Eugh

The neon lights of the after-party blurred into streaks of violet and gold, but Stella’s focus was laser-sharp. She stood at the edge of the VIP lounge, her fingers tightening around her champagne flute as she watched Martin, the leader of Cortis, charm a group of industry executives. He looked effortless in his velvet blazer, his dark hair tousled just enough to look intentional.

To the public, H2H and Cortis were the industry’s fiercest rivals, constantly battling for the top spot on the charts. To Stella, Martin was a persistent thorn in her side—a man who knew exactly how to push her buttons during award shows and variety tapings.

"You’re staring, Stella. It’s bad for your brand," a voice drawled near her ear.

She didn't need to turn around to know it was him. The scent of woodsmoke and expensive cologne preceded him. Martin stepped into her line of sight, a smug smirk playing on his lips.

"I wasn't staring. I was wondering how much longer you’re going to pretend to be the industry’s golden boy," Stella retorted, her eyes raking over him with practiced disdain.

Martin leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low vibrate. "And I was wondering when you’d stop pretending you don’t want to rip this blazer off me. I saw how you looked at me during the collab stage tonight. Your heart rate was showing in your eyes."

Stella felt a flash of heat crawl up her neck. "In your dreams, Martin. You’re arrogant, overbearing, and frankly, a mediocre dancer."

"Is that why you were following me to the elevators five minutes ago?" he whispered, his hand ghosting over the small of her back.

The friction between them had reached a breaking point months ago. It wasn't just professional rivalry anymore; it was a volatile, suffocating tension that demanded a release. Without a word, Stella turned and headed toward the private corridor leading to the hotel suites. She didn't look back, knowing he was following her.

The moment the door to his suite clicked shut behind them, the pretense vanished. Martin didn't wait for a greeting. He lunged forward, pinning Stella against the heavy mahogany door. His mouth crashed against hers, a desperate, bruising collision that tasted of champagne and suppressed longing.

Stella groaned into his mouth, her hands flying to his hair, pulling him closer. She hated how much she wanted this, how much she needed to feel his weight against her. He broke the kiss to trail his lips down her throat, his teeth grazing her collarbone.

"You’ve been driving me insane all night," Martin growled, his hands sliding down to her hips, pulling her pelvis flush against his. "Watching you dance in that outfit... knowing every man in that room was looking at you."

"Are you jealous, Martin?" Stella gasped, her head falling back. "The great leader of Cortis, losing his cool over a rival?"

"I’m more than jealous. I’m territorial," he muttered. He hoisted her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

He carried her toward the oversized bed, dropping her onto the silk sheets. He stripped off his blazer and shirt in one fluid motion, revealing a lean, muscular chest that Stella had spent far too long imagining. When he moved to unfasten her dress, his eyes darkened at the sight of her lace lingerie, her ample breasts straining against the fabric.

"God, you’re perfect," he breathed, his voice thick with desire.

He didn't waste time. Within minutes, they were both stripped bare. Martin loomed over her, his eyes roaming over her curves. He reached down to stroke her, his fingers finding her center, already slick and aching for him. Stella arched her back, a soft sob escaping her lips as he found the sensitive peak of her clitoris.

"Tell me who you belong to," Martin commanded, his thumb circling rhythmically, driving her toward the edge.

"Martin... please," she pleaded, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Not the name I want to hear, baby. Call me Daddy."

Stella’s face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and overwhelming arousal. "Please... Daddy. I want you."

He didn't need to be told twice. He positioned himself between her thighs, his length pressing against her entrance. He was thick and heavy, and when he pushed inside with one slow, deliberate thrust, Stella felt her breath catch. He filled her completely, stretching her in a way that made her vision blur.

"You’re so tight for me," Martin groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

He began to move, his pace steady and punishing. Every thrust was deep, hitting the back of her throat with a silent scream. Stella gripped the headboard, her breasts bouncing with the force of his movements. She felt small beneath him, dominated by his strength and the sheer intensity of his focus.

"Look at me," he ordered.

Stella opened her eyes, finding his gaze. There was no mockery there now, only a raw, burning hunger. He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the quiet room, a rhythmic slapping of skin on skin.

"I hate how much I love you," Martin whispered, his voice cracking as he drove into her. "I hate that I can’t stop thinking about you when I’m on stage, when I’m writing, when I’m sleeping."

The confession hit Stella harder than any of his thrusts. She pulled him down for a kiss, her tongue tangling with his as she felt her climax building. "I love you too, you idiot. Now don't stop."

Martin flipped her over suddenly, pulling her onto her hands and knees. He didn't give her a second to recover before he was behind her, his hands gripping her hips with bruising force. He entered her from behind, the change in angle allowing him to go even deeper.

"Daddy’s girl," he hissed, his chest pressed against her back as he delivered a series of rapid, shallow thrusts that sent Stella over the edge.

She screamed into the pillow as the waves of pleasure crashed over her, her internal muscles clenching around him. The sensation triggered Martin’s own release. He let out a low, guttural roar, his body shuddering as he delivered several deep back shots, filling her with his warmth.

They collapsed onto the bed together, limbs tangled, hearts racing in tandem. The silence that followed wasn't awkward; it was heavy with the weight of everything they had finally admitted.

Martin pulled the duvet over them, tucking Stella into his side. He kissed the top of her head, his hand resting protectively over her hip.

"Tomorrow, we go back to being rivals," Stella whispered, though she made no move to pull away.

Martin chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. "Maybe. But everyone will wonder why the leader of Cortis is smiling like a fool during your acceptance speech."

Stella smiled, closing her eyes as she drifted toward sleep. "They’ll just think you’re being arrogant again."

"Let them think what they want," Martin said, tightening his grip on her. "As long as I know who you're coming home to."