than the rest, sent a jolt of electricity through his entire frame, pinning her to the wood as he finally let go, his own climax crashing over him in waves of hot, heavy tension.
Samar collapsed partially onto her, his sweat slicked chest cooling rapidly in the night air. The pool of moisture beneath them felt tacky and warm, a messy testament to the friction they had just endured. He felt the familiar dull ache in his thighs that signaled he had pushed himself hard.
When he pulled back, he caught the sight of her huffing, her chest rising and falling in uneven jerks, yet a triumphant, dazed smile tugged at her lips.
A dark, possessive impulse flared in his gut. He wasn't ready to be soft just because the act was done. Reaching out, he brought his palm down to smack the swell of her ass. The sound was loud in the quiet room, a sudden punctuation mark to their exertion. He watched the flesh redden instantly under his touch, the vibration of the slap rippling through her skin.
"Don't get too comfortable," he muttered, his voice a low, gravelly rasp, stripped of its usual professional polish. He didn't offer a tender embrace or a soothing word. He had used her, and the sting of his hand was his way of reminding her who owned the rhythm of her breath.
The cool air bit at their damp skin as they stepped out of the pool, water droplets clinging to their limbs like liquid diamonds. Samar’s gaze raked over her, unapologetic and hungry. Seeing her naked, the way her breasts swayed with every step heavy and soft sent a fresh, violent jolt of arousal straight to his groin. He didn't wait for her to dry. He lunged, his large hands catching her waist to pull her flush against him. "Sirrr..." She whispered.
His mouth crashed onto hers, tasting of chlorine and salt. This wasn't a kiss; it was a claim. He groaned deep in his throat, his tongue invading her mouth with a bruising force while his hands wandered greedily, kneading her flesh, squeezing her breasts until his fingers sank into the softness. He was driven by a sudden, manic need to reclaim the heat.
"This time," he growled against her lips, his voice thick with a dark, commanding intent, "I will fuck you like a bitch."
He spun her around, his eyes darkened with lust as he prepared to drive himself into her. He was already hard, pulsing with a singular focus on her heat. But just as he positioned himself, the shrill of his phone shattered the atmosphere.
It sat on the stone pool table vibrating violently. The screen illuminated the dim patio, casting a harsh light on the caller ID: 'My Life ❤️'
Samar froze, his cock twitching against her skin. The name glared at him like an accusation. The transition from predator to husband was quick. He stared at the glowing screen, his breath hitching as the ringing continued, relentless and demanding. One moment, Samar was a beast hovering over her, his eyes dark with the intent to ruin her; the next, he was stepping away, his movements calculated and smooth. He grabbed the phone, his thumb swiping the screen with practiced ease, and as he turned his back to her, the predatory tension drained from his shoulders.
"Hey, baby," he said, his voice warm, honeyed caress. The gravelly, lust filled rasp was gone, replaced by a gentle, melodic tenderness that sounded nothing like the man who had just been slapping her skin. "You caught me at a good time...I was missing you too much"
"The meeting? It was intense, Neha. Exhausting, actually," he lied, his eyes flicking briefly to the curve of Trisha's hip before refocusing on the void of the night. "America was a whirlwind. A lot of late nights and endless negotiations, but everything went exactly as planned. We closed the deal just an hour ago."
"I missed you so much," he added, the lie sliding off his tongue with effortless grace. "Counting down the minutes until I can come home to you."
Behind him, Trisha stood shivering in the moonlight, her skin still tingling from his rough hands and the sharp sting of his palm. The man who had just been growling obscenities into her ear, treating her like a piece of meat to be consumed, had vanished as if he had never existed. A bitter, hollow sensation bloomed in her chest. She wondered if he ever truly felt anything real, or if every emotion was just another layer of a costume
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