Empire of Hate: A Second Chance Enemies to Lovers Romance

Celibacy is a cranky bitch with withdrawal issues.

My dick hates me. My body hates me.

I hate me.

Not enough to crack, though.

I survived a week and a half without sex before. What’s four days?

Apparently, around four decades in human years according to my teenage-level hard-ons whenever that fucking woman is in sight.

It doesn’t matter what she’s wearing, a hot as fuck dress, simple jeans, or a long robe. All I feel is the need to fuck her until neither of us can breathe properly.

That night, right after she told me the E-word and I said in no uncertain terms that she could go suck it, I ran into her in the kitchen while she was making some apricot juice. I’m going to bet my career and left nut that she drinks it because it’s the most similar fruit to peaches. But anyway, when my hand brushed against hers not so accidentally, she glared at me with that snobbishness that made me both hard and irritated as a fireball.

She motioned at herself and said, “This is off-limits.” Then she flipped her golden locks and stalked back to her room.

I needed to stop myself from going after her or else we’d have second-degree murder on our hands.

My dick and I still haven’t decided what we think about her newfound confidence. She’s glowing with it like an angel flying above God’s shoulder. Not that she didn’t have it a few weeks ago, but she was keeping it under wraps, bowing her head and biting her tongue to keep her job—and Jayden.

Lately, however, her old self is starting to peek through the cracks. And as much as I wanted to fuck that Nicole into oblivion, I didn’t really like her.

She wasn’t confident. She bordered on arrogant with mean-girl tendencies and a bitch sign slapped on her forehead.

And I’ll be damned if I don’t clip those wings before she morphs back into her old self.

“Your coffee,” she says sweetly, bending over so half her tits are nearly hanging out of her blouse.

I grab the edge of the desk.

Down, Junior. It isn’t your time to shine yet.

Pretending she doesn’t exist—which is as successful as ignoring global warming—I take a sip of my coffee and listen to her enumerating today’s schedule.

I throw the coffee in the rubbish can.

She pauses her anchorwoman presentation. “What’s wrong now? There was exactly one gram of sugar. I weighed it myself.”

“Too hot.”

“No, it’s not. You’re just being difficult for no reason.”

“There’s a reason.”

“Enlighten me.”

“My dick is throwing a tantrum for the lack of lips around him. If you want to fix it…”

Red creeps up from her pale cleavage to her neck and even to her ears. To her credit, though, her expression remains stuck in that snobbish stage.

Now that I think about it, Nicole has never been expressive. Not even on that day when everything shattered to pieces.

It’s why I like the new version of her better. At least I can read some reactions she leaves unguarded. Maybe, just like she couldn’t be bothered to hide her beauty mole anymore, she couldn’t care less about sealing everything inside.

She smiles and it’s as fake as A-list celebrities’ laughs and just as bright. “Sure thing.”

“Really?”

“Of course. You just have to say the magic words for it. Repeat after me, no other people.”

My lips twist, then I snap my fingers in her face. “Get the fuck out.”

She lifts a shoulder. “As you wish, sir.”

Her walk to the door is the equivalent of a strip show, minus the most important part—taking her clothes off. Her hips sway in that gentle, alluring way only she is capable of.

Stop looking.

Stop looking—

Once she reaches the door, she turns around. “Oh, and what would you like for dinner tonight?”

The sodding thing knows she has a hold on me through that, too. Even though I consider food the most disgusting thing ever created, hers doesn’t fall under that category.

Ever since she became my personal chef, I don’t eat with the sole purpose of survival. I actually enjoy the activity, especially with Jayden being a clown and Lolli sticking her head anywhere she deems fit. That includes the top of the table and Jayden’s shoulder.

But if Nicole thinks she has me as a ring on her finger, breaking news will hit her upside the head soon.

“I won’t be dining at home.”

“Oh?”

I don’t fall for her prompt to keep me talking, and just like that, her gleeful expression disappears.

That’s right, baby. You’ve got to work for it.

She clears her throat. “Where will you be dining?”

“It’s a bit out of your scope of skills.”

“I’m just asking if you’ll need me in a business meeting or something.”

“It’s a charity event.”

“So you need an assistant.”

