Chapter 125: Chapter 125
After breakfast at Rusty’s Grill, Kim and I headed ho to laze around.
Kim was sprawled on the couch, leaned back, eyes on the TV blaring so news about a local robbery. I leaned against the kitchen counter, a cigarette burning between my fingers, stealing glances at her—short brown hair catching the light, legs tucked under her.
Perfect mont to test the Gaslighting skill before Vanessa. I needed to know how it worked, but Kim was precious, like Jasmine and Tessa. Still, I had to try it.
The system UI flickered, pulling up Kim’s profile for the Gaslighting skill. A ’Kinks’ option sat there, but I ignored it.
╭────────────────────╮
- Gaslighting: Kim
==========================
Current Orientation: Switch (Dom/Sub)
Available Options:
- Dominant
- Submissive
- Switch
==========================
Selected: Submissive
Success Rate: 20%
Duration: 10 minutes
Cooldown: 2 hours
==========================
?? Confirm Change? [Y/N]
╰────────────────────╯
Kim’s switch nature made sense—she’d pinned
down this morning, teasing, but lted under my touch last night. That 20% success rate stared at , a gamble I’d probably fuck up. I confird anyway, the UI pulsing.
╭────────────────────╮
- Gaslighting: Kim
==========================
Change Successful!
New Orientation: Submissive
Duration: 10 minutes remaining
Cooldown: 2 hours
==========================
╰────────────────────╯
Holy shit, it worked. Kim’s posture shifted, shoulders softening, hands resting in her lap, fingers twitching like she was waiting. Her eyes flicked from the TV to , softer, expectant. But guilt hit hard—she was too important for this. I pulled up the UI again, canceling the change. The system blinked, her orientation snapping back to switch. I stubbed out the cigarette, walking over. Better to ask her outright.
"Hey," I said, sitting beside her, my voice low. "You ever thought about... leaning more submissive? Like, full-on, just for a bit?"
She didn’t even look at , her eyes on the TV. "What the hell, Evan?"
Hey, I’m serious."
Kim glanced over, eyebrow raised, a smirk playing on her lips. "You’re getting kinky early today, huh? I let you rail my butt not long ago, Evan. And that blowjob? Sloppiest ever. I think I’m being submissive enough, no? What’s this about?"
I grinned, easing into it. "Just curious. What if we played with the thought of you being a sub for, say, ten minutes?"
She laughed, shaking her head. "Where’s this coming from? You trying to cash in that ice cream I owe you for?"
"Sothing like that," I said, leaning closer. "Be my slave for ten minutes. Just you and , no pressure."
Kim’s eyes sparkled, teasing. "Tessa was right—you’re a total pervert." She paused, then nodded. "Fine, ten minutes. Let’s see what you’ve got, big shot."
I was right. I didn’t need Gaslighting skill. But for Vanessa? Oh, just fuck her. I was going to make sure she was properly punished.
I smirked, my thigh brushing hers. "Turn off the TV."
"But I was..."
I stopped her, putting my hand up. "You have to listen to ."
"Fine..."
She grabbed the remote, clicking it off, her movents quick, playful. "Unzip my pants," I said, keeping my tone firm but warm.
Her hands moved, tugging the zipper down, her fingers grazing my skin, sending a jolt through . Her gaze held mine, eager, ga. "Good," I said, hand on her cheek. "Now apologize for this morning—leaving
hard as fuck on the bed."
"I’m sorry, Evan," she murmured, her voice soft, cheeks flushing. "Shouldn’t have teased you like that."
"Get on the ground," I said, pointing between my legs.
"Okay..."
She slid to her knees, her sweater riding up, settling between my thighs, hands on my knees, waiting. "Suck my cock, Kim," I said, my voice steady.
Her lips parted, taking
into her warm, wet mouth, her tongue swirling, soft then bold.
"This feels good. Your cock..." She breathed before continuing sucking my shaft.
Fuck yes. Pleasure skill coming into play.
"Good girl," I said, cupping her head, guiding her. "Up and down, just like that."
