CHAPTER 55: GAME, SET... INSIDE MATCH

Victoria sat in her office, the glow of the city’s neon lights stretching out below her like an artificial constellation.

She swirled the wine in her glass, taking in the night’s stillness, only to notice the movement in the streets below, couples tangled together, fucking in open view.

She snorted, barely fighting back a laugh. No actual stars here, just a fake sky stitched from LEDs and light pollution.

A little smirk crept onto her lips.

"Bunch of degenerates," she muttered, and took another long sip, savoring that bitter kick.

The speaker on her desk buzzed. A crackle, then a voice, one of her staff, tense.

"Ma’am, about Nia... do you want us to step in or...?"

Victoria didn’t look away from the window. The first thought that came to her was amusing.

"What, is she draining the poor boy dry already? Men like being roughed up. Builds their pride to come back swinging for revenge. It’s necessary to keep him around if she’s making an impression."

There was a pause on the other end, then another staff member chimed in, voice more urgent.

"No, ma’am, it’s... you should really see this yourself."

Victoria finally set her glass down, one brow arching. Not every day something actually surprised her.

"What now?"

The scene inside was pure disaster. It looked like a tornado had a grudge against home décor.

The table lay on its side, one leg snapped clean, the rest twisted, food and alcohol smeared in slick patches across the floor.

Shattered glass glinted in the low light, a lamp’s shade crushed flat, the bulb cracked. Frames dangled crooked on the walls, one hanging by a single nail, others facedown in splinters.

The sofa was barely recognizable, broken on several parts, cushions darkened and heavy with sweat and fluids.

In the middle of all this, Nash looked... weirdly robotic.

Just running on autopilot, hips moving like he’d swapped out his soul for a metronome. Breathing steady, eyes gone, like his brain had packed up and left, but his body was still clocked in for overtime.

Nia lay facedown on the ruined floor, her hair sticking to her damp cheeks, her mouth stretched in a lazy, drunk smile. At this point, it was unclear if she was conscious or just riding some kind of cosmic rollercoaster.

Her eyes were rolled half up, lids fluttering, her words breaking into incoherent, absurd mutters between breathy, shivering moans.

"Mmhh—hah—nnh... pillow... ice cream... hah—more..." she mumbled, the sounds melting into nonsense as her body rocked violently under him.

Each thrust making the legs scrape hard across the floor. The wet, messy slap of their bodies hitting echoed in the tight space.

The door bashed open.

Four staff members froze, wide-eyed, gawking at the carnage, the trashed room, the wine puddles, the wrecked sifa, and finally, at Nia, limp and grinning, getting absolutely massacred by Nash, who still looked like he’d joined a cult and left his soul at the door.

One of them just blurted out, voice all squeaky and traumatized:

"Holy shit."

Victoria stepped into the doorway and the staff didn’t waste a second, they scattered like pigeons on caffeine, all shifty-eyed and unsure if they should tail her inside or just bail.

The first thing that hit her was the smell.

It was powerful, thick and musky, yet to a woman’s senses, it carried something dangerously sweet.

It was the kind of scent that curled in the back of the nose and spread down the spine, prickling heat through the skin. Her staff shifted awkwardly behind her, and she didn’t need to look back to know it was hitting them too.

The smell was delight, arousal, and raw presence all tangled together.

But Victoria barely acknowledged it. Her focus went straight to Nia.

This was her right arm here. The most capable, polished escort in the building. A woman with more bodies on her record than Breakball wins in a season. Nia could tame anyone, bend anyone, but now...

Seeing her like this was unthinkable.

The noises she was making? Gibberish. Little giggles, shaky sighs, like she’d forgotten words existed. No way those belonged to the building’s top professional, more like someone who’d been stripped down to the core, left with nothing but pure, helpless pleasure.

What happened here? How did he do this? Nash didn’t look like anything special when she’d first seen him, not a player, not a threat, but this...

Her heel snapped against the floor as she took a step, then—she froze.

Looked down. There it was. A huge, shining puddle of cum, right under her foot.

She just stared, eyebrows climbing. That much? Come on.

What the hell kind of guy is this?

"Recover her before he kills her," she ordered flatly.

The staff gulped in unison before moving forward, hesitating as if afraid to get too close.

Nash didn’t react at first. He was locked in that same trance, body moving with automatic precision, as if nothing existed but the motion.

Four sets of hands grabbed his shoulders. Voices spoke over each other, telling him to stop, pleading. It took a moment, but the words started to land.

He blinked, the haze cracking, his awareness bleeding back in. He looked down at the hands grabbing him, then up at their faces, and at last, over to Nia.

He gasped, realization striking fast. He pulled out too quickly.

That move made Nia’s body stretch tight, then his cock popped free, still rock hard, and more cum just gushed out of her, heavy, messy, splattering everywhere.

Some of it even hit Victoria on the cheek, a hot, wet slap.

For a moment, dead silence. You could hear a pin drop, or maybe just everyone’s jaw hitting the floor.

Every single pair of eyes locked on Victoria. The staff looked like they’d just seen a ghost, hands half-covering their mouths.

Not a soul dared to breathe, let alone speak. And there it was: a fat glob of cum stuck to her cheek, catching the light like a disco ball.

She slowly brought her hand to it, swiped the mess off with her finger, stared at it like it might start talking.

Rubbed it between her fingers, face giving away absolutely nothing.

"Viscosity’s perfect," she said, cool as ice, like she was jotting down notes in a lab. "Thick, dense, not runny at all. Should be watery by now, but—" She gave it another roll, like she was testing putty. "Still thick. That’s not normal."

Her gaze moved to Nash’s cock, still hard, still heavy.

"Truly a wonder of nature. Looks like nature gave you more than enough reserves... you could fit in anywhere down here."

She smiled faintly.

"I’m glad you liked my little present. Now let’s see if you’ll like the contract I’ve got." She turned, already heading for the door. "Come on. Business time."

Nash just stood there, looking a little shell-shocked, a little guilty. The staff, half-carrying Nia, couldn’t stop sneaking peeks at him, red-faced, eyes flicking down like they’d never seen a dick before, let alone one like that.

He did a quick scan for his clothes.

Nothing in sight. Maybe in one of his organic puddles. Great.

One of the staff, voice shaky and awkward, piped up.

"You can go like that. Madam doesn’t give a damn what you’re wearing in here."

He blinked, hesitated for a second, then shrugged and followed Victoria. What the hell else was he supposed to do?