“Not really, but you’re welcome to pass me condoms or join the orgies that I plan to take part in tonight.”

Her lips press in a line before she steps out and slams the door.

Good. Now, she feels a sliver of the fucking frustration she’s been shoving down my throat with a spoon.

Later that evening, I dress in a tux, ignore her glares over the kitchen counter, and let Jayden hug me goodbye, then head to the charity ball.

Calling it that is a bit of a stretch, considering this is the rich’s way to write off taxes.

King and Nate included.

They’re both here. Nate is accompanied by his young wife who’s pretty much half his age, but looks at him as if he’s her knight in a shining Mercedes.

King is solo because hoes aren’t for the public, and he’s actively glaring at Nate whenever he touches his daughter or makes her laugh. If a crime happens, I swear to fuck there will be no dragging me in as a witness into this mess.

Knox joins me with a gorgeous blonde on his arm.

Jeez, did I think of blonde and gorgeous in the same sentence?

Get a grip, Sterling.

Anastasia doesn’t look the part of a mafia princess. She’s soft, demure, and extremely in love with my sod of a friend who, until a few months ago, thought he didn’t have a soul.

Like me.

Turns out, I’m the only one on that merry-go-round. Aside from King, maybe.

Scratch that. King doesn’t have a heart, a soul, and a whole lot of things I pride myself in owning.

Anastasia’s continent-sized engagement ring was probably made by the blood of a mafia’s enemies.

Not a good thought to have when I’m kissing the back of her hand. “Looking good, Ana.”

Knox kicks my shin. “Hands off my fiancée.”

“Whom you got because of me.” I kick him back when no one is looking.

He stares at me as if I’m a pope who cursed. “How exactly did you contribute? Was that before or after you almost ruined everything?”

“Right in the middle, actually. Ana, let this wanker know that I played a vital part.”

“Daniel was a good sport.” She laughs, her expression lightening, and I get that queasy shit in my stomach that happens when I’m about to throw up.

This is why I don’t like blondes. They always, without a sliver of fucking doubt, look like her in my mind’s screwed-up eye.

“You’re misunderstanding something, beautiful. Daniel is anything but a good sport.”

“Your jealousy is flooding the floor, Van Doren. Every individual on planet Earth knows I’m more charming than you’ll ever be.”

“Is that why you yelled at two people this week?”

“Three, and they were being idiots. Being charming is not a synonym for pushover, and I’m allergic to stupidity.”

“But Knox is right. Gwen said you’re different,” Anastasia supplies needlessly. Gwen, Nate’s wife, is her bestie, and apparently, they’ve taken up gossip as a side hobby, because she says, “Ever since you got a new assistant. Blonde, too. I always thought you hated us.”

“I do. No offense.”

“Taken.”

Knox levels me with a glare. “Apologize.”

“I’m sorry you were born with a disgusting hair color, Anastasia. I liked you better when you dyed your hair black.”

“Are you sure that’s an apology?” She shakes her head.

“The only version you’ll get.” I smile, showing my dimples since they evidently make people drop their guards or drop to their knees. Except for one fucking person, obviously. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have a few clients to greet.”

The round of socializing is equal to liking random posts on social media and commenting that people look good when they’re actually potatoes in the form of humans.

I might be on the extrovert spectrum, but over-interaction with people makes me feel…empty.

Maybe even lonely.

But my nonexistent therapist doesn’t need to know about that.

“Danny!” A shock of gold throws itself in my arms like a hooker in a strip club.

“Katerina.” I kiss her cheek as my cue to pull away, and she subtly rubs her stomach against my dick.

No sign of life.

Bloody perfect, Junior. We’re going to the ER in a bit.

Katerina has a rich daddy that helped her get on her feet, but she’s a hard worker, too. Which is what I respected about her the first time we met during our university years.

She’s wearing a golden dress that could compete with a drag queen’s clothes. She’s tall with generous curves and a fuckable arse and…well, that’s all I remember about her.

And the fact that my stomach tolerates one-tenth of her food.

“It’s been a minute, stranger.” She drags her red nails over my bowtie.

“I’ve been kind of busy.” Trying to shag my assistant on my terms and failing miserably. Not that anyone needs those depressing details.

