Chapter 2: Still a Virgin?

"Sir, this is the room. Number 404," Marco said with a respectful bow, holding the electronic key card he'd just received from the receptionist.

Dominic stood before the door, his face unreadable, jaw clenched tight. "You're sure this is the right move, Marco? Buying a woman from that worthless family?"

Marco gave a faint shrug. "You need to blow off steam, sir. And honestly, after hearing Miss Clara screaming earlier, I think you need something far quieter than a model who talks too much."

"Women are all the same, Marco. Every last one of them. They only want money and power," Dominic hissed coldly. He snatched the card from Marco's hand. "Wait here. Don't let anyone disturb me — including my wife if she calls."

"Understood, sir. Enjoy your evening."

The door opened. Dominic stepped into the darkness, lit only by a dim lamp in the corner of the room.

At first, he'd planned to simply sit down, smoke, and let whatever woman was in here cower in the corner. He had no interest in cheap gratification.

But a small, pained whimper from the bed stopped him in his tracks.

"So hot... someone help me... anyone... it's so hot..."

Dominic moved closer. There, on white sheets now twisted into chaos, a girl lay curled in a ball, her body trembling violently.

Long hair covered her face, but the exposed skin of her shoulders was flushed red, as though a fire was burning from the inside out.

"What's wrong with you?" Dominic asked.

The girl looked up. Her eyes were glazed and glassy from the drug her stepmother had forced on her.

When she saw the tall, imposing man standing before her, Keyla didn't run. Instead of fear, she crawled toward him, her small hands reaching for the edge of his expensive shirt.

"Please... help me... I can't take it..." Keyla rasped, her voice raw with agony and an uncontrollable need that wasn't her own.

Dominic looked down at her with contempt. "So this is how you seduce your customers? Playing the overheated damsel?"

"No... hic... they gave me something... please, my head is going to split open..."

Without warning, Keyla's trembling hands began pulling at the zipper of her red dress. With desperate, clumsy movements, she tore the thin fabric free and let it fall to the floor, leaving her body bare.

Keyla didn't care about shame — she only wanted the burning sensation on her skin to stop.

Dominic swallowed hard. His eyes, usually cold as ice, suddenly caught something different. He studied Keyla's eyes — clear despite the drug clouding them, radiating a deep sadness and an innocence he had never encountered before.

Something inside Dominic's chest detonated. It wasn't mere lust, but a wild, possessive urge.

His thoughts drifted to Clara — the woman who always rejected him, who was selfish, who was cold. And now, standing right in front of him, was a girl begging for his help in the most primal way imaginable.

"You don't know what you're asking for, little girl," Dominic hissed. He gripped Keyla's jaw, forcing her to look at him.

"Do... anything... just make the burning stop..." Keyla whispered, her tears falling onto his thumb.

"I have to serve you... so my family will be safe... please..."

Hearing the words serve* and family*, Dominic's fury surged. He hated how this world worked, and he hated that he suddenly wanted this girl so badly.

With one rough motion, Dominic shoved Keyla back onto the bed and pinned her beneath him.

He silenced her lips with a brutal kiss — crushing, consuming every trace of alcohol and desperation from her mouth.

Keyla cried out into the kiss, her hands clinging to Dominic's solid shoulders, grasping for anything to anchor herself in the storm slamming into her.

When Dominic entered her with one fierce thrust, a gut-wrenching scream filled the room.

"Aahh! It hurts... stop... please, it hurts so much..." Keyla sobbed, her body going rigid. Fresh blood seeped across the white sheets.

Dominic froze. His breath came hard and fast against the curve of Keyla's neck. "You're still a virgin?"

In his entire life, Dominic had never touched a woman other than his wife. And he knew for certain that Clara had never given him a first gift like this.

This girl was his second, yet she was the first to truly give him her crown — unconditionally, even if it was under force.

"Hic... it hurts... but don't stop..." Keyla babbled, the drug robbing her of all reason. "Keep going..."

Dominic couldn't hold back any longer. The tightness gripping him felt as though it had locked down his very soul.

He moved with an accelerating rhythm, pouring out every frustration he harbored toward Clara, toward his mother, toward the entire world — through Keyla's small body.

Every moan she made became a new addiction.

He was thirsty — devastatingly thirsty — and only the girl beneath him could quench it.

*

*

Meanwhile, outside the door, Marco leaned against the wall scrolling through his phone. Suddenly, the device buzzed violently.

Clara's name flashed across the screen.

Marco let out a long sigh, then slid the green button.

"Yes, Miss Clara?" Marco said in a tone of exaggerated politeness.

"Marco! Where is Dominic?! Why isn't he answering my calls? Put him on the phone right now!" Clara screamed — no speakerphone necessary.

Marco pulled the phone away from his ear and winced. "Oh, Miss. Mr. Dominic is currently... ah, he's in a sudden meeting. Very sudden. And he can't be disturbed."

"A meeting at this hour?! I know he's angry about earlier, but this is childish! Tell him to come home now!"

"Well, I'm afraid this particular meeting will require the entire night, Miss. You know how it is — lots of technical issues that need to be handled... manually," Marco replied, barely containing his laughter.

He imagined Clara's face — probably wearing a face mask that cost a small fortune while her heart burned with jealousy.

"What are you talking about, Marco? You think I'm stupid?! Tell me where you are!"

"We're at... oh dear, terrible signal here, Miss. Ksshh... ksshh... Seems like we've entered a dead zone. See you in the morning!"

Click.

Marco killed the call and immediately blocked Clara's number — temporarily. He leaned his head against the wall, listening to the faint sounds drifting through the door of Room 404.

"Poor Miss Model," Marco murmured, shaking his head. "Won't let her own husband touch her, and now he's tasting a dessert that's far sweeter. Goes to show — don't get too proud of what you've got, or someone else might borrow it without asking."

***This work has been signed with NovelToon, and piracy such as reprinting without permission is strictly prohibited.***

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***