C1 Hey Beautiful

Michelle’s POV

I parked my car in front of the hotel, barely glancing at the valet. My fingers gripped the steering wheel a moment longer than necessary. I needed air—space away from everything choking me. My life, my relationship, my company. Especially my boyfriend, who couldn’t even be bothered to call.

The moment I stepped into the hotel, the shift in energy was almost tangible. Heads turned. They always did. My black pencil skirt hugged my hips in that way that made both men and women stare, and the pink crop top I wore was cute but unintentional bait. I didn’t care. Let them look.

I made my way into the restaurant and sat by the glass window, letting the golden afternoon light pour over the ancient Chinese mural beside me. I was a contradiction—graceful on the outside, a storm inside. My thoughts felt like glass shards, cutting and relentless.

“Welcome to our restaurant. May I take your order, ma’am?” the waiter asked, smiling politely.

I didn’t look at him. “Anything light. No alcohol. No soda. Just something clean,” I said.

He nodded and walked off.

I stared at my reflection in the glass. My mother’s sharp cheekbones, my father’s cold eyes. CEO of MDG. Heir to a fortune. But right now, I was just a woman waiting for a call that wasn’t coming. A woman wondering why she ever let love fool her.

“Your drink, ma’am.”

I nodded once, barely glancing up. “Bring the bill now. I’ll pay for it before I change my mind.”

“You don’t need to worry,” the waiter said. “It’s been handled.”

My head lifted sharply. “By who?”

He pointed across the room. I followed his gesture to a man in a dark shirt at the bar. He smiled lazily and raised his glass. I returned my gaze to the waiter.

“I don’t need anyone to pay my bills. Cancel it. I’ll cover my own.”

The waiter looked uncomfortable but nodded and walked away.

I sat back, tension curling in my belly. Why did that man’s smile irritate me so much? Maybe because it reminded me of every other man who thought they could throw money at me and get my attention. I wasn’t for sale.

Then a voice beside me.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said.

I didn’t bother hiding my irritation. “I’m not interested. Please leave.”

“But I just want to talk,” he said, his tone smooth.

I turned slightly away from him to finish my drink—and I missed the moment he dropped something into it.

The dizziness hit me like a slow wave. First my arms felt heavy. Then my legs. I blinked fast, trying to focus. “What…?” I mumbled.

The man leaned in closer, placing his hand on my thigh. “Relax,” he whispered.

I tried to stand, but my knees gave out. I stumbled, and he caught me, too easily. Panic crawled up my throat.

“Don’t touch me!” I snapped, but my voice slurred.

He guided me through the lobby. My vision blurred at the edges, but I saw the elevator, the hallway, a door. I shoved at him weakly, tried to scream, but nothing came out.

Then, inside the room—I saw red.

A bottle. My fingers gripped it just in time.

With all the strength I had left, I smashed it into his face. He fell back with a groan, cursing.

I ran.

I wasn’t even sure where I was going, just that I needed to get away. I shoved open the next room door and slammed it behind me, locking it with trembling hands.

I turned—and froze.

A man stood in the room, chest exposed beneath a white bathrobe, steam still rising from the bathroom behind him. He was tall. Broad. Dangerous-looking in a calm, magnetic way.

He blinked at me, startled. “Are you okay?”

I didn’t answer. My legs trembled. Tears pricked my eyes. I needed something. Warmth. Safety. Escape. Anything.

And he offered all of that, standing so still. So calm.

I stepped toward him, drawn by something I didn’t understand. My fingers curled around his neck. He didn’t resist. His scent hit me first—leather, musk, and expensive aftershave. God, it was intoxicating.

He held me gently by the waist, searching my eyes.

“Are you sure you want this?” His voice was deep. Rough velvet.

I nodded. “Yes.”

I wasn’t sure if I meant him or the feeling—this temporary high that numbed everything else.

Then he kissed me.

And everything else fell away.

His lips were warm, but commanding. I gasped when his tongue slipped into my mouth, when his hands gripped my hips and lifted me against him. I wrapped my legs around his waist, grinding against the hard ridge beneath his robe.

We stumbled backward until I was on the bed and he was over me, parting my thighs slowly, like he was unwrapping a gift.

Clothes came off. Buttons popped. My top. His robe. My skirt. His briefs.

He paused, eyes dark with desire. “Last chance,” he rasped.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered.

Then he was inside me.

God.

I cried out—not from pain, but pleasure that surged through me like wildfire. He moved slowly at first, letting me adjust, watching every flicker of emotion on my face. Then he picked up the rhythm, every stroke deeper, stronger.

My nails scraped his back.

“Faster,” I moaned.

He obeyed.

I arched under him, body trembling as he filled me again and again. The headboard hit the wall. Our skin slapped in the quiet. His mouth moved over my neck, my breasts, my mouth. I felt owned. Consumed.

“Michelle,” he groaned into my ear as I tightened around him.

I came with a cry, body shaking. But he didn’t stop. He flipped me over, took me from behind, his hands gripping my waist as he thrust into me harder, faster. I screamed into the sheets. It was filthy. It was heaven.

When he finally spilled into me, both of us were breathless and soaked in sweat.

I collapsed beside him, heart racing.

“What just happened?” I whispered.

He looked at me with both guilt and awe. “I don’t know. But it was real.”

My last thought before sleep took me: I didn’t even know his name.

But I knew I’d remember tonight.