His Forbidden Mistress: Veil of Deception

"Please..."

I was gasping, my voice catching in my throat as I looked at David lustfully.

Every part of me was screaming for more.

"Faster..." I whispered, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a desperate plea.

I was begging but David immediately clamped his hand over my mouth.

His palm was warm, smelling faintly of expensive cologne and the scotch he'd been drinking earlier. He leaned in close, his eyes dark and intense, pinning me against the cold, hard wood of the wall.

"Shh," he hissed.

"Don't be too loud. My wife will hear us."

I closed my eyes tight.

I did the only thing I could-I curled my toes against the carpet, my nails digging into his shoulders.

I tried to suppress the urge to scream. Every time he thrust, I felt the friction of his long cock, the overwhelming sensation of him inside me.

It was too much. I was losing my mind!

Then, the sound we both feared echoed through the house.

"Honey? Are you almost done in there?"

It was Cyndrel.

She was just downstairs, probably finishing up dinner, completely unaware that her husband was fucking his mistress in his study.

My eyes flew open, and I looked at David with pure panic.

My eyes pleaded with him, silently begging him to finish this before we were caught.

He increased the pace, his thrusts becoming harder and more urgent. He was relentless, his movements powerful as he drove us both toward our climax.

I buried my face in his neck to muffle my cries.

I could feel the tension building, a coil tightening in my chest until it finally snapped.

We both hit that peak at the same time that left me shaking and weak in the knees. I let out a long, shaky breath against his skin, my body slumped against his chest as the adrenaline began to fade.

"Fix yourself," he whispered, his voice returning to its professional, detached tone.

I scrambled to compose myself.

My hands were shaking so badly I could barely straighten my skirt or button my blouse.

I forced myself to sit down in one of the guest chairs across from his desk. I smoothed my clothes over my lap, trying to slow my racing heart.

Across from me, David sat in his large leather swivel chair. He adjusted his tie, smoothed his hair, and opened a folder on his desk like nothing had happened.

The door creaked open. Cyndrel walked in, a wide, genuine smile on her face. She looked so beautiful.

"Oh, it looks like you two are still in the middle of a meeting," she said, looking from David to me.

I forced a nod, my neck feeling stiff.

"Yes, Sir... was just finishing up the quarterly projections," I said.

"Well, don't let me interrupt the hard work," she chirped, walking over to David and placing a hand on his shoulder. She kissed his cheek.

He placed his hand over her and smiled. For some reason, that made me flinch, so I had to look away.

"We're almost done, honey," he said smoothly.

"Just a few more details to go over with Sandra."

"I'll leave you to it, then. Dinner is almost ready. You can eat here too, Sandra, for helping my husband run the company," she said, giving me a friendly wave before heading back outside.

As the door clicked shut, the silence in the room became suffocating.

I hadn't realized I was holding my breath.

I looked over at David, expecting him to come back to me, to touch me again.

Instead, he was staring at me. His eyes weren't filled with passion anymore. They were filled with something that looked like disgust.

"I think we need to stop this."

My heart dropped into my stomach.

"What?"

He stood up abruptly, the legs of his expensive swivel chair screeching against the floor.

He leaned forward, slamming his palms onto the mahogany surface of the desk.

"I can't keep cheating on my wife with you, Sandra. This has gone too far."

The panic started to set in. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was my ticket out, my only way to breathe in a world that was trying to drown me!

"David, please," I said, moving toward him.

"I don't want to stop. I won't let you!"

I threatened, my voice shaking with a mix of fear and rage, "I'll tell her! I'll go downstairs right now and tell Cyndrel exactly what her husband does in his study while she's cooking dinner!"

"Don't you fucking dare," he snarled. He looked like he wanted to jump across the desk and throttle me.

"David, you agreed to this setup a long time ago," I said, rounding the desk to get into his space.

I sat on his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck and smiling at him.

"We've been doing this behind her back for a while now. You give me pleasure, David. I'm happy when I'm with you. Don't tell me you aren't happy, too. Can't you feel how much I want you? How much my body reacts every time you even look at me?"

I reached out and took his hand. I forced it onto my breast, pressing his palm flat against my racing heart.

"Doesn't it arouse you?" I whispered, looking up at him through my lashes.

"Knowing you can have me whenever you want? Knowing how it feels when you're pounding inside of me?"

"Shut up!" he yelled.

He jerked his hand away as if I were made of fire, then pushed me away in a way that stung.

For a split second, I saw his gaze drop to my chest, and I knew I had him. I saw the hunger in his eyes fight against his guilt.

