Gone with His Heir: CEO's Mad Chase

Emilia's POV

"Oh God... right there... harder!" I screamed, my hands gripping the headboard. Noah's tongue traced patterns across my chest before he suddenly bit down, maliciously.

"Ah, be gentle..." I winced in pain.

"Shut up. You're too loud," he growled, roughly covering my mouth with his palm. His blue-green eyes reflected only desire, devoid of any tenderness. He thrust forward violently, burying himself deep inside me with a force that made me ache.

"Ah!" My scream was muffled by his hand, yet my legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. This was the only time he needed me, I thought bitterly. Just a body to please him, not even worthy of being called a lover.

"Turn around," he commanded, his tone hard and cold. Before I could respond, he had already flipped me over roughly, positioning me with my back to him.

He couldn't even bear to look at my face? The thought stung, but I was used to this treatment by now.

I bit my lip, fighting back tears as I felt his cold possession. Noah's fingers dug deep into my hips, likely to leave bruises. His movements grew wilder, each thrust making the bed frame protest.

"This is what you like, isn't it?" he whispered in my ear, his voice hoarse and mocking as his hot breath tickled the nape of my neck. "Being fucked roughly by me."

I didn't answer, could only produce broken moans that matched his savage rhythm. I knew perfectly well that he didn't care if I enjoyed it, didn't care who I was. All he wanted was a warm body to satisfy his needs.

After a particularly brutal thrust, I felt pleasure building in waves, shamefully discovering myself approaching climax despite this treatment. "I'm... I'm going to..." I gasped, unable to control my body's response.

"That's it, slut," he whispered maliciously while driving deeper, his fingers digging into my waist. "I knew you'd like this."

I finally released in a series of violent spasms, my body arching as broken moans escaped my lips.

Noah followed shortly after, forcefully pressing into my deepest part, his fingers gripping my waist as he let out a satisfied growl.

After his release, he immediately separated from me, as if my body had suddenly become repulsive. Before my heartbeat could return to normal, Noah had already rolled out of bed, quickly gathering his scattered clothes. Morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, outlining his perfect muscular contours and cold expression.

I sat up slowly, wrapping the silk sheet around myself, my fingers absently playing with its edge. Ask him now. Right now. While he's just satisfied, he might be slightly more approachable...

Taking a deep breath, I gathered my courage and spoke: "Noah, have you ever thought about... what our children might look like?"

His hands froze on his shirt buttons. He turned to me, frowning. "What?"

"I mean... we've been married for three years. Maybe it's time to consider the next step for our family?"

Noah's gaze instantly sharpened as he strode to the bedside, towering over me. "Why are you suddenly bringing this up? Are you pregnant?"

My heart raced, and I quickly denied it. "No! I'm just... thinking about our future."

"Future?" He sneered. "Emilia, we both understand the nature of this marriage. Blake Enterprises needs the Harkins family's political connections, and your father wanted access to our financial circles. That's all there is to it."

"But that doesn't mean we can't have a real family," I persisted, my voice trembling. "It's been three years, Noah. We could at least try to make this relationship... more genuine."

Noah's expression turned cold. "Listen, the company is expanding into the European market. I don't have time to deal with children. Understand?"

"But what if something unexpected happens?" I pressed, unable to hide the urgency in my voice.

His gaze turned dangerous as he stepped closer, his fingers gripping my chin. "Then take care of it." His voice was ice-cold. "Our marriage is a business arrangement, not some damn love story. If you want sentimentality, go read those stupid romance novels of yours."

His words tore at my heart. I forced a smile, fighting back tears. "Of course, I completely understand. Just curious, that's all."

Noah studied me for a few seconds, then made a dismissive sound and released my chin, leaving a faint red mark that throbbed with pain. He turned and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

The moment the water started running, I finally let my tears fall. This was my life—as the Harkins family heiress, I had married financial mogul Noah Blake three years ago. A carefully arranged alliance with no love, only interests. I had naively thought time would change something, but clearly, I was wrong.

With trembling hands, I touched my still-flat stomach. Three weeks. Three weeks since that rare night when Noah had been drunk and, unusually, hadn't used protection. That night had given me a secret, a gift I dared not tell him about.

He would never want this child, but it might be the only thing I could truly call my own.

After Noah left, I sat by the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, gazing at the Lincoln City skyline. Outside, the sky hung low and dark, heavy clouds pressing down on the tops of skyscrapers, threatening to pour down at any moment.

My phone vibrated, interrupting my thoughts. It was a message from my father:

"Come home immediately. Important family matter requires your presence. No delays."

I frowned, feeling a twinge of unease. Jonathan Harkins had never been a gentle father, but the tone of this message was colder and more commanding than usual. Typically, he would at least indicate what "family matter" it was, or have his secretary arrange a specific time. This direct command was unusual.

Another message came through: "Everyone is waiting for you. Come at once."

My unease intensified. Everyone? This meant my mother was there too, and possibly other core members of the family. The Harkins family rarely had gatherings with all members present, except for extremely important decisions or crises.

What could have happened?