CHAPTER 441: CHAPTER 441: RESTRICTIONS OVER (PART 1)

Five minutes later—huff~—the fleshy sounds and moans had faded into shallow breaths, Samantha’s naked form sprawled atop Don’s chest.

Their sweat-glazed skin stuck together—shhk~—where her breasts pressed against him, nipples still stiff and oversensitive.

A slow drip of saliva trailed from her parted lips—slrrp~—onto his collarbone, mixing with the sheen of sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat.

Don’s fingers—ah~—dragged lazily down her spine, tracing the streaks of sweat along her lower back.

Samantha’s breath hitched—huff~—as she lay there, thighs still spread, her cunt sticky. The room smelled thick with sex, sweat, and salt.

"I can’t believe we just did that..." she murmured—mnf~—her voice hoarse, lips lightly swollen from biting back moans earlier.

Don’s fingers tangled in her sweat-damp hair—shlk~—gripping lightly as he dragged her head back, exposing the flushed column of her throat.

His breath—huff~—was hot against her ear, lips brushing the shell as he murmured, "Do you regret it?"

Samantha shuddered—mmph~—her lashes fluttering, the words thick and syrupy on her tongue.

"Nn~ sweetie... no, I don’t." A bead of sweat trailed down her spine—plip~—as she arched into his touch, her voice slurred, wrecked.

Samantha turned her head—shlk~—cheek lifting off his body, lips parted as she faced him with half-lidded eyes.

"I feel amazing, sweetie, just... just a little...." A shaky breath—huff~—hitched in her throat as she tried to find the right words. "...trying to take this all in..."

Don smirked—mmph~—his lips curling just enough to show teeth as his hands slid down her sweat-slicked back—shllk~—fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass cheeks.

"You took it just fine, mom," he murmured, voice rough, but breath even.

Samantha’s cheeks turned flush—a fresh wave of heat prickling across her skin as Don’s fingers kneaded her ass, the slick sweat between them making every shift of his palms sound obscenely wet—shllk~.

A soft moan—mnf~—escaped her, her hips twitching back into his touch before she suddenly tensed—huff~—and pinched his thigh.

"Ah! S-sweetie—ngh~—stop teasing me..."

"...You know what I meant." Her voice wavered, breathless, as she squirmed against him, the sticky mess between her thighs smearing—plip~—against his hip.

Don smiled, his lips brushing against her damp temple as his fingers stilled on her ass. "I know," he murmured, voice low.

"And I understand." His thumb dragged slow—shllk~—through the sweat gathered at the crease of her thigh. "But I have hope we can get over whatever hurdles we might face."

Samantha smiled warmly—huff~—her fingers trembling slightly as she cupped Don’s face, thumbs brushing along his jaw—shhk~.

"...thank you sweetie, for tonight..." Samantha muttered weakly but sincerely. "...for making me whole again." She continued, voicer lower now, more emotion.

"And... and..." she started, eyes locked deeply with his. "...for coming back into my life."

As she said this, her lips—soft, trembling—pressed against his forehead—mwah~—lingering just long enough for him to feel the damp heat of her breath before she pulled back.

A bead of sweat slid down her temple as she exhaled, her lashes fluttering.

Samantha kept his gaze as she said softly, "You should get some sleep, sweetie. I’ll just... lay here a bit and go clean up."

Her fingers—warm, slightly sticky—trailed down his chest before she shifted her weight, her thighs peeling away from his with a wet, reluctant sound—plltt~.

The air hit her slick skin—cool, raising goosebumps—as she lingered atop him, her breath still uneven—hah~.

Don let out a tired yawn, his jaw cracking slightly as he nodded, eyelids heavy. "... G’night, mom," he mumbled, the words slurring with exhaustion as his head sank deeper into the pillow.

Elsewhere—just as Don finally drifted into something that almost resembled rest—another man surfaced from his own.

The hotel suite was luxury dressed as subtlety. None of the overblown opulence you’d expect from Santos City’s louder elites. No gold lions, no velvet thrones. Just clean power in expensive form—charcoal marble, silent fixtures, and enough tech woven into the walls to make a corporate war room jealous.

The bed was massive. King wasn’t the right word. This thing had its own zip code. It sat across from an open living space that extended through glass sliding doors onto a private terrace. Beyond that—an infinity pool lay dormant, spilling gently into the edge of the skyline.

