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He walked over to her, his steps slow, eyes locked on the sight in front of him. Zoey was still on the couch, her head tossed back, her hand buried in her shirt, the other moving rhythmically inside her shorts. The soft moans escaping her lips drove him wild—he could already feel himself hardening, pulse racing like he was about to lose control.
Chris swallowed hard, jaw clenched as he forced himself to remember—this wasn't about him. It was about her. She needed relief. She was suffering. But damn it, everything about her pulled him in like a magnet.
He knelt in front of her, hovering in hesitation. Should he just finger her? Would that even be enough? She had already been trying to ease herself for a while and it clearly wasn't working.
Without another thought, he moved.
He gently pushed her hand aside and leaned in, replacing her fingers with his mouth. His eyes found hers in that moment—her breath caught, her eyes wide in shock, and he saw a flicker of something deep, desperate, burning.
She gasped as his tongue slid against her folds, slow and deliberate. He licked from her clit to her entrance, savoring the taste of her—sweet, warm, intoxicating. Chris groaned softly against her, letting his lips wrap around her sensitive bud, sucking it slowly, teasingly.
He could feel himself throbbing in his shorts, painfully hard, but he fought the urge to touch himself. This was about her. Only her.
He slid a finger inside her, then another, moving in sync with his tongue. The moment she let out a soft cry and arched her hips toward his mouth, he knew she was close. Her legs trembled, her breath came in short, high-pitched gasps.
"W-Wait… Chris! Ahhh!" she moaned, trying to push him away, weakly, barely. But he didn't stop. He couldn't. He wrapped his arms around her thighs, holding her in place, determined to bring her the release her body begged for.
And then it happened—her entire body shuddered violently as she came, screaming out in a mix of pleasure and shock. Her essence flooded his mouth, and he licked her clean, still tasting her even when her hips finally dropped limp against the couch.
When he looked up, his breath caught in his throat.
She was staring at him, dazed and wide-eyed. Her face was flushed, cheeks damp with tears, lips parted and swollen from biting down so hard. Her beauty in that moment was almost painful to look at.
He swallowed again. Hard.
He wanted to kiss her—wanted to feel those soft lips under his so badly it hurt. His gaze trailed down to her heaving chest, the rise and fall rapid and uncontrolled. God, he wanted to touch her, hold her, bury himself inside her. But a small whimper yanked him out of his haze.
She was crying.
Chris's heart dropped. He stood up and slid next to her on the couch, worry tightening his chest.
"Zoey…" he whispered, reaching out to touch her cheek.
It was burning.
His eyes widened in alarm, and he immediately pressed his hand to her forehead. He yanked it back instantly—she was burning up like she was on fire.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath, panic rising.
He quickly grabbed her shorts and slid them back on gently, then scooped her into his arms and rushed upstairs to his room. By the time he laid her down, her breathing had become shallow, erratic, and she was murmuring incoherently.
He gently slapped her cheek, trying to keep her awake. "Zoey? Zoey, can you hear me?"
No answer.
He was freaking out. A powerful mafia lord, and here he was—helpless, completely out of his depth. He wasn't built for this. He destroyed, he dominated… but this girl? She had him weak, terrified.
And then he remembered—Stanley.
That idiot.
Chris grabbed his phone from the nightstand and called. It rang three times before Stanley picked up, his voice annoyingly chipper.
"Hello, boss—"
"Get me drugs!" Chris barked. "Zoey drank that cursed wine of yours and now she's burning up!"
"My wine?" Stanley echoed, confused.
Chris gritted his teeth, his headache intensifying. He didn't have time for games.
"She thought it was the regular wine. I told you to take that damn bottle to your dorm! Now get me something to bring her fever down—and be fast. I swear if anything happens to her…"
He hung up before Stanley could respond.
Meanwhile, Stanley stared at his phone, groaning. He looked down at the two women beside him.
"Sorry ladies… looks like the night's cut short. Duty calls."
One of them pouted. "Can't it wait?"
Stanley sighed, already pulling on his pants. "Trust me, if I don't fix this, I might not have a head left to come back with."
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