CEO loves me with all his soul.-Chapter 117. Wryn Hudel

The bassline was a heartbeat inside a cracked ribcage—loud, uneven, desperate. The air hung thick with sweat, perfume, and cigarette smoke, curling like a lazy ghost through the dim, colored lights. At the back of the club, half-swallowed by shadows and synthetic fog, Wryn Hudel was laughing too loudly, a glass of amber poison in his hand, another bottle already halfway gone at his feet.

He leaned against a booth, surrounded by men with sharp jaws and dead eyes, a pack of wolves without a leader. One of them snorted a line off a phone screen. Another was halfway into a girl’s neck like he thought he could drink her. Wryn was louder than all of them, his voice breaking through the music like a blade through silk.

"She thinks she’s a fucking queen just because she wears a skirt and carries a tray," Wryn slurred, flinging his wrist in the direction of the bar. The waitress—barely older than twenty—was working through a tray of glowing cocktails, jaw clenched like it might shatter. "Bet she’d moan like a bitch if I paid her enough. Or just cornered her right."

The table howled with laughter. The girl didn’t look up, but her grip tightened around the tray.

Not far off, in a corner booth that looked half-private but saw everything, three men sat nursing their drinks. Their table was silent. Watching.

Adrian leaned forward, his silver eyes locked on Wryn’s every movement. His long black hair was loose tonight, brushing his sharp jawline, casting elegant shadows across his pale skin. His glass was untouched.

Ethan sat beside him, tall and still, a perfectly sculpted weapon of a man in civilian disguise. Black eyes, black hair, fitted in a shirt that strained subtly across his broad shoulders. He looked like he belonged in a war zone, not a club, but no one dared look at him too long. His hand rested over Adrian’s on the table—casual, possessive.

Across from them, Augustin swirled his drink. His brown hair was neat, but his honey-colored eyes were sharp, watching Wryn the way a hunter watches for movement in tall grass. His white shirt was crisp, open at the collar, gentlemanly, his posture clean. No one who didn’t know better would have seen the coiled violence behind his ease.

"I don’t like the way he talks," Adrian murmured. His voice was low, barely carrying over the music.

"I don’t like the way he exists," Ethan replied, his tone flat, husky, final.

"You think he’s connected?" Augustin asked, tilting his glass slightly.

Adrian nodded, jaw tight. "Too many coincidences. He was there the night that leak happened. And now he’s here. Saying too much. Drinking too loud."

Wryn slammed another drink. "You see that bitch walkin’? The blonde. I’d pay to see her crawl."

Augustin stood slowly, setting his drink down.

"Where are you going?" Ethan asked without looking at him.

"Bathroom," Augustin replied. "Unless one of you would prefer to stand guard while I take a piss?"

Ethan gave a barely perceptible nod. Augustin slipped away, gliding through the crowd with the same clean grace as a knife being drawn.

The hallway to the restroom was dim, lit with flickering neon and layered with graffiti like the inside of a teenage mind. Augustin stepped into the men’s room—cold light, cracked mirrors, the stench of vodka, bleach, and bad decisions.

He had just locked the stall when he heard the door creak behind him. Footsteps. Another man entered, then stopped.

"You alone, sweetheart?"

Augustin froze for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. His voice came back level. "Does it look like I brought company?"

A laugh. The man sounded drunk. Or high. Or worse.

"Didn’t mean to startle you. Just saw you from across the club. You look like you’d be soft to the touch."

There was a sound. Fabric shifting. A belt unbuckling.

"Don’t," Augustin said sharply.

The man didn’t listen. He moved closer, shoes squeaking on the sticky floor. "Come on, pretty boy. Don’t pretend like you don’t know what you’re made for. I can show you a real good time—"

Augustin stepped out of the stall and slammed the door behind him.

The stranger had a predatory grin, halfway into undoing his jeans. That grin didn’t last long.

Augustin’s fist met his jaw with a sound like a baseball bat meeting wet clay. The man went sideways, slamming into the sink, smearing blood on the ceramic. He didn’t even have time to scream before Augustin drove a knee into his gut, doubling him over.

"You’re disgusting," Augustin hissed, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him into the wall. The man coughed, blood leaking from his lips.

"You don’t fucking touch me. You don’t look at me. You think because I’m clean and well-dressed, I’m prey? You think because I don’t wear violence on my skin that I won’t put you in the hospital?"

The man groaned something incoherent. Augustin punched him again. This time teeth went skittering across the tile.

He dropped the man like trash, breathing hard. Adjusted his collar. Checked his knuckles. One was bleeding.

From behind him, a slow clap.

Augustin turned fast, heart jumping.

It was Ethan. novelbuddy-cσ๓

"How long were you standing there?"

"Long enough to see your form’s still perfect," Ethan said, stepping inside. "And long enough to confirm my suspicions about your ’retired mafia prince’ status being wildly exaggerated."

"I’m not retired," Augustin said, straightening his sleeves. "Just... redirecting."

Ethan stepped over the unconscious man, crouched, and checked for a pulse. "He’ll live. Unfortunately."

