[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl-Chapter 129: Fuck-or-cry

NOAH

The moment Cassian Wolfe stepped behind the podium, the atmospheric pressure in the ballroom seemed to drop.

The low hum of a hundred elite conversations died instantly, replaced by a silence so profound you could hear the faint clinking of silver against china in the far corners of the room.

He stood there, bathed in the harsh, white glare of the spotlight. He looked devastating.

The suit, the faint cuts, the absolute stillness of his posture, it all combined to create an image of terrifying, singular focus.

He didn’t look like a man who had survived an accident; he looked like the architect of his own destiny.

"Good evening," he began. His voice didn’t strain; it simply commanded. It was deep, a low-frequency vibration that seemed to bypass the ears and settle directly in the marrow of my bones.

"Partnerships are built on more than contracts and capital."

He paused, letting the silence settle, exerting a physical gravity over every person in the room. I found myself leaning forward, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I swallowed hard.

"They require trust. Vision. The courage to commit, even when the outcome is uncertain," he continued. His eyes scanned the room, professional and detached, until for a fraction of a second, they landed on me.

The intensity of that gaze was like a physical touch. Suddenly, I felt my nipples harden through the fine silk of my shirt.

I tried to tell myself it was the air conditioning, that the grand hall was simply drafty, but the heat spreading through my chest told a different story.

"Of course, partnerships also require sacrifice," Cassian said, his voice dropping an octave. "Letting go of control. Trusting someone else with what matters most."

The words felt pointed, like a secret message wrapped in the boring prose of a business speech.

He was talking to me. He was telling me that he had let go, and that it was a strategic move, not an emotional one.

Or maybe I was just delusional. Actually delusional was more plausible. I was trying to find any excuse to make myself happy wit the decision Cassian made to fire me.

"Some might call that weakness," he continued, his jaw tightening just enough to make the fading bruise on his skin stand out. "I call it strategy. Knowing when to hold on, and when to let go."

I was trapped. I couldn’t look away, and I certainly couldn’t breathe.

Every detail of him was amplified. I noticed the way the stage lights caught the expensive weave of his black suit, making it look like armor.

I noticed the stark mark of the cut across his eyebrow, a reminder of the violence he moved through.

But most of all, I noticed his dominance. It was raw, masculine energy that didn’t need to shout to be heard.

He commanded every eye in the room by simply existing.

And then, the flashbacks came.

Unbidden and violent, my mind betrayed me. I wasn’t in a ballroom anymore. I was back in the shadows, feeling the heat of his breath against my ear, hearing the filthy, dark things he whispered to me while he held me at the edge of release.

My cheeks flared hot. I reached for my water glass, desperate to cool the fire in my throat, but the memories didn’t stop.

I remembered the sensation of him, the sheer size of him stretching my throat, the primal, addictive taste of desire, and then the warm, sticky fluid of his cum coating the soft flesh of my mouth.

I choked.

A sharp, sudden cough erupted from me mid-sip. Water splattered against my lapels.

The sound cut through Cassian’s speech like a gunshot. He paused, his blue eyes snapping directly to mine, confusion flickering.

Half the room turned to look.

Someone shoot me right now.

Alex immediately leaned over, pressing a linen napkin into my hand. "Are you alright, Noah?" he whispered, his tone concerned.

"Fine," I wheezed, my face burning with a mortification so deep I wanted the marble floor to swallow me whole. "Just... swallowed wrong."

Cassian went back to speaking, his voice unruffled, but I stayed slumped in my seat, staring at my lap, the shame of my own thoughts vibrating through me.

Something shifted in my body then, a heavy, unwanted heat pooling low in my stomach.

No, no, no, I pleaded silently. Not here. Not now.

But my body was a traitor. It didn’t care about the gala, or the investors, or the fact that I was sitting next to Alex Hendrix.

It responded to the sound of Cassian’s voice and the memory of his hands with a terrifying, rhythmic pulse.

I was getting hard. Right here, in the middle of the most important business event of the year.

The shame was staggering. I felt like a teenager who couldn’t control his own biology.

I shifted in my seat, trying to cross my legs, then uncrossing them, trying to adjust myself discreetly beneath the table. The more I panicked, the more the arousal flared, fed by the illicit thrill of the environment.

NO, SERIOUSLY, SOMEONE SHOOT ME RIGHT NOW.

I felt my soul leave my body.

I was pathetic. I was a mess. I couldn’t sit here for another second with my heart racing and my pants tightening.

I leaned toward Alex, my voice a strangled whisper. "I need to use the restroom."

Alex glanced at me, his smile charming and completely dismissive. He didn’t see the panic in my eyes; he just saw a subordinate who couldn’t handle the pressure. "Of course. Take your time."

He patted my back, a casual, indulgent gesture that made me feel like a child.

I stood up, pulling my jacket forward and keeping my hands low to cover the evidence of my shame. I navigated the tables with a stiff, awkward gait, trying to look like a man on a mission rather than a man running from his own skin.

I pushed through the heavy oak doors of the restroom and dove into a stall, locking it with trembling fingers.

I locked the stall door with shaking fingers and immediately pressed my forehead against the cool metal, trying to breathe through the panic. My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat, my ears, my fucking dick. Which, oh god, was still hard. Painfully, humiliatingly hard.

This is fine, I told myself. Totally fine. Just a little adrenaline. Public speaking thing. Fight-or-flight. Classic.

Except it wasn’t fight-or-flight.

It was fuck-or-cry.

And right now my body had very clearly voted fuck.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Do not do this. Do not do this in a public bathroom at a billionaire gala while your ex-boss-slash-ex-dom-slash-ex-everything is giving a speech fifty feet away.

My cock twitched like it was personally offended by the word "no."

Traitor.