The Stranger

Chapter 12 - Cassandra

We barely made it to the car. Anticipation buzzed through my veins, making every step feel electric. By the time we reached his Audi, I couldn't wait any longer. He pressed me against the door, his body hard against mine, his growing arousal impossible to miss. His lips claimed mine again, tongues tangling as his hands roamed over me, teasing, possessive. The cool metal of the car door at my back, the heat of his touch—it was a perfect contradiction.

When he finally let me into the passenger seat, my skin was already flushed and my body begging.

The 30-minute drive to my apartment felt like a test of endurance. Alex kept his eyes fixed on the road, one hand on the wheel, his profile calm, controlled—except for the way his jaw tightened now and then, a silent giveaway.

"Spread them," he commanded, his voice low, steady, his eyes still forward.

"Yes, Sir" I obeyed instantly, my hands trembling as I inched the hem of my dress higher, baring my thighs.

"Good girl" he murmured, his hand shifting from the wheel to my leg. The pressure of his fingers was light, almost maddening. He stroked the inside of my thigh with deliberate slowness, his movements teasing, measured. He never ventured where I so desperately needed him, always stopping just short. Each touch set fire to my skin, and I squirmed in my seat, angling my hips, silently pleading.

But he just smiled, a flicker of satisfaction curving his lips.

By the time we reached the parking lot beneath my building, my thighs were slick with need, my pulse hammering. He opened my door and took my hand, his grip firm but gentle. I half-expected him to press me against the car again, to finish what he'd started, but instead, he led me toward the lift with quiet authority.

I followed a step behind, just as I had that first night at the hotel. The memory hit me with a visceral clarity—the way his presence had pulled me in, the way my body had obeyed before my mind could catch up. It was the same now.

At the lift, he turned to me, his dark eyes softening.

"You're a beautiful woman, Cassandra," he said, his voice quieter now, laced with something deeper.

His hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered, trailing down my cheek, my neck, my arm. Wherever he touched, my skin came alive, every nerve ending awake, tuned to him. He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving mine, that commanding expression etched on his face. A subtle squint, a faint, knowing smile. He didn't have to say it. He knew he had control over me.

The lift announced its arrival with a sharp "DING!"

The doors opened and he let me in before him.

"What floor number?" he asked.

"Sixty-nine," I said with a cheeky grin.

He scanned the buttons, realising the highest number was sixty-eight then turned back to me, his lips curving into a knowing smile.

"What number?" His tone was all dominance now, cutting through my playfulness.

"Sixty-two," I replied smiling.

The doors closed, and the lift began to move. Before I could catch my breath, his hand was at my throat, pressing me gently against the mirrored wall. His face was so close, his lips a hair's breadth from mine.

"This," he said, his free hand sliding between my legs, brushing over my soaked panties, "is mine."

"Yes, Sir," I whispered, my voice trembling with desire.

He pushed my panties aside, slipping two fingers inside me. I gasped, my eyes locked on his. His movements were slow, deliberate, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure through me. His thumb grazed my clit, and I whimpered, my hips bucking against his hand.