Chapter 1

"Ms. Taylor, the massage therapist you requested is already waiting in your room. When would you like to come?" the front desk politely informed her.

Isabella Taylor set down her fourth empty glass, responding groggily, "I'll head down right away."

She left a tip and stood up. As she turned around, she swayed, startling the bartender, who quickly reminded her, "Remember to sober up a bit when you get back to your room. This drink is really strong."

Isabella waved her hand dismissively, "I've had stronger drinks than this."

She stumbled back to her room door in a daze and tried swiping her key card several times, but the door only beeped with error messages.

Confused, Isabella grabbed the door handle, wondering if it was stuck.

The door suddenly opened, and eight-pack abs were practically in her face.

Isabella slowly looked up. She couldn't see the person's face clearly and giggled foolishly, reaching out to touch his abs, "The hotel has good taste. Even the massage therapist is this handsome."

"Massage therapist?" The man's voice was deep, tinged with displeasure.

Isabella squinted. Why did this voice sound so familiar?

She desperately needed rest and had no time to worry about these details. She pushed past him and walked in, flopping directly onto the bed, giving a muffled command, "Let's start."

She heard the sound of clothes being removed behind her. With the alcohol taking effect, her head grew increasingly foggy. She half-closed her eyes as a pair of hot hands pressed against her back, slowly moving from her lower back all the way up to the back of her neck.

"Use more pressure," Isabella reminded softly, feeling the alcohol rush to her head.

The hands paused, then the next second, they gripped her neck directly, slowly tightening.

"Too hard," Isabella winced, trying to get up, but those hands pressed her down and switched to massaging her neck with fingertips, working their way down inch by inch with considerable force. It oddly reminded Isabella of her ex-husband's technique from three years ago.

As the hands gradually moved lower, she let out a comfortable sigh.

Michael stared intently at the disoriented Isabella, his gaze burning as he claimed her skin inch by inch.

Three years. He never imagined he'd reunite with her this way.

Isabella wore a backless dress, her smooth back rising and falling gently with her breathing under his hands, the silky texture stirring up Michael's heated memories from the past.

His massage technique gradually became more suggestive, his fingers intentionally or unintentionally brushing the underside of her breasts. Just as he was about to go further, his wrist was suddenly grabbed.

Michael looked up and met her deep gaze.

Isabella smiled slightly, "What are you sneaking around for?"

He asked hoarsely, "Do you know who I am?"

A flash of confusion crossed Isabella's face, then she said, "I don't care who my one-night stand is."

"Is that so?" Michael flipped her over with one hand and directly pulled down her collar with the other.

Isabella frowned slightly, "Be gentle."

Michael seemed to take her words to heart, leaning down to kiss her collarbone, his teeth creating a faint love bite.

"Don't leave marks. I have work tomorrow." Isabella actively wrapped her arms around his waist, her fingers hooking open his waistband, caressing his already hardened penis, laughing softly, "Seems pretty energetic."

Not to be outdone, Michael's lips and teeth traveled to her breasts, his teeth lightly biting her areola, his tongue teasing her nipple, while his hands weren't idle either, kneading her other breast.

The atmosphere heated up quickly. Isabella soon let out unbearable moans, actively lifting her hips to rub against his groin.

"Such a slut," Michael gritted his teeth, both loving and hating her appearance, angrily pinching her nipple hard.

Isabella slapped him in pain, but her nipple stood trembling and erect.

He continued downward, kissing her abdomen, his hand naturally parting her thighs, his thumb pressing on her already slightly hardened clitoris, feeling wetness beneath his hand.

"So eager? You're already flowing."

Michael's breath sprayed on her vagina with his light laugh. Isabella's whole body shuddered, instinctively closing her thighs to trap Michael's head, pressing down on his head with her hands, pushing him toward her vagina.

Michael's eyes grew hazy. He went with the flow, biting her erect clitoris and pulling gently.

Isabella couldn't control her cry, which only provoked Michael's nerves further.

He pulled aside the edge of her underwear, his finger squeezing into the narrow entrance of her vagina, penetrating inch by inch.

After the initial discomfort, Isabella actively cooperated with his movements, twisting her waist urgently.

"Don't rush." Michael's eyes were frighteningly dark. As he spoke, he added another finger, finding a familiar spot and suddenly pressing down.

Isabella's whole body jolted in shock, her vagina clenching his fingers tightly, her entire being seeming to drown in water.

Michael withdrew his fingers, taking her hand to help him remove his underwear. His large penis sprang out, its tip trembling and leaking clear fluid.

"Put it in yourself," he coaxed in a low voice.

Isabella grabbed it groggily, trying to push it into her vagina, but couldn't align it properly, no matter what, becoming so frustrated she started crying, "I can't get it in. Help me."

Seeing the crimson corners of her eyes, Michael could no longer restrain himself. He thrust forward fiercely, penetrating directly to her cervix.

Isabella's whole body tensed, trembling wildly, hugging him tightly.

"You came just from insertion? How many people have you slept with to be this sensitive?" Michael was both annoyed and angry, slowly withdrawing from her climaxing vagina before thrusting in hard again, shattering Isabella's moans.

An hour passed. The sheets and Isabella's dress were in complete disarray, soaked through with unclear fluids again and again.

Isabella's voice was hoarse. She leaned weakly in Michael's arms, enduring his thrusts, begging intermittently, "I can't... let's stop here... I still have to work..."

After saying this, she passed out directly.

Michael wasn't satisfied yet. He grabbed her chin, patting her face, "Stop pretending. Your stamina isn't this poor."

But Isabella kept her eyes closed, lying back against his shoulder with no response.

Seeing the dark circles under her eyes, Michael pressed his lips together and finally let her go, withdrawing his penis and placing her on the clean sofa.

He walked into the bathroom, utterly disgusted with himself for being controlled by her again. After washing up and getting dressed, he had someone bring a stack of cash, left it on the table, and departed.

The next day, Isabella woke up to find herself on the sofa. She was completely stunned as last night's debauchery flooded her mind. The next second, she saw the cash on the table and was even more confused.

Before she could figure things out, her phone rang.

Isabella answered while getting dressed.

Lyanna Patel sounded anxious, "Isabella, why aren't you here yet? Did you forget about the morning meeting with the client for the new project?"

Isabella suddenly remembered and said hurriedly, "I'll be right there."

She picked up her crumpled dress and had to buy a new suit along the way before rushing to the company in a panic.

As soon as she entered the company, Lyanna came up to her, took her bag, and said in a low voice, "The client has been waiting in the conference room for half an hour."

Seeing her alarmed expression, Isabella smiled reassuringly, "It's fine. I'll explain."

Isabella headed straight for the conference room, opening the door while putting on a polite smile, "I'm sorry, I..."

When she saw the person in the main seat of the conference room, she stopped abruptly, her smile freezing on her face.