Chapter 2

Catherine paced the high-end hotel suite she’d booked, her heels sinking into the plush cream carpet as the clock ticked past 8:00 p.m. The room screamed luxury—mahogany furniture, a king-sized bed draped in crisp white linens, floor-to-ceiling windows framing D.C.’s twinkling skyline—but it did little to calm her nerves. She’d dressed to impress, or maybe to armor herself: a sapphire-blue sheath dress clung to her Pilates-toned body, the fabric hugging her full breasts and flaring hips, ending mid-thigh to show off her long, sculpted legs. A thin gold belt cinched her waist, glinting under the soft lighting, and her chestnut hair cascaded in loose waves down her back. She’d skipped a bra, the dress’s neckline dipping low enough to hint at cleavage, and wore sheer black panties—sexy but safe, or so she’d thought. Her strappy stilettos clicked with each step, her pulse racing as she second-guessed everything.

She stopped by the window, arms crossed, her reflection staring back—sharp cheekbones, full lips, hazel eyes wide with doubt. What was she doing? Meeting Darnell, a man like him, in a hotel room? Her stomach churned, a mix of nerves and something darker—guilt, fear, the urge to bolt. Edward was at a fundraiser, oblivious, but this felt like crossing a line she couldn’t uncross. She grabbed her clutch from the dresser, muttering, “This is insane,” and turned for the door, her hand on the knob—when it swung open. Darnell stepped in, and her breath caught, her resolve crumbling under the weight of his presence.

He was overwhelming—6’3” of solid muscle, his shaved head gleaming under the lights, his dark eyes locking onto her with an intensity that pinned her in place. He wore a fitted black Henley and jeans, the fabric straining over his broad shoulders and thick arms, his sheer size intimidating her in a way Chad or Greg never could. His smirk was slow, dangerous, and she felt small, exposed, her knees trembling as he shut the door behind him with a soft click. “Going somewhere, beautiful?” he said, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated through her. She opened her mouth to speak, to excuse herself, but nothing came out—just a shaky exhale as he stepped closer.

Catherine tried to ease her nerves with light conversation, clutching her clutch like a shield. “So, um, you’re an entrepreneur?” she asked, her voice thin. He didn’t answer, just closed the distance, his hand brushing her hip through the dress. She flinched, heat sparking where he touched, and he leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. “You’re already wet for me, aren’t you?” he taunted, smirking. She stiffened, indignant. “No, I’m not—” she started, but he cut her off, shoving his hand up under her dress, fingers tearing through her sheer panties with a sharp rip. She gasped, shuddering as his thick fingers grazed her pussy, slick proof of her arousal coating them. He chuckled, a low, triumphant sound. “Liar,” he said, holding up his glistening fingers before her eyes.

She moaned, her body betraying her, shuddering against his muscular frame as he groped her—his hands roaming her hips, her ass, squeezing her breasts through the dress. She was overwhelmed by him—his masculine power, his blackness, the wrongness of it clashing with the heat pooling in her core. He pressed himself closer, his chest a wall of muscle against her softness, and slid two fingers into her pussy, fucking her slow and deep. She whimpered, her hands clutching his arms, trying to push back. “Slow—slow down,” she pleaded, her voice breaking, but he just grinned, his fingers curling inside her. “My profile was right,” he growled. “I take what I want, and you beg for it.” Her knees buckled, her moans louder now, her mind spinning as he owned her with every thrust of his hand.

Darnell pulled back, his fingers slipping out, and she swayed, dazed, her pussy dripping down her thighs. He unbuttoned his jeans, slow and deliberate, and his cock sprang free—massive, thick, veined, a beast that made her eyes widen and her breath hitch. She stared, awed and terrified, as he pushed her onto the bed, the mattress dipping under her. He didn’t wait—climbed over her, spread her legs wide, and slammed into her, his cock stretching her pussy with a force that tore a scream from her throat. He pounded into her, relentless, his muscular body showing no mercy, every thrust deep and brutal. She came fast, her pussy clenching around him, her body shaking as pleasure she’d never known ripped through her. She came again, then again, her screams echoing in the suite, her mind blank except for the feel of him—huge, unstoppable, filling her completely.

He tensed, grunting, and came inside her, a hot flood that spilled deep, triggering another climax that left her gasping, her nails digging into his arms. But he wasn’t done—his cock stayed hard, his short refractory period a shock as he pulled out, flipped her over, and positioned her on her knees. She barely registered it, her face sinking into the pillows as he gripped her hips and slammed into her pussy from behind, doggy-style. The angle was deeper, brutal, his thrusts rocking her forward, her ass jiggling with each hit. She screamed into the pillows, cumming again, her body trembling as he fucked her senseless. Her mind raced—a black man’s doing this to me—the thought swirling with shame and ecstasy, amplifying every sensation. He pounded her harder, his grunts mixing with her muffled cries, and she lost herself in it, her pussy a slick, spasming mess around his massive cock.