Her head moved, lips tight.
"Faster," I said. "Look at ."
Kim’s pace quickened, her short brown hair falling around her face. Her puppy eyes locked on mine, wide, glistening, playful yet submissive, saliva dripping to the hardwood. The sight was fucking electric—her flushed cheeks, soft moans vibrating, wet sounds filling the quiet.
"That’s it, baby," I said, voice thick. "So good for . Keep that mouth tight. My perfect girl, yeah?" She nodded, tongue flicking the tip, sparks shooting through . "Fuck, you’re amazing," I murmured, hand in her hair, guiding her. "Show
how much you love this."
Heat built fast, my cock throbbing, her mouth relentless. Her nails dug into my thighs, eyes hungry. My breath hitched, pressure coiling.
"Fuck, Kim, I’m close," I groaned, holding her steady. The climax hit hard, my cock pulsing, thick spurts shooting into her throat. Kim swallowed every drop, gulping, her eyes on mine until I was done.
She pulled back, wiping her mouth, smirking. "God, Evan, you got
sucking your cock," she said, climbing onto the couch, laughing. "I told you to save it for tonight! Don’t know why I got so worked up as well. Your dick felt... different."
I grinned, catching my breath. "Sorry, thought you were into it."
She shook her head, smiling. "You better go three rounds tonight, Evan," she said, pointing, eyes teasing. "AT LEAST three rounds."
I laughed, the apartnt warm with her voice. "Deal."
??????????????????????????????
No way I was getting anywhere near Vanessa Harding today. Every spot she hit was a fortress. That exclusive pool party with all the big shots? Bouncer laughed in my face—denied. The restaurant with so fancy flower na I couldn’t recall—Min-bla-bla sothing? The staff recognized
from my old gas station job and told
to eat sowhere else, their sneers burning. Fuck my life.
It was six p.m., the sun two hours from dipping below the city’s jagged skyline. I sat on a bench across from the Grand Karoto Hotel, where a gala was kicking off—so rich kid’s art going up for sale, his scribbles priced like gold.
The hotel lood, a five-star giant, its lobby a cathedral of wealth. Polished marble floors glead under massive crystal chandeliers, their light fracturing across gold-trimd walls. A grand staircase curled up to a zzanine with arched windows framing the city’s glow. Velvet ropes guarded plush seating areas, where guests in tuxedos and glittering gowns mingled, champagne flutes catching the light. That was all I could see from where I was sitting.
"Shit."
I took a drag from my cigarette, the smoke curling as I stared at the hotel, my jeans, t-shirt, and jacket screaming I didn’t belong. No chance they’d let
past the doorman looking like this.
Luxurious cars, Bentleys, Rolls-Royces, rolled up, spilling out elites who didn’t glance my way. "How do I get close to her..." I muttered, flicking ash, my eyes tracking the traffic. Vanessa was in there, the bitch orchestrating Delilah’s tornt, and I needed to end it.
A black limo purred to a stop at the hotel’s entrance, and a familiar figure stepped out—Anotta, her silver hair swept into an elegant chignon, her erald gown flowing like liquid, diamonds glinting at her throat. My eyes widened. This was my shot.
I tossed the cigarette, grinding it under my heel, and crossed the street, dodging a cab, my pulse racing.
Her bodyguards, two brick walls in suits with earpieces, blocked , arms out. "Hey," I said, hands raised. "Please, just let
talk to her."
Anotta turned, her sharp eyes locking on , her expression unreadable but calm. She raised a gloved hand, signaling the guards to step aside. I approached, palms sweaty.
"Hello, Ms. Anotov," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Nice seeing you."
"Evan Marlowe," she said, her voice smooth, like polished glass. "The boy who ghosted . Hey."
"I didn’t an that," I said, scratching my neck. "Things got crazy. Got into a fight with Karim—you probably saw it on the news."
"Karim?" she asked, tilting her head, the quartet’s strings swelling faintly behind her.
