Chapter 11: Agreement

NOAH

Wait.

What?

My brain was short-circuiting.

Cassian Wolfe was… gay?

Or bisexual?

That was the last thing I expected.

Then why was he with Lila? Why was she all over him in that photo? Why did she leave me for…

Stop. Stop thinking about that.

It didn’t matter.

None of it mattered right now.

What mattered was that my entire life was about to fall apart if I didn’t accept this insane offer from a man who clearly had more money than morals and a smile that could probably get away with murder.

Until he’s sick of me.

The words echoed in my head, and I felt my body betray me again. Heat crawled up my neck. My dick throbbed painfully against my pants, refusing to cooperate, refusing to let me have even a shred of dignity in this nightmare.

Pathetic.

I was so fucking pathetic.

And I was handing him even more ammunition to use against me.

I swallowed hard, trying to focus. Trying to think through the haze of panic and humiliation.

“What…” My voice came out hoarse. “What happens after you’re sick of me?”

He looked at me, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face.

“You go back to your normal life, of course,” he said smoothly. “Like nothing ever happened.”

Like nothing ever happened.

Right.

Because that’s totally how this works.

I stared at the floor, my mind racing.

Was I really considering this? Was I actually about to hand myself over to the man who stole everything from me? The man who’d just threatened to destroy my life?

Could my life get any worse than this?

But then—

A thought.

Small. Fragile. But there.

He said he’d let me go when he was sick of me.

So all I had to do was make him sick of me.

Fast.

I could do that, right? I could be annoying. Difficult. Unbearable. I could make him regret ever laying eyes on me.

I just had to survive long enough to make that happen.

“Make your choice, Noah.” Cassian’s voice cut through my spiral like a knife. “I don’t have all day.”

I lifted my head, heart pounding.

I could do this.

I had to do this.

“I agree,” I said, voice steadier than I expected. “But only on one condition.”

He laughed.

Actually laughed.

A low, dark sound that made my skin prickle.

He shifted his stance, leaning more comfortably against the desk, and slipped his hand into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. When his hand emerged, it held a brown-wrapped cigar.

“It seems you don’t understand,” he said, rolling the cigar between his fingers. “You’re not in a position to make demands.”

His gaze pinned me in place, sharp and unrelenting.

I felt myself shake under the weight of it.

But I pushed forward anyway.

“As long as you promise,” I said quickly, “that my life goes back to normal after this ends. That’s all I want.”

He brought the cigar to his lips, lighting it with a sleek silver lighter. The flame flickered once before catching, and he inhaled deeply, the tip glowing orange.

He held the smoke in his lungs for a long moment.

Then exhaled.

Slowly.

The smoke curled in the air between us, lazy and deliberate, and I was suddenly back in that alley. Back in that VIP room. Back under him.

“You have my word,” he said finally, voice almost bored.

I blinked. “Really?”

“And if you’re not convinced… ” He waved the cigar dismissively. “… We can have it on paper. My secretary will contact you when it’s ready.”

“I want it on paper,” I said immediately.

“Fine.”

Relief flooded through me.

Not much. Not enough to undo the knot in my stomach or the way my hands still trembled.

But it was something.

I exhaled shakily and pushed myself to my feet, knees aching from kneeling on the hard floor.

“If that’s all,” I said quietly, turning toward the door, “I’d like to leave now.”

“Who told you you could get up?”

I froze.

Hand outstretched toward the door handle.

Heart stopping mid-beat.

“Our agreement starts now,” he continued, voice calm. Matter-of-fact.

Slowly—painfully slowly—I turned back to face him.

He was still leaning against the desk, cigar between his fingers, smoke drifting lazily upward.

And he was watching me.

Like a cat watching a mouse it hadn’t decided whether to eat yet.

“What do you want now?” I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

He exhaled another stream of smoke, eyes never leaving mine.

“I like that look in your eyes,” he murmured. “That little spark of defiance. I want to see more of it.”

“What do you mean?” I asked warily.

His lips curved into a faint smirk.

“Get back on your knees.”

The words hit me like a slap.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

I hesitated, hands clenching into fists at my sides.

This was humiliating.

This was…

The look on his face shifted.

Not angry. Not impatient.

Dangerous.

Cold and sharp and utterly devoid of mercy.

I dropped to my knees.

The floor was hard. Cold. Unforgiving.

Just like him.

“Is that all?” I bit out, glaring up at him.

“No.”

He leaned forward and stubbed out the cigar in the ashtray on his desk, the ember dying with a soft hiss.

Then he straightened, crossing his arms over his chest, looking down at me with faint amusement.

Like I was a puzzle he was enjoying taking apart piece by piece.

“What now?” I asked through gritted teeth.

He tilted his head.

And smiled.

“Crawl back to me.”

My head went blank, a storm of humiliation, rage, and denial swirling inside. Crawl? Like some animal?

He watched me, savoring every flicker of degradation on my face. “You already made your choice, remember?”

I exhaled, forcing strength into my limbs. One way or another, I’d endure this. I began crawling slowly across the floor, each movement a fresh stab of shame. He observed with a slight smirk, eyes locked on me until I stopped at his feet. I glared up at him, convinced the worst was behind me.

“Good boy,” he said, voice low and mocking.

“Is it over now?” I asked again, my heart threatening to crawl out of my throat.

He chuckled. ’No.’

Anger flared hot in my chest. “What more do you want?”

His smirk deepened, and without flinching, he uncrossed his arms, fingers moving to his belt. The metallic clink echoed in the room as he unbuckled it slowly, deliberately.

My stomach twisted.

He unzipped his pants with a lazy tug, the sound slicing through the tension. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, already half-hard and curving toward me. It was much more bigger than I’d expected, veins prominent along the shaft, the head flushed and demanding attention.

The musky scent hit me, mixing with the lingering smoke from his cigar, making my head spin.

Then his voice followed.

“Suck it.”

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