But then, the guilt won.

He straightened his suit jacket, his expression turning stone-cold. He pointed a finger toward the door.

"You were just a stripper I found at a bar, Sandra. That's all you are," he spat.

"I was drunk that night because I'd had a fight with my wife. It was supposed to be a one-night stand. A mistake. But you kept coming back."

I felt like he had slapped me.

My bottom lip trembled as the reality of his words sank in. To him, I was just a ghost of a bad night, a dirty secret he was tired of keeping.

"I don't want to see you here ever again," he continued.

"We've been doing, and it ends now. Get out."

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

There was a dull, heavy ache in my chest that made it hard to move. He didn't care. He was just using me to fill a void, and now that the void was full, he was throwing me away like trash.

"Y-You're such a coward," I said, my voice cracking.

I turned my back on him.

I didn't want him to see the tears that were finally starting to blur my vision.

I walked to the door and didn't look back.

When I left the house, I didn't stop to say goodbye to Cyndrel.

I couldn't bear to look at her kind face, not when I was carrying the weight of what I'd done.

A part of me was disgusted with myself-disgusted by the lying and the cheating.

But as I walked down the driveway into the cold night air, the fear returned.

I needed David.

I needed his money, his influence, and the way he made me feel like I was more than just a girl from the streets.

I needed him to pull me out of the poverty that was waiting to swallow me whole.

And as the gates of his estate closed behind me, I knew I couldn't just let him go.

I didn't call a taxi.

I couldn't afford it.

I knew what people would say. I knew that, morally, I was the villain in this story. I was the woman tearing a marriage apart.

But when you're starving, morality is a luxury you can't afford.

People who judge me have never had to choose between their dignity and their next meal.

I didn't become a stripper because I wanted to be stared at.

I did it because bills don't pay themselves and the world doesn't give handouts to girls like me.

As I walked, my mind drifted back to the first time I saw him.

The club was loud, filled with the smell of cheap gin, expensive cigars, and sweat.

I was on stage, the neon lights washing over my skin in hues of pink and blue.

I swayed my hips against the cold metal of the pole. I moved with ease, arching my back until I felt the weight of every gaze in the room.

"You're irresistible!"

"Come with us!"

Men were shouting for me, but they didn't catch my attention. Sitting alone in a corner booth, he caught my eye.

David was different from the usual crowd of sweaty, middle-aged men with wandering hands.

He was slumped over a glass of amber liquid, looking like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Even drunk, he was the most handsome man I had ever seen.

He had a sharp, defined jawline that looked like it was carved from stone, and his eyes were narrowed, tracking my every move with a dark intensity.

I knew a golden opportunity when I saw one. I made sure my next move was just for him, letting my body move in a way that I knew would catch his breath.

And it worked.

His eyes swept over my body as he ground his jaw.

When my set was over, I didn't go back to the dressing room. I went straight to him.

I sat on his lap, the silk of my outfit barely a barrier between us. He didn't push me away. He just looked at me with those heavy, intoxicated eyes.

"Why are you here all alone, handsome?" I purred, leaning in until I could smell the scotch on his breath.

"Just having some problems," he muttered, his voice gravelly and deep.

I let my hand slide up his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt.

"These problems?"

"They look like the kind of problems that need a distraction."

He didn't say anything, but his gaze dropped to my lips.

I could see the raw lust flaring in his eyes, a fire that started to warm me from the inside out.

"Why don't we settle this upstairs? In the VIP room," I whispered against his ear, my voice dripping with seduction.

"Just the two of us."

Technically, it was against the bar's policy. We were paid to dance, to tease, to entertain-but we weren't supposed to cross that line.

If the manager found out, I'd be fired on the spot. But looking at David, I didn't care about the rules.

I wanted him.

The way his large hands had gripped my waist, bruising and possessive, and the way he'd groaned-a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through my entire body.

"Shit...you're so sexy."

It was the kind of sound that made a woman lose her breath.

I hadn't expected that kind of raw passion from a man who looked like he spent his life behind a mahogany desk.

I had enjoyed every second of it, letting myself drown in the sensation of him.

He held me like I was the only thing keeping him grounded, and for the first time in my life, I wasn't just performing.

I was feeling something.

"Shit! I'm cumming!" he groaned like a beast, then his load shot onto my stomach.

When I woke up the next morning after that night, the bed was cold.

He was gone. No note, no number, just the lingering scent of his cologne on the sheets.

I was furious.

