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I grab his hair, yanking his head up. “That’s not what I need,” I say, breathless but firm. “You’d better fuck me the way you want to, Ethan. I don’t need tenderness. I need to feel fucked.”

His eyes darken further.

“You’re going to make love to me only because I was a virgin?” I continue, pushing. “You need to be in love to make love.”

Something snaps behind his eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, Thalia,” he mutters, but his voice warms immediately after. “You good?”

I nod, rolling my hips against him, urging him, asking without words.

And this time… he lets go. Completely.

And God… I like it.

As the hours blur and the number of my orgasms climbs, one truth settles deep and undeniable—desire doesn’t burn out through sex.

It grows.

Until it consumes everything.

Which means I’m fucked—in every possible sense. Because Ethan Hardy has made sure I’ll never want another man.

And all he’s given me is one night.

EIGHTEEN

Ethan

“Son, I understand, but it’ll be for a short period, just to help a friend,” my father says, his voice calm, laced with that quiet steel he uses when the decision has already been made.

“Dad, I barely make it home most nights. I’m practically living in my apartment in Hartho,” I mutter, frustration edging my words as I push back from my chair, the leather creaking under the pressure of my hand.

I cross the office, the sound of my steps muted against the white floor, and stop in front of the glass wall overlooking London. Rain drags down the windows in uneven streaks, blurring the skyline into the smudges of grey and silver.

“I can’t just help some old friend of yours. Talk to one of my brothers. Maybe one of them will want to.” I doubt it.

“It can’t be anyone else but you, Ethan.” His tone sharpens, authority threading through it with ease. “She’s the heiress of the largest oil company in the U.S. She has an empire at her feet. Obviously, she would choose a serious man. Career-driven. Focused.” There’s a brief pause. “The most suitable for this position is you.”

He continues, laying out facts, strategies, numbers, as if this were nothing more than another calculated move on a board already mapped out. His voice turns distant in my ears. I drag a hand over my jaw, feeling the tightness in my muscles, the weight of exhaustion settling deeper into my bones after being up since before dawn.

Two minutes ago, he called with polite urgency. Now I’m standing here listening to him pitch an absurd arrangement—helping a friend by pretending to date his daughter.

The girl got caught in a scandal, her boyfriend cheating on her with the daughter of a rival. Now her father wants to clean it up. Restore the image. Show the world she’s untouched by it, already moved on.

With a man of power.

Me.

How the hell did he think I’d agree to something like this?

“Dad, please understand. I don’t have the time, and I have zero interest in saving or helping anyone,” I say, my tone clipped, leaving no room for negotiation.

My reflection stares back at me from the glass—dark eyes, tension carved into my shoulders, my mouth set in a hard line.

Silence stretches for a beat.

Then his voice drops. “He’s willing to sell twenty percent of his company shares to Hartho if you agree to help him for a while, Ethan.”