Chapter 24 War
Chapter twenty-four
War
The room buzzes quietly, low murmurs, the occasional click of heels, the clink of crystal against glass.
I should be paying attention to the art. The patrons. The artist.
But I’m not.
I’m watching Olivia.
She’s in the dress I picked.
Red.
I told her once brunettes look stunning in red.
And I was right.
It hugs her in all the right places. Soft flare. Smooth chiffon that moves when she walks like it’s obeying her. Her hair’s pinned up. Lips painted to match the fabric clinging to her hips.
She doesn’t realize it yet, but this entire gallery was curated to echo her.
Bold. Classic. Unapologetically gorgeous.
Her fingers graze a canvas. Her head tilts. She’s biting her bottom lip in concentration, like she’s trying to decode something sacred.
She has no idea what’s waiting for her at the end of this hallway.
I nod once at the gallery owner as we pass, and she smiles knowingly. The last room, the spotlighted alcove, has been cleared.
Every patron has been redirected elsewhere.
This moment isn’t for them.
It’s for her.
And me.
We turn the corner.
She stops walking.
Dead still.
Her breath catches.
And I feel it.
The moment she sees herself.
Emerald green crepe. The slit high, the shadows deep, her figure half-tucked into the crook of my arm, her smile soft and bright. The same photo that Wesley slammed onto my weight bench with a warning.
Only now, it’s paint.
Rendered in soft strokes. Vivid. Intentional.
Framed in gold.
Her glow immortalized.
She doesn’t speak.
Her lips part like she’s seeing herself for the first time. Like she can’t quite believe she’s beautiful enough to hang in a gallery.
She is.
But it’s not just the painting I’m looking at. It’s her now. In this light. In that red dress.
The neckline dips just enough to tease. Her shoulders bare, her hair swept up and away from her face like a gift being unwrapped. A flush blooms across her chest, high on her cheeks, and I don’t know if it’s from the lighting or the attention, but it’s fucking stunning.
But her eyes, her eyes give her away. Wide, uncertain, reverent.
She doesn’t know how to stand in this kind of spotlight.
So I step closer. Become her anchor.
“It was taken after the gala. The photo went viral. Tabloids ran it for days. Wesley hated it.”
A pause.
“I didn’t. It was the best piece of media about me in years.”
Her eyes flick to mine, hesitant.
“I needed something good,” I murmur. “Something I could look at and remember that not everything about my name is stained. So I commissioned it.”
Her voice is soft. “You commissioned a portrait of me?”
“Of us.”
She turns toward the canvas again, lips parting slightly.
I step closer, my tone dipping.
“Do you like it?”
She swallows. Nods. “It’s… beautiful.”
“Would you like to keep it?”
Her head snaps toward me. “What?”
I lift a brow. “We can hang it in our bedroom.”
Her whole face flushes.
“I’m not moving in with you,” she stammers, breath catching. “I never said yes.”
I smirk, stepping even closer. “Then tell me no.”
Her lips twist.
Turns to look at the portrait.
Then at me.
Then back again.
And then—
A breath.
A blink.
A choice.
“No,” she breathes. “I don’t think I want to tell you no anymore.”
The ache in my chest tightens. Spreads.
And for the first time in years…
I feel fucking whole.
***
She says she doesn’t want to tell me no anymore.
So I don’t give her the chance.
As soon as the bedroom door shuts behind us, I’ve already got my hands on her. One at the back of her neck, the other at her waist, walking her backward toward the bedroom like I’m leading her straight into surrender.
The moment her calves hit the edge of the bed, I push her down.
She falls with a gasp, flushed and breathless, red dress bunched high on her thighs. Her lipstick’s still intact, barely, and I plan to ruin that next.
“I’ve been hard since the gallery,” I growl, dropping to my knees between her legs, dragging my palms up those perfect, plush thighs. “Every time someone looked at you, I wanted to break something.”
Her breath catches. “Warren—”
“Shut up.” I lean in, bite the inside of her thigh. Not gentle. Not soft.
She yelps, back arching.
“I’m done being patient.”
I drag her dress higher and tear her panties down her legs, no ceremony, no warning. Just possession.
“I had you painted in green,” I growl, gripping her thighs to spread them wider. “But tonight, I want red.”
Then I devour her.
No build-up. No teasing.
I lick and suck like I’m starving, tongue punishing, hands locking her open as she writhes. She tastes like she’s been waiting for this all day. Like the words she said at the gallery were already a promise.
She doesn’t want to say no anymore?
Good.
Because I won’t let her.
She claws at the sheets, whimpering, already close, but I don’t slow. I don’t give her the chance to breathe.
“Come,” I order against her clit, voice low and savage. “Now.”
And she does.
Hard.
Her hips buck, thighs shaking, cries sharp and wrecked as she falls apart on my tongue.