The water caught what little moonlight escaped the clouds, broken reflections twitching in the current. A steaming jacuzzi sat nearby, gurgling occasionally like it had something to say but didn’t feel like it.

The suite smelled of sex and sanitizer. Disinfected sin.

On the bed, someone stirred. Soft movements under heavy sheets. Skin met cold air, and the woman beneath the covers curled tighter on instinct, dragging a pillow closer to her chest.

Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt~

The phone vibrated once, then again. Harsh against the silence.

Barclay sat up like a puppet yanked by its strings.

No sluggishness. No blinking. Just movement.

He reached to the dresser, fingers brushing a glass he didn’t remember finishing before grabbing the phone. The screen lit up—its glow bouncing off the ridges of his face like a warning.

Commissioner Gordon Bateman.

A pause. Just enough for his jaw to tighten.

Then he answered.

"I hope you’re calling to tell me that everything went well... Commissioner," he said, already annoyed. Voice low. Dry.

Bateman’s voice hit like gravel through a drainpipe.

"Like hell it went well, Barclay. Just what the hell are you trying to do here?"

Barclay exhaled slowly, fingers rubbing at the bridge of his nose as he stood and moved toward the glass doors. The floor under his feet was cold. Expensive, but cold.

"You promised me a clean job," Bateman snapped. "You said this was something I wouldn’t have to worry about—something quiet. Something the press wouldn’t get their claws into."

Barclay didn’t answer right away.

He pushed one of the glass doors open wider and stepped out into the chill. The air was sharp, not fresh. City air never was. But it cut clean, and he needed that right now.

His tone didn’t shift. "What happened?"

Bateman scoffed. "What didn’t happen? I wake up to a report about explosions. Multiple foreign bodies under rubble. Then I get a ping from New Coral. Apparently some of those dead men might’ve been involved in a botched operation in the Y2 district. Now I’m knee-deep in a joint investigation I didn’t sign up for."

Barclay’s brow twitched.

"Shit."

"That’s right. A big pile of it. And guess who has to mop it up with a smile while the mayor’s breathing down my neck?"

Barclay didn’t pace. He just stared out over the city. Lights flickered through fog. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel earned.

"Either something else is moving," he muttered, "or we underestimated the Monclaire boy. Or the targets. Possibly both."

There was a pause. Then, like brushing chalk off a board, he added, "Regardless, there’s nothing linking either of us to it. The operation was off-books. The corpses don’t point to anything but money. You’re safe."

Bateman didn’t sound reassured.

"I’d better be. Because if any part of this circles back to my desk with your name attached to it, you won’t be able to buy me off."

Barclay smirked faintly.

"But you’ll still try."

Bateman growled, "Don’t push me."

Barclay turned away from the window, walked back toward the bed. His tone didn’t rise, but it flattened. Final.

"We’ll discuss compensation later. Right now, keep the lid on this. The last thing I need is another headline. I trust you won’t disappoint me, Commissioner."

Bateman didn’t reply.

~Click.

The line went dead.

Barclay let the phone drop onto the dresser with a light clack.

He stood there for a second, not moving. The jacuzzi outside still hissed. The clouds hadn’t broken.

Then—

Soft hands.

They slid up around his torso, fingers brushing the sparse hair on his chest. Slow. Familiar.

A voice followed, quiet and still heavy with sleep.

"You sound stressed," she murmured. "Do you want me to fix that?"

Barclay tilted his head just enough to glance over his shoulder.

Ashley.

The covers barely clung to her form. They weren’t doing much work to begin with.

Even in the dark, her features were unmistakable. The shape of her lips. The curl of her lashes.

Andrew’s girlfriend.

Barclay didn’t look away.

His voice, when it came, was smooth as silk cut with smoke.

"Of course, dear."

A/N: Next arc will be a bit more complicated to deal with personally due to all the plot points that need to be buildup. Not all will be explored but will be built upon so that current plotlines don’t get drowned. More than that, much of them will be in tame enviroments so i’m still working on how best to present these. Other than that, I’d like to say thanks again for reading and if you haven’t already, join the disocrd. It only has images to do with story for now but once I work this out I’ll start doing the occassional parody Chapters there. If you also have questions you’d like to ask me, ping me there. Infact just add me, @godofbrutality, don’t ask. Also i didn’t edit this Chapter as much so let me know if anything is off. Have a great week you fucking legends.