I spent at the bar digging for information. He didn't pay me, which was exactly why I was looking for him.

I bought the bartender two drinks and leaned closer.

"Do you remember the guy I left with?" I asked.

He smirked, pretending to hesitate.

"For another drink," he said.

I slid the glass over.

"David Kingsley," he muttered.

His voice dropped, eyes flicking around, like the name itself was dangerous.

Bingo.

I pulled up the search engine on my phone.

It didn't take long to find him.

He was a billionaire. I hit a jackpot!

My heart raced as I scrolled through his photos.

I knew right then that I had to find him.

I wasn't going back to that pole. I had found my way out of this hell I'd been in.

A few days after that night, I showed up at his corporate headquarters.

I wore my best dress-a tight, emerald green that screamed "classy."

I walked into that lobby like I owned the building.

"Who are you here to see, Ma'am?" the receptionist asked, her eyes widening as she took in my appearance.

My skin was glowing, my hair was perfect, and I looked like I belonged in a penthouse, not a slum.

They had no idea I'd spent my last few money on the taxi ride over. They didn't know I was a girl who grew up in the trash, raised on the streets with nothing to her name.

"I have an appointment with Sir David."

"Of course, right this way," she said, falling for the act completely.

When I walked into his private office, David was looking at some papers, his brow furrowed in concentration.

When he looked up and saw me, his jaw practically hit the floor.

"What are you doing here?! How did you find this place?" he demanded, standing up.

I didn't answer right away.

I just walked toward him, the click of my heels echoing in the large room.

Then, I leaned across his desk, letting my dress dip low to expose the curve of my cleavage.

I saw his eyes drop instantly. The anger in his expression flickered, replaced by that familiar, dark desire I'd seen at the club.

"I'm here to continue what we started. Besides, you didn't pay me," I whispered, my voice low and husky.

"I have a wife. That night is a mistake! And if it's about payment, I can give it to you right now," he said.

He was staring at me like a starving man looks at a feast.

He has a wife... but that didn't stop the desire building in my stomach, especially with just the two of us in his office.

"And that's even more thrilling, isn't it?" I countered, walking around the desk until I was inches from him.

"Your wife never has to find out. This can be our little secret."

I took his hand and forced it onto my breast, letting him feel the heat of my skin.

"Come on, David. Fuck me again. I know you want to. I can feel it."

He tried to push me away for a second, a final half-hearted attempt at being a "good man," but I didn't let him.

I crashed my lips against his, kissing him with hunger.

I felt his resolve snap.

Het out a cursed "Shit..." against my mouth.

Before I knew it, he was clearing the papers off his desk with one swift motion.

He lifted me up, spreading my legs as he pressed me down onto the cold surface.

The professional atmosphere of the office vanished, replaced by the same frantic energy from the VIP room.

That was the day I stopped being just a dancer.

From that moment on, we met in secret, fueled by the thrill of the forbidden.

I even managed to convince him to let me be his "secretary" just so I could be near him during the day.

I was playing a dangerous game, stepping into a world I didn't belong in, but as I looked at David Kingsley, I knew I would do whatever it took to keep my place at his side.

The cold snap of the night air finally broke as I reached the mouth of the alley that led to my building.

Reality hit me like a bucket of ice water.

Gone were the mahogany desks and the scent of expensive scotch.

Here, the air smelled of rotting garbage, stale beer, and the metallic tang of rust.

"Sandra! Back from another 'business trip?'"

The voice was raspy, belonging to one of the neighborhood drunks huddled around a plastic table.

They were passing around a bottle of cheap gin, their eyes bloodshot and wandering.

"Looks like she caught a big fish today, boys! Look at that dress!" another one jeered, followed by a chorus of whistles and crude laughter.

"Where'd you get that, Sandra? Did you have to work overtime on your back? You're a natural-born pro, after all."

I didn't even look at them.

I kept my chin up, my heels clicking sharply against the cracked pavement.

I was used to the insults.

To them, I was just the local "slut," the girl who used her body to pay for a life they couldn't touch.

But as I reached my door, my stomach gave a painful, hollow flip.

"Fuck."

I don't know who my parents were. I don't have a family tree or a last name that means anything.

The people who "raised" me told me they found me in a literal trash heap, wrapped in a dirty blanket.

They kept me around until I was old enough to be a burden, and then they kicked me out onto the street with a pat on the back.

"You're a pretty girl, Sandra," they'd told me.

"You'll find a way to eat. Beauty is a currency."