I ride her through it, holding her down, drinking in every spasm like a fucking addict.
When she’s limp and panting, I rise, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand like I just won a war.
She looks up at me dazed. Ravaged. And I haven’t even started.
“On your knees,” I demand, already unbuckling my belt.
She moves slowly, too slowly, so I yank her by the wrist and pull her to the edge of the bed, forcing her down to her knees.
“You want to be good for me?” I murmur, brushing my thumb across her bottom lip. “Then show me. Open up.”
Her lips part. Her eyes wide.
I shove my cock past them.
No warning. No easing.
She gags around the thickness, but I don’t stop. I hold her there, her throat stretched, her lips red and ruined.
“Good girl,” I groan. “Take it. Take all of it. Show me what that mouth was made for.”
She sucks like she needs me to believe it. Like she’s desperate to be wrecked. Her tongue slides along the underside, her hands gripping my thighs, and when she moans around me, I nearly lose it.
I pull her off with a growl, cock glistening.
“Enough.”
I pull her up roughly by the waist, tossing her back onto the bed, but I don’t follow her down—not yet.
She’s gasping, flushed, lips swollen and slick from sucking my cock like her life depended on it. She’s too damn good at it.
I crawl up slowly, taking my time, watching the way her breath hitches with every inch I close in.
“You want me, Olivia?” My voice is low and steady as I press her into the mattress. “Then you’ll obey me. You’ll wait for me. And when you finally come, it’ll be with my name in your mouth and feel of my cock stamped into your soul.”
I lean down, lips brushing her ear. “No coming until I say. I don’t care how close you get. I want you trembling. Desperate. Holding on by a thread. Can you do that for me, sweet girl?”
I pull back just enough to see her eyes, voice like silk over steel. “Say it. Say you’ll obey.”
“Yes,” she breathes, pupils blown wide. “I’ll obey.”
“Good girl.”
The praise is rough and reverent, a filthy reward in itself.
I press my forehead to hers. “You don’t come until I tell you. No matter how full you feel. No matter how much your pussy begs me. You wait for me. Understand?”
She nods.
“Words, Olivia.”
“Yes, War. I’ll wait. I swear.”
“That’s my girl.”
I drag her dress down her shoulders and off her arms, ripping it straight down the middle.
She gasps.
“Warren!”
“I’ll get you a new one,” I mutter, pressing her wrists into the mattress. “Looks better on the floor anyway.”
I line up at her entrance.
“Please War,” she breathes out.
“Fuck,” I growl, the sound ragged with restraint snapping thread by thread. “That’s it, beg just like that.”
I grip her jaw, forcing her gaze to stay locked with mine. “You have to earn it, Olivia. Every inch. Every thrust. Every praise-laced command.” I press forward, slow and deep, until I’m fully inside her, filling her just like she begged; just like she was made for.
She cries out, loud, wrecked, guttural. Perfect.
“Warren! oh god—” she gasps, nails clawing at my back as her hips lift instinctively, chasing every brutal inch.
“Yeah,” I grit, driving deeper. “That’s what I fucking wanted.”
She claws at my back, hips jerking beneath mine, and I don’t let her find a rhythm. I pin her down and take. Hard. Relentless. My cock splitting her open, dragging filthy sounds from her mouth every time I slam into her.
“You want the truth?” I snarl in her ear. “You’re the only woman who’s ever made me lose control. The only one I’ve ever wanted to fuck until I break.”
She cries out, nails digging deep, legs wrapped tight around me like she doesn’t want me to leave even if I tried.
“You’re wrecked for me,” I growl, hips slamming into hers. “Owned and open, just the way I want you.”
“Please, don’t stop,” she pants. “I-I need it. I need all of it.”
She sobs my name, begging for more, and I give it to her, deeper, harder; fucking her like a man who’s finally accepted his goddamn fate.
Her pussy clenches around me like she was made to be fucked stupid.
And I plan to keep going until she is.
Until her voice is wrecked from screaming my name. Until her thighs are shaking so hard she can’t stand. Until every inch of her body remembers who she belongs to.
Me.
Only me.
Her nails rake down my back as I pound into her, unrelenting. Her cries are high, broken, and desperate, but she’s not telling me to stop.
She’s telling me to take more.
“Look at me,” I growl, hand gripping her jaw as I slam in deep.
Her eyes flutter open, glassy and wide. Red-cheeked. Wrecked.
There it is.
That fucking look I’ll never get tired of.
“Say it,” I snarl. “Say what I want to hear. Say this body obeys me.”
“Yes,” she gasps, voice cracking. “It does—I do!”
“That’s my good girl.”
I shift her legs higher, spreading her open, burying myself even deeper, so deep she chokes on a sob and grabs for anything she can find.