“Then it must be fate that we met here.”

“We run in the same circle, Kat. Fate is the last thing you should be giving credit to.”

“Oh, don’t be a bore.”

“Don’t be a hopeless romantic.” It’s disgusting.

All emotions are.

Especially the sappy type that many are surprisingly fond of.

“A romance is the last thing I want,” she purrs. “I’m opening a new restaurant in Paris.”

“Congratulations.”

“Care to take those congratulations somewhere more private?”

No. But I don’t really have a reason for refusal, so I say, “Lead the way.”

I want to stab myself with a ten-inch knife and hope the pain will wake my Sleeping Beauty dick up.

Katerina takes us to a supply room on the far end of the ballroom and locks the door behind us.

Leaning against it, she starts toying with her barely-there straps.

She’s beautiful, hot, with a body I can lose myself in for hours, and she’s a brunette.

Perfect for a quick shag, a forehead kiss, and a rain check for a Paris redo.

And yet, my dick continues his slumber, waiting for another princess’s kiss.

The same princess he almost started a journal to memorize the first time he got to tarnish her.

Take her innocence.

Be inside her.

On the other hand, Katerina does nothing for me.

She didn’t in the past either. None of the other women did.

They were just a necessity.

I’m about to leave, find Nicole, and agree to her condition with my hand on her arse as I fuck her, when a bang echoes in the silence.

At first, I think we’ve been bombed.

Hello, terrorists and world disorder.

But it happens again. A knock on the door. More like a damn fist on it.

“Someone is here,” Katerina whines.

The knocking sound comes again, stronger this time.

“Did you not hear me?” she shrieks.

The bang comes again and I suppress a smile. I think I know exactly what type of terrorist this is.

Katerina opens the door with more impatience than a toddler’s. “You!”

The “you,” a terrorist with the most gorgeous face God has created, is none other than Nicole.

She shoulders past Katerina, her stance tense and face similar to sovereignty on paintings.

But her body is a myriad of motions. Her legs shake. Her fingers twitch.

It’s hardly noticeable, but it’s there. How come I’ve never detected the change in her body language before?

She stands between us, in her simple black dress and heels that I want off her.

Actually, the heels can stay.

Nicole doesn’t need to be flashy or even make an effort to look pretty. A second-rate dress, a delicate chignon, and some makeup, and she’s ready to walk the runway.

“Aren’t you the assistant?” Katerina spits, obviously angry at Nicole for pussy-blocking her.

“The one and only.” She smiles with dripping sweetness.

“Care to share what you’re doing here?” Katerina asks.

Nicole glares at me, then reaches into her bra, and my dick kind of resurrects from the ashes like a cheap phoenix.

A packet is nestled between her fingers. “I thought I would give you a condom so he doesn’t give you the STD he passed to me. Chlamydia. It’s nasty shit and we girls have to look out for each other.”

Katerina pales. I burst out laughing.

Fuck. This woman.

“Is this some sort of a twisted joke?” Katerina stares between Nicole’s poker face and my extremely amused one like a spectator in a tennis match.

“Want to see the results?” Nicole starts to lift her dress.

“Disgusting. Both of you.” Katerina glares at us and runs out of the room with a speed that cracks her heel.

Nicole makes a show of releasing the condom with a mic-drop motion. “Heard she has a big mouth. Have a nice life convincing anyone to touch your chlamydia dick, sir.”

“You’re too obsessed with my dick, did you know that?” I’m still smiling. “First, you suck it like a gorgeous slut, then you ride and touch it whenever it’s near you, and you can’t help looking when it’s not inside you. And now, you’re starting rumors about it. I’m guessing you still won’t say I had a small dick at my funeral, huh?”

“That plan is in motion, thank you very much.”

“Liar. You even brought the right condom size. Large.”

“Part of my job.”

“Passing out condoms?”

“Stopping my boss from polluting the world with his sperm.”

“Cum, Peaches. It’s called cum.” I wrap my fingers around her nape and pull her flush against me. “And you better be ready to choke on it after you cock-blocked me.”

“Moi?” She plays innocent even as her body quivers around mine.