And that's how I ended up at the bar. That's how I ended up on a pole, selling my skin.

The next night, I arrived at the club with a heavy heart and a pounding headache.

I had no choice since I need to survive this night. I tried calling David, but he's not answering.

He usually lets me eat at his place while we're having sex.

He doesn't know that I rarely eat because I don't have money, and he doesn't know that I don't earn enough because the bar management's deductions are so high.

He doesn't know about my hell.

I spent an hour in front of a cracked mirror, layering on foundation and cheap glitter.

"Look who finally showed up!" my manager barked the second I stepped into the dressing room.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, not looking at him.

"Sorry doesn't pay the electric bill, Sandra! You know the policy. You're late again, and you're back on the street. Get out there and earn your keep."

I walked onto the stage, but my mind wasn't on the music.

It was back in that study. It was back on the desk. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw David's face-the way his jaw tightened when he looked at me, the way his eyes betrayed his "perfect husband" act.

I needed a plan. I needed a way to make sure he couldn't just throw me away.

I thought about his wife, Cyndrel. She had everything I wanted. She had the house, the security, the name. She had the man who looked at me with such filthy, beautiful desire.

'I want you.'

The next day, I didn't go back to the club.

I put on my best outfit again, ignored the burning hunger in my gut, and headed straight back to his empire.

I showed up with my head held high, adjusting the strap of my bag as I walked past the front desk.

But when I reached his executive floor, the office was cold. The lights were dimmed, and the usual hum of activity around his desk was gone.

"Where is Sir David?" I asked, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

One of the junior staff members looked up, frowning at me with a mix of confusion and judgment.

"You're his secretary, aren't you? Shouldn't you be the one keeping track of his schedule?"

I felt a flush of heat creep up my neck. I was a fraud, and for a split second, I felt like they could see right through my expensive-looking dress to the girl who lived in the slums.

"He didn't mention anything to me this morning," I lied, my voice steady.

"Well, we don't know either," the staffer replied, turning back to their computer.

"He didn't come in today. He took a personal day off probably."

A personal day. That meant he was home.

I turned on my heel and walked out. I hailed a ride and gave them the address. I needed to see him.

When I arrived, the sheer size of the mansion always took my breath away.

It was a palace of stone and glass, surrounded by perfectly manicured lawns. I stayed back, hiding near the line of trees that bordered the driveway. I looked up at the second-floor balcony, and my breath hitched.

David was there. And so was Cyndrel.

They looked like something out of a movie. She was laughing at something he said, her head tilted back, and David... he was looking at her with a softness I had never seen.

He reached out, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek. He was smiling-a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes.

I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms.

It shouldn't have mattered. I knew he was married. I knew I was only using him for his money, for a way out of the dirt.

But seeing him look at her like that felt like a hot knife to my chest.

Did I mean absolutely nothing to him? Was I really just a body he used when he was bored or angry?

Did I finally... fall for him?

I watched as Cyndrel kissed him on the cheek and headed back inside, leaving him alone on the balcony.

This was my chance.

"David!" I called out.

He froze.

He looked down, and when his eyes landed on me, the warmth I had seen seconds ago vanished.

It was replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated dread. He rushed off the balcony and met me near the side entrance, his face contorted in a snarl.

"Sandra, what the hell are you doing here?" he hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me further into the shadows of the garden.

"You shouldn't be here. I told you it's over!"

"You can't just throw me away, David," I whispered. "Why are you pushing me like this?!"

"Because my wife is starting to get suspicious!" he snapped, his voice a harsh whisper.

"She's asking questions about you. I can't have you hanging around the office or the house. You're fired! You need to get out of here and never come back!"

"No!" I said, digging my heels in.

"I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me properly. You can't just erase me!"

I tried to reach for him, tried to use the manipulation that had always worked before, but he shook his head, looking at me with a coldness that terrified me.

"Sandra, you don't want to see what I'm capable of," he warned.

"You should be grateful I'm even letting you walk away."

He turned to leave, his back as rigid as a stone wall.

He was really doing it.

He was cutting me off, sending me back to the trash heap without a second thought.

I felt the desperation rise up in my throat, choking me. I couldn't go back. I wouldn't!

"David, wait!" I cried out.

He stopped, but he didn't turn around.

"What now?"

"I'm pregnant," I said, my eyes welling with fake tears.

"And you're the father."

I knew there was no going back from this.

The silence that followed was deafening. I watched the color drain from David's face when he looked back at me, his professional mask finally shattering into a thousand pieces.

I had him.