"You want me to make sure he doesn’t?" Augustin asked dryly.

"No. We have more important things to deal with." Ethan stood again, looming in the small space like judgment. "Wryn’s heating up. Adrian says he’s going to move soon. I need you steady. You good?"

Augustin nodded, expression carved from ice.

"I don’t like this club," he muttered. "Too much noise. Not enough structure. It’s chaos wearing cologne."

"That’s exactly why Wryn’s here," Ethan said. "Chaos is a good cover for rats."

They left the man bleeding and gasping on the bathroom floor.

Back in the club, Wryn had ditched his drink for something harder. Powder. Pills. He was flushed, his pupils wide and glassy, laughter turning into shouting. The waitress had vanished, either by luck or self-preservation.

Adrian was already on his feet when Ethan and Augustin returned.

"He’s going to make a scene," Adrian said. "And I think he wants to."

Wryn stood suddenly, knocking his chair back. "Hey! Hey, you fucks!"

He pointed toward the bar, but his finger wavered. "You see this place? You all think it’s safe? You think it’s yours? It’s already bought, you little shits. You’re already fucked."

Ethan’s hand brushed Adrian’s arm. "Stay back."

Adrian didn’t argue. For once.

Wryn was laughing now, spinning in place, high as a satellite.

"You think the government’s gonna save you? The cops? The feds? They already sold you out. Everyone has a price—"

A glass shattered behind him. People started to move. Phones came out.

Wryn kept talking, louder, less coherent. "You think you’re safe? You think your husbands can protect you? I know who you are—"

Ethan was already moving.

In seconds, he was across the floor, his hand on Wryn’s collar, slamming him back into the velvet booth like a puppet with cut strings.

"Say my husband’s name again," Ethan said, voice low, dangerous. "Say it with your last breath."

Wryn gasped, blinking. "I’m not scared of you. You think you’re untouchable?"

Augustin was beside them now, voice cool. "You’re not the first rat we’ve dragged out of a sewer."

"You have no idea what’s coming," Wryn hissed. "You’re all already dead."

Ethan tightened his grip.

"Then die quietly," he whispered.

--

The elevator doors closed with a soft hiss, and the club vanished behind steel and silence.

Adrian leaned against the polished wall, his shoulders rigid. His eyes were on the floor. Ethan stood beside him, hands in his pockets, radiating quiet, crackling intensity. Neither of them spoke, but the air between them had changed.

It always did after danger—like it opened some private door.

Ethan’s voice broke the silence, low and close to Adrian’s ear. "You handled yourself well tonight."

Adrian swallowed, still not looking at him. "I just watched."

"You didn’t flinch when I nearly broke Wryn’s nose."

"I wanted you to."

Ethan’s hand brushed against Adrian’s. A deliberate touch. Their fingers grazed. Adrian’s breath hitched.

The elevator dinged.

Room 1508. Augustin’s was 1507.

As they reached their door, Augustin gave them a brief, unreadable glance before unlocking his own and vanishing without a word. The click of his door was the final note in the night’s tension.

Inside 1508, Ethan locked the door behind them. Adrian exhaled—slow, shaky.

The suite was all soft lamps and open curtains, letting city lights spill over hardwood floors. Ethan stepped up behind him and rested his hands on Adrian’s hips.

"You’ve been quiet," he murmured.

"I’m tired," Adrian said.

"You’re trembling."

Adrian flinched as Ethan leaned down, his lips ghosting over the curve of Adrian’s ear. "Is it fear?" he whispered. "Or something else?"

Adrian didn’t answer. His long black hair was half-falling down his shoulders, catching the room’s golden light like silk. His skin, pale and almost glowing, seemed fragile under Ethan’s calloused hands.

Ethan turned him gently to face him. "You don’t have to hide from me."

Adrian looked up. Silver eyes met black. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out—just a soft breath.

Then Ethan kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was possession laced with hunger. Adrian melted against him, his slender frame yielding to Ethan’s broader one. Ethan’s hand slid up his back, gripping his nape, holding him there, like he’d die if they broke contact. Adrian’s knees weakened, and Ethan pressed him against the wall without breaking the kiss.

"Ethan," Adrian whispered when their lips finally parted, his voice shaking. "We shouldn’t—"

"Don’t say that," Ethan said, brushing his thumb across Adrian’s bottom lip. "You want this. I can feel it."

Adrian’s cheeks burned red. He looked away. "I—It’s not fair to make me say it."

"You don’t have to," Ethan murmured. He leaned down again, lips brushing Adrian’s jaw. "Your body’s saying everything."

His fingers found the buttons of Adrian’s shirt. "Let me."

Adrian hesitated only a second—then nodded, barely.

Ethan didn’t waste time.

He undid the shirt slowly, deliberately, dragging fabric away from pale skin. He took his time with each button like each one was a promise. When the shirt finally fell to the floor, Adrian crossed his arms, suddenly shy.

"You’re staring."

"I should stare," Ethan growled. "You look like something sculpted to break a man."

Adrian’s blush deepened.

