Fake Date, Real Fate-Chapter 96: Sixty‑Four Floors of Silence

I walked into vantage and cole, trying to keep calm, slicking on some lip gloss and adjusting my neatly pressed blouse. The marble floor shone as I made my way across it.

I spotted him. Luck, apparently, was on my side.

Standing next to the executive elevator looking like it had just been waiting for him to arrive was Adrien.

He was focused on his phone, and his expression was totally blank.

Until his eyes found mine.

And then he smiled — not for the room. For me. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

"Good morning, Miss Miller," he said calmly.

I nodded, trying not to blush. "Good morning, Mr. Walton."

Professional, like we had not whispered each other’ names softly in the dark.

The elevator chimed, and he stepped in first. I followed him inside, and the doors closed, sealing us in silence. The numbers started ticking upwards.

I stood across from him, gripping my bag, eyes fixed on the glowing display.

Ten...

Fifteen...

Twenty...

Then—

"You let your hair down," he said quietly.

"I do that sometimes," I replied, keeping my voice cool.

"I know," he murmured. "I like it."

I stared at the floor numbers again, hoping he didn’t see the blush rising in my cheeks. "Thank you," I said weakly, as my sense of professionalism suddenly felt thin.

"I miss you," he said.

What could I say? "Me too"? Here? What if someone saw us? What if the elevator stopped unexpectedly?.

"You saw me yesterday." I said instead.

"I did," he agreed. "But it’s not enough."

I looked at him and immediately wished I hadn’t.

He stepped closer.

My eyes widened. "Adrien..."

His hand touched mine lightly.

I didn’t pull away.

He stepped forward, until he had me pressed against the mirrored wall. His fingers just brushed along my wrist, then simply traced along the buttons of my blouse — stopping at the top button.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered.

I didn’t.

His hand moved lower, sliding under my blouse and brushing my waist. The elevator hummed, and the numbers kept climbing. Thirty-five. Thirty-six.

His mouth was near my ear. "You’ve been on my mind since yesterday. Every moment."

"Adrien," I breathed.

His hand teased my skirt’s waistband as the elevator kept going.

Forty floors to go.

"You know I locked the elevator," he whispered. "No one’s getting on."

My knees nearly gave out at the thought.

His fingers found me, slow and deliberate. "God," a soft groan slipped from his lip, "you are wet for me."

My breath caught in my throat. The numbers felt impossibly far away. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t respond at all, couldn’t do anything but lean against the cool glass and shiver.

His touch was electric, sending shocks to every nerve ending. The whirr of the machinery faded into the roar in my ears.

"Adrien, we... the elevator..." I squeaked out.

"Plenty of time," he murmured against my skin. "And nobody cares if we’re here, like this."

His fingers moved slowly, exploring, demanding a response my body was too willing to give.

I bit back a moan, hiding my face in his shoulder.

The elevator kept going up.

Sixty-three.

Sixty-four.

"Stay quiet for me, or I’ll stop," he warned.

I didn’t make a sound — couldn’t — but my body shivered under his touch, helpless and obedient. He knew the exact buttons to push, how to make me melt.

I was wrapped around him, hands gripping his shirt, as he continued to touch me in a slow and torturous manner.

The elevator dinged, signaling we reached the top but Adrien didn’t stop or acknowledge it. His focus was on me, my body, on the game of bringing me to an edge and the taking me as low as he could.

I clenched my teeth together, biting my cheek so I wouldn’t make any sounds.

Adrien’s thumb rubbed slowly against my most sensitive place, intentionally. Applying a pressuring, slow move that took the air from my lungs. My body arched into his without my permission, begging for release without voice, while I still kept it in.

Adrien watched my face with darkened, focused eyes, watching the struggle──the surrender──the craving need he was carefully creating.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, collective and delighted── knowing I couldn’t talk, that I couldn’t refuse, not when his fingers were doing such fantastically horrible things.

He leaned down, his breath hot against my ear again. "Good girl," he whispered, like a dark benediction, sending a shiver down my spine. His touch got more intimate - deeper - firmer, and faster.

The cabin was overwhelmingly hot, and nauseatingly small. The mirror behind me showed a reflected image of our bodies ─him tall and authoritative, while I pressed against the glass with my eyes closed, lost in the experience.

I was too close. Too close. Here, now. In the elevator. My legs shook violently, and my core tightened and squeezed around his fingers as I fought against an impending and quiet climax that I fought like hell to stop. I couldn’t. I couldn’t let it happen here. Or like this. I couldn’t do it.

"Almost there, love," he murmured, sounding rough with desire. He wasn’t talking about the floor!

My head fell back on the glass and I tried to suppress the sound bubbling up inside of me, I tried to obey his command and to stay quiet, but the pleasure was too strong. A low moan escaped my lips, and mingled in the small space of the elevator.

Adrien stilled, fingers pausing inside me. "I told you to be quiet," he hissed.

"I’m sorry," I panted. "I couldn’t help it."

He chuckled softly, the sound of it sent chills down my spine. "I know," the words came out in a whisper, before he resumed the slow torture. "But I love hearing you like that."

The elevator dinged again, the doors were about to open. Adrien pulled his hand away, straightened my skirt, and smoothed out my wrinkles as if nothing had happened.

He leaned down and placed a kiss on my forehead. "You are so adorable."

The doors opened into an empty executive suite. He stepped out first, calm and collected, holding the door open for me.

"After you, Miss Miller."

I stared at him, breathless and shaken, not entirely able to process what just happened. My face was flushed, and I was a mess while he looked perfectly fine. How could he be so calm?

"Of course, Mr. Walton," I managed to say, my voice slightly higher than normal.

A few mintues after I sat down at my desk, my phone buzzed with a message from him.

Mr. Walton [8:47 AM]: I can still taste you.And it’s driving me insane knowing I can’t have you right now.I’ll be thinking about that sound you made all day, Miss Miller.

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