C3 How Despicable

There were only two buttons, not many at all.

Then, with a swift motion, he stripped off my coat and tossed it onto the office desk.

A man pressing a woman repeatedly, his mind fixated on one thing and one thing only.

At twenty, I might not have grasped it, but having been hardened by that environment by twenty-six, I knew all too well the sly intentions behind their actions.

Sure enough, upon seeing the bright red, deep V-neck bodycon dress I wore, his already complex eyes turned even darker, like the night itself.

I circled the desk and positioned myself behind him.

His short hair was cut in a neat, clean style, and he exuded an aura of crisp freshness.

Thinking about something is one thing; actually doing it is quite another.

I bit my lower lip so hard it ached, and at last, I reached out with both arms, encircling his sturdy neck, and leaned in to plant a soft kiss just below his earlobe.

In the midst of this, my heart pounded so fiercely that I was oblivious to his reaction.

It wasn't until a large hand suddenly gripped my waist that I snapped back to reality.

His grip was incredibly strong, nearly pinching the flesh from my waist.

With a half-twist, I found myself seated on the man's solid, lean legs, ignoring the pain in my waist as I continued to cling to his neck.

Facing his inscrutable gaze, I broke into a smile: "I told you, I can do it!"

"People who come out from the inside really are different from the rest," he observed.

My heart skipped a beat, yet I maintained a strained smile: "So, do I pass?"

"If I still don't want you, would you go off to another job and casually sit on a man's lap like this?" he asked, before suddenly biting my earlobe—a sharp, piercing bite, like a nail being driven in.

My smile stiffened, and I was left without a reply.

Pain surged through me, and I began to struggle.

"Seeking favors from a man, yet you lack the necessary endurance," he remarked, his cold, sensual lips curling into a mocking sneer.

I had the urge to slap his disdainful face, but I restrained myself.

From the moment I resolved to seek vengeance, I was ready to stop regarding myself as a person.

Bearing the pain, I did my best to conceal my struggle, my voice coming out raspy: "I can handle it."

He abruptly yanked my hands away and flung me to the floor as if discarding trash: "You may demean yourself, but we have no use for prostitutes here!"

My cheeks flamed with anger. "I'm not!"

He lit up another cigarette with a contemptuous snort. "They say women who come out of there are tainted. Been with too many, have you? Hooked on it? Just got out and already looking for a man?"

Fuming, I picked myself up off the floor and faced him again. "I told you, I'm not! If you don't believe me, prove it!"

His stare was terrifying in that moment; for a few seconds, I nearly decided to run for it.

But he was already on his feet, and suddenly, he had me pinned against the desk's edge.

He showed no mercy, treating me like an enemy, not sparing a moment for tenderness.

I had never known such pain, and it wrung a scream from me.

My cries seemed to disgust him; he clamped a hand over my mouth, his actions growing more violent, like a savage storm.

I couldn't breathe, much less fight back...

When the ordeal finally ended, I staggered back, my eyes fixed on the crimson stain marring the pristine floor. My throat was parched and aching. "Am I done now? I need to see Ms. Morrow about the paperwork for my position!"

I snatched up the coat from the desk, throwing it on haphazardly as I made for the door.

He caught my wrist, his face a complex tapestry of emotions. After a long, hard look, he spat out a single, cutting word: "Whore!"