Ethan’s hands slid to his waist, pulling him close again, their chests touching now. "So pretty," Ethan whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of his throat. "So quiet. Like you want to be devoured but don’t know how to ask."

Adrian’s breath caught as Ethan’s tongue tasted the skin below his ear.

"You make me crazy, you know that?" Ethan said, lips trailing down his collarbone. "Every time you lower your eyes and bite your lip, I want to ruin you."

Adrian shuddered.

He reached for Ethan’s shirt, fingers fumbling at the hem. Ethan helped him, pulling it over his head in one motion. His body was every inch what Adrian had always admired in silence—broad shoulders, perfect definition, masculine strength without arrogance. Adrian touched him like a secret, fingers light over his chest, his ribs.

Ethan caught his hand. Brought it to his lips. Kissed each fingertip.

"I want you on that bed," Ethan said, voice a low growl.

As he said he picked him up and gently laid him on the bed.

He lay down, his black hair fanning across the white pillows, his long legs tucked slightly like he was unsure how to pose. Ethan followed, kneeling over him, a predator taking his time.

"Ethan," Adrian breathed. "Be gentle."

"I’ll be slow," Ethan promised. "But not gentle. Not tonight."

He kissed Adrian again, slower this time, tasting him, savoring him.

"You’re mine," Ethan whispered against his lips. "All of you."

Adrian trembled beneath him. "I know."

And he smiled, just barely—because finally, he didn’t have to hide what he wanted anymore.

Adrian flushed, his fingers curling into the sheets. "Ethan..."

Ethan leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth, then the hollow of his throat, then lower. "I want to taste every part of you," he whispered against his skin. "And I want you loud tonight."

Adrian’s breath hitched.

Ethan’s hands were already moving — slow, possessive, unbuttoning Adrian’s pants, dragging them down along with the last of his restraint. Adrian let out a soft gasp as cool air kissed his bare skin, but his legs parted instinctively when Ethan pressed between them.

"You always try to hide how much you want this," Ethan whispered, kissing along the inside of his thigh. "But I feel it, every time I touch you."

He licked a slow line up, deliberately avoiding where Adrian ached the most. "So sensitive. It’s beautiful, the way you fall apart."

"Ethan... please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" Ethan murmured, eyes dark and locked on Adrian’s. "Say it."

Adrian’s voice trembled. "Please... touch me."

Ethan grinned — hungry and dangerous. "Oh, I will. I’ll do more than that."

He leaned in and finally wrapped his mouth around him, and Adrian cried out — head thrown back, hips bucking instinctively. Ethan held his hips down with firm hands, teasing slowly, lips and tongue merciless, rhythm maddeningly steady.

Adrian’s moans filled the room, soft and high, shame mixing with pleasure until he couldn’t tell them apart. His fingers found Ethan’s hair, twisting, pulling.

"Ethan—I can’t—if you keep—"

Ethan pulled away just in time, lips glistening, a wicked smile on his face. "Not yet. I want to feel you come apart around me."

He shed the last of his own clothes and climbed over Adrian again, their bare bodies aligning with feverish heat. Adrian’s breath stuttered as Ethan kissed him — deep, possessive — and reached between them.

"You ready for me, love?" Ethan whispered, his voice pure sin.

Adrian nodded, eyes wide, lips parted. "Yes. Please..."

Ethan guided himself in slowly, inch by inch, watching every expression cross Adrian’s face — the stretch, the heat, the way his mouth fell open in a silent cry.

"Good boy," Ethan growled, fully sheathed inside him. "You take me so well."

Adrian clung to him, legs wrapped around Ethan’s waist, breath coming in broken gasps.

Ethan started to move.

Slow, grinding thrusts at first, pulling out almost entirely before sliding back in with a deep groan. Adrian moaned — breathless, overwhelmed, lost in the rhythm Ethan set. His nails scratched at Ethan’s back, legs tightening.

"You feel that?" Ethan whispered in his ear. "How deep I am inside you? I was made for this. You were made for this."

Adrian whimpered. "Ethan—it’s too much—"

"No," Ethan growled, thrusting deeper. "It’s never too much. You can take it. You love it."

Adrian moaned louder now, the pressure building into something unbearable.

Ethan’s hand slipped between them, stroking him in time with his thrusts, and Adrian shattered.

He cried out Ethan’s name, body spasming, stars behind his eyes as waves of heat crashed over him. Ethan groaned, watching his husband unravel — and then followed, burying himself deep with a hoarse moan and shuddering release.

They collapsed together, tangled in sweat and sighs, chest to chest, heart to heart.

Adrian trembled beneath him, boneless and dazed, silver eyes half-lidded, lips kiss-bitten and swollen.

Ethan didn’t move right away.

He pressed gentle kisses along Adrian’s temple, his cheek, his throat.

"You’re perfect," he murmured against his skin. "Mine. Always."

Adrian let out a soft, contented sound. "Yours," he whispered.

"Say it again."

Adrian smiled sleepily. "I’m yours. In every way."

And Ethan held him close, arms around him like armor, as the city burned its lights far below.

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