The morning sun streamed through the curtains, illuminating the messy bedroom where sheets were tangled and clothes were scattered across the floor. The silence was peaceful, but it was broken only by the soft sound of breathing.
Irina slowly opened her eyes.
For a moment, she just lay there, staring at the ceiling. She tried to move, to stretch her limbs, but as soon as she shifted, a wave of soreness hit her entire body.
"Ahh..." she winced softly, biting her lip.
Every muscle ached. Her thighs burned, her lower back felt heavy, and between her legs... she felt swollen, sensitive, and incredibly sore. It was a dull, throbbing reminder of exactly what they had done for the past two days and nights.
Dean had been right. He hadn't been exaggerating. He had truly fucked her until she couldn't walk.
She looked to her side. The space next to her was empty, but the sheets were still slightly warm. He was already awake.
Irina heard the sound of running water from the bathroom, and then a few minutes later, the door opened.
Dean walked out. He looked completely different now. Gone was the passionate lover who had worshipped her body all night. Now, he was Dean Wyrren Adler, the CEO.
He was wearing a crisp, dark grey business suit, perfectly tailored to his broad frame. His hair was neatly styled, his tie was perfectly knotted, and he looked sharp, powerful, and professional. The only thing that gave him away was the satisfied, dark glint in his eyes as he looked at her.
He walked over to the bed, carrying a glass of water and some painkillers.
"Good morning, my love," he said softly, sitting down on the edge of the mattress. He reached out and brushed his hand gently over her cheek. "How are you feeling?"
Irina blushed deeply, pulling the sheet up to cover herself, even though he had seen everything a thousand times already.
"I... I hurt everywhere," she admitted weakly, her voice still hoarse. "My legs... they feel like jelly. I don't think I can stand up."
A smirk played on his lips. He loved hearing that. It meant he had done his job well. It meant she was marked. It meant she belonged to him.
"I know, baby," he said soothingly, handing her the pills and the water. "Here. Take these. It will help with the pain."
Irina took them obediently. As she swallowed, she looked up at him with worried eyes.
"Dean... today is Monday. It's a work day. I have training..."
Dean chuckled softly, a low, deep sound that vibrated through her. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then her nose, and finally her lips.
"And who is the boss around here, Irina?" he asked gently, but his tone left no room for argument.
"You are..." she whispered.
"That's right. So you aren't going anywhere today." He placed his hand on her stomach, rubbing it softly, possessively. "You can barely move. I'm not letting you out of this bed, let alone out of this penthouse. You need to rest. You need to recover. Because I have plans for you again tonight."
"But... what will I tell HR? What will people think?"
"They don't need to think anything," Dean said firmly, his eyes darkening slightly. "I already sent an email this morning. I told them you were feeling unwell and that you were taking sick leave. Approved by me personally."
He leaned closer, his lips brushing against her ear.
"Besides... do you really want to walk into the office like this? Wobbling, sore, carrying my scent all over you? Knowing that you are dripping with my cum? I don't think I want anyone else to see you like that. You look too much like mine right now."
Irina's face turned bright red. He was right. She couldn't even imagine trying to wear pants right now. It would be too painful, too sensitive.
"Rest," Dean commanded softly, standing up and adjusting his suit jacket. "I'm going to the office now. I have meetings and work to do. But don't you dare think about getting up. The maids have instructions not to disturb you. Everything you need is here."
He walked back to the bed, leaned over, and lifted the sheet slightly. He looked at her body, covered in faint red marks and bruises from his hands and his lips.
"Beautiful," he murmured, tracing a finger over a love bite on her hip. "My perfect little mess."
He kissed her deeply one last time, a kiss that was filled with promise.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he whispered. "And when I come home... I'm going to check if you've healed enough for another round."
At the Office
The Adler Corporation was bustling with activity. Employees were typing away, meetings were being held, and the atmosphere was professional and strict.
Dean walked into the main lobby, and instantly, everyone straightened up.
"Good morning, Mr. Adler," the receptionist greeted him nervously.
"Morning," he replied curtly, his voice cold and authoritative. He didn't smile. He walked with long, confident strides towards the private elevator, his expression unreadable.
He looked like the most untouchable man in the world. Cold, ruthless, and busy.
But as the elevator doors closed and he was alone, his expression softened. He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes, and a dark, satisfied smile spread across his lips.
He could still smell her on his skin. He could still feel the warmth of her body wrapped around him.
She's at home, he thought, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. She's in my bed. Sore. Filled up. Waiting for me.
The thought made his blood boil with desire even now, hours later.
He walked into his office, and his secretary stood up.
"Sir, here is your schedule. And regarding Irina Belova... her leave is processed."
"Good," Dean said, walking past her desk without stopping. "Make sure she is not assigned any work today. And if anyone asks... she is under my personal care. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
He entered his massive office and closed the door, locking it.
He walked over to his desk—the very same desk where he had fucked her just yesterday, where he had cleared away his papers just to have her. He ran his hand over the smooth mahogany surface, remembering exactly how she looked, exactly how she sounded.
He sat down in his chair, but he couldn't focus.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face twisted in pleasure. He heard her screaming his name. He felt her tight walls gripping him.
He picked up his phone and dialed her number. It rang only once before she picked up.
"Hello... Dean?" her voice was soft and sleepy.
"Hi baby," he murmured, leaning back in his chair, his voice dropping to that low, intimate tone. "Are you in bed?"
"Yes... I can't get up," she admitted shyly.
"Good girl. Stay right there. Don't move an inch." He unbuttoned his suit jacket, feeling hot just thinking about her. "I'm sitting at my desk right now. I can still see you here, on top of me, riding me like a good girl."
"Dean...!" she gasped, blushing even though he couldn't see her.
"I'm so hard right now just thinking about you," he whispered darkly, adjusting himself in his pants. "I want to leave everything and come back home right now. I want to spread your legs and taste you again."
"Please... don't tease me..." she whimpered.
"I'm not teasing. I'm telling you what I'm going to do. I'm going to finish all this work as fast as I can. And the moment I step through that door... you better be ready for me. Because I'm not stopping until tomorrow morning again."
He could hear her sharp intake of breath.
"Do you understand me, Irina?"
"Yes... I understand..."
"Good. Now rest. Save your energy. Because you're going to need it."
He hung up the phone, looking at the screen with intense love and obsession.
Wait for me, my favorite employee, he thought. I'm coming back to claim you again.
And across the city, in his bed, Irina lay down, feeling the ache in her body, but her heart was pounding with anticipation. She knew that when he came home tonight, the madness would start all over again. And she couldn't wait.