"Yeah, we scrapped," I said. "Landed
in the hospital. Then I took a break from all this chaos. I’m sorry, Ms. Anotov. Didn’t an to ignore you. Life just... imploded."
Paparazzi lingered across the street, snapping photos of arriving guests, their flashes popping, but they hadn’t clocked Anotta yet. She pointed to her limo, its sleek fra gleaming, leather interior visible through the open door. "We’ll talk inside," she said. "Co."
"Yes, ma’am," I said, following. A bodyguard held the door, and we slid in, sitting across from each other in the plush cabin, a mini-bar glowing softly, the partition up.
Anotta lit a vanilla-scented cigarette, the smoke curling elegantly. "I heard," she said, exhaling. "Karim was kidnapped. Tortured."
"Not , if you’re wondering," I said, leaning forward. "He’s got enemies. Guy was a total jerk, complete idiot."
"Mm," she murmured, her eyes unblinking. "My assistant called you three tis for a massage session. Why no answer?"
"Couldn’t," I said, honest. "Everything hit at once—I didn’t check my phone for days. I’m sorry."
She took another drag, studying . "What are you doing here now?"
"It’s complicated," I said, exhaling. "But I need a favor, Ms. Anotov. Please. It’s important."
"A favor?" Her eyebrow arched, a faint smile tugging her lips. "After ignoring ? Bold."
"Vanessa Harding," I said, my voice hard. "She’s destroying my friend Delilah, who works under her at BrightWave, a digital marketing agency. Vanessa’s head of operations there, runs the whole Delilah show. She’s got a creative lead, Sarah, doing her dirty work—hidden caras in the office bathroom, filming Delilah changing, crying, everything. Selling those videos to coworkers. Upskirt shots from her desk. Anonymous death threats from burner phones telling her to kill herself. It’s fucked, Ms. Anotov. Delilah’s breaking, and I need to stop Vanessa tonight."
She nodded. "Noble."
"I’d say desperate," I replied, chuckling at myself. "But, yeah, ’noble’ sounds better."
And then it happened. Her serious expression softened, just slightly—a faint smile, barely noticeable but definitely there. She didn’t speak for a mont.
Anotta’s cigarette paused, her eyes narrowing. "Vanessa Harding. BrightWave, huh?"
"Yeah," I said, nodding. "She’s using dirt on Sarah to make her tornt Delilah. I need to get into this gala—she’s there. But they won’t let
in like this."
She glanced at my t-shirt and jeans, her gaze cool. "Of course, you won’t enter looking like that," she said. "You need a tuxedo."
"I’m... kinda broke for tuxedos, ma’am," I said, wincing.
Anotta didn’t reply imdiately. Instead, she reached for the phone resting on the partition. "Drive to Hemborg’s," she said, tapping the screen.
"Hemborg’s?"
She took a drag from her smoke. "Don’t worry about it." The driver imdiately pulled away, the hotel fading behind us. "The gala starts in fifty minutes. We have to be fast."
The limo glided through the city, its engine a low purr, cutting through the evening traffic like a sleek black shark. The interior was a cocoon of luxury, soft leather seats, warm ambient lighting, the faint scent of Anotta’s vanilla cigarette lingering. The windows were tinted, turning the neon-lit streets into a muted blur of reds and blues, the city’s pulse dulled by the soundproof cabin.
I sat across from Anotta, my hands fidgeting, feeling like a kid in a principal’s office. She was a fucking CEO, her erald gown hugging her curves, her silver hair gleaming, diamonds at her throat catching the light. I was just so guy in a t-shirt and jeans, out of place, my gut twisting.
Awkward as hell.
The limo took a smooth left turn and slowed. Guess we were close.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, grateful for the distraction. It was ndy.
’Hey, I wanted to thank you for helping
with Richard,’ she texted.
I typed quick, keeping my eyes down. ’No problem. The least I could do, ndy. Hope your friend forgives
too.’
’Penelope is a hard girl,’ she replied. ’But I’m sure she’ll co around.’
I sent a thumbs-up emoji, and she shot one back.
Phew. She wasn’t angry at
anymore. Good.
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