My thumb finds her plump lips and I thrust inside. She darts her tongue around it, licking the sides and sucking on the single digit like it’s my cock.

Her eyes meet mine with a challenge mixed with a feral type of lust that turns me fucking insane.

The Sleeping Beauty syndrome has released my dick from its clutches and he’s currently upgrading to Hulk status.

Nicole grabs my wrist with both hands and bobs her head up and down, making a show of sucking my damn thumb.

What are the chances of it magically switching places with the other part of my body that’s in dire need of her technique?

“Better stop that if you don’t want to be fucked against the door.” I have the decency to sound casual, almost bored.

Nicole doesn’t take the bait, her eyes continuing to drill holes in my face and communicate something that should’ve been extinguished with the Nazis.

“Have you heard the part where I’ll fuck you, door style, without the exclusive clause?”

She releases my thumb with a pop. “You can’t touch other people anyway. Katerina is probably blabbing about the chlamydia episode to anyone that will listen. So I guess you’re stuck with me.”

“And you’d let me touch you with a supposedly STD dick?”

“You already passed it to me, so it doesn’t matter. Consider it pro bono for old times’ sake.”

“Maybe you’re the one who passed it to me.”

“Says who?”

“My medical report and the condoms I’ve never fucked without.”

“You fucked me without a condom.”

“Slipped my mind.”

“You wouldn’t let an ant slip your mind… Oh my God, you were too rattled by me, weren’t you?”

“Sorry to break it to you, love, but you don’t have a golden pussy.”

“No, it’s better. Made of diamonds, hard enough that they penetrated your steel-like control. Did it hurt?”

“What?”

“Wanting me and denying it?”

“No more than your twisted version of jealousy.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Oh, please. You just strapped an ‘I own you’ on me in front of Katerina and made sure she’ll talk about it.”

“I wouldn’t have had to go this far if you’d just said no other people. So I had to improvise and make it happen on my own. Now, you have no choice.”

I smirk and she stiffens. “Says who? I can always fuck escorts.”

“You…you’d rather pay whores than be exclusive with me?”

“Escorts, and yes. I don’t want to accidentally cut myself on your diamond pussy.”

A tremble overtakes her locked jaw and moisture gathers in her eyes, flooding the green like a deadly hurricane.

“Why?” Her question is a haunted whisper as she closes her hand into a fist and hits me with it across the chest. “Why them and not me?” Hit. “Why is it never me?” Hit. “No matter what I do, you don’t look at me.” Hit. “I’m right in front of you, why can’t you see me?”

Hysteria.

Breakdown.

Meltdown.

I’ve witnessed it in the courtroom when someone reaches their limits and their mind collapses.

When it gets to be too much and the only way out is losing their shit.

I just never thought I’d see Nicole in such a position.

She’s hitting anywhere and everywhere she can reach, her face a mess of snot and tears and sweat.

The worst part is, I don’t think she knows what she’s saying or doing anymore. Her eyes have turned glassy and she seems numb, like that time she begged me not to hurt her while I was fucking her.

“Nicole,” I call calmly, but she might as well be deaf.

I clasp both her wrists in one hand and push her until her back hits the door. “Nicole!”

“No, no, no…” she chants, her eyes staring right through me, and for the second time, I see fear in her gaze.

Raw, pure fear.

I’m about to let her go but think better of it. I’m such a lowlife for taking advantage of her weak moment, and God will probably call up Satan to dig me a lower hole in hell, but if I don’t do this, I’ll never know.

“Please…please…” she begs.

I tighten my hold on her wrists, grabbing her throat with my other hand. “Please what?”

“Don’t hurt me…I didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t mean to what?”

“Be a cock-tease, I didn’t mean to! Please, please…I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

My jaw clenches and my hand trembles with rage. “What’s going to happen now?”

Her glassy eyes turn into a waterfall of tears as she murmurs, “You’ll hurt me…”

I know I’m the one who came up with this fucked-up idea and Satan is taking notes in the corner, but I wish the earth would crack and swallow me into its hell right this moment.

“Who am I?”

Her lips shake and tears stream inside her mouth.

“Who the fuck am I, Nicole?” I roar.

The name she whispers back smashes my world into bloody pieces.