#hutao06 Oaths in the Dar

Sophia Clarke stepped out of the elevator at Burj Al Arab, the golden n//eon lights of Marina Bay casting a glow on her sleek black hair tied high, highlighting her blue eyes and a confident smile tinged with tension. At 27, Sophia, a financial analyst from London, had come to Dubai to work for Al-Mansour Group, where billion-dollar deals were sealed. After a failed romance with a colleague in London, she was determined to make her mark, and Dubai, with its lavish business world and high stakes, was the perfect arena to prove herself.

She crossed the hotel lobby, n//eon from the towers illuminating her face. “Sophia Clarke, this is your shot,” she muttered, inhaling the scent of p//erfume and Ar//abic c//offee. “Don’t let some jerk distract you!” She paused at a bar, the aroma of w//hisky making her smile faintly. She snapped a photo of the bay, texting her best friend in London: “Dubai’s like a dream, but I’ve got a bad feeling… Al-Mansour’s no simple game.”

At a temporary office in downtown Dubai, Sophia opened her laptop, heart p//ounding as she read an email from the CFO. She was invited to a private meeting on Damien Wolfe’s yacht, a 35-year-old billionaire known for his c//old demeanor and knack for manipulating real estate markets. But rumors dubbed him the “shadow wolf” for ties to covert criminal activities. Sophia googled him, and an image appeared: dark brown hair, storm-gray eyes, a smug half-smile radiating danger. “Damien Wolfe, huh? Looks like he’d r//ip me ap//art,” she muttered, but her heart raced, a strange sensation stirring.

That evening, aboard a luxurious yacht in Marina Bay, the space shimmered with golden n//eon and jazz music. Sophia, in a fitted red dress that acc//entuated her c//urves, strode in confidently, eyes scanning the crowd of tycoons and politicians. Then she saw him—Damien Wolfe, standing near the railing, black suit hugging his mu//scular frame, exuding an aura of power and mystery. As she approached, he turned, his gray eyes pi//ercing, making her heart skip.

“Damien Wolfe, I’m Sophia Clarke, financial analyst from Al-Mansour,” she said, voice steady, flashing a confident smile. “I’m here to discuss the deal. You’re the investor, right?” She cut to the chase, eyes ch//allenging.

Damien raised a brow, lips curling into a s//ardonic smile. “Miss Clarke, you’re bold,” he said, voice low, s//eductive as a gl//ass of w//hisky. “But Al-Mansour isn’t a playground for rookies. If your numbers aren’t sharp, I won’t invest.” He turned to leave, but Sophia grabbed his arm, unflinching.

“I don’t need you to go easy, Wolfe,” she declared, eyes bl//azing. “But if you miss my talent, you’ll r//egret it.” Damien glanced at her hand, then met her gaze, his gray eyes a fl//ame of i//ce, dangerous and all//uring. Suddenly, a small explosion echoed from the harbor—a rival’s sabotage—pulling them into a t//ense, int//imate moment.

Under the radiant golden n//eon glow of the yacht’s private corridor, Damien pulled Sophia into a secluded hallway, his gray eyes like a st//orm, b//urning with a gentle yet commanding d//esire. “Sophia,” he wh//ispered, voice low, s//eductive as a whisper in the dark, “you’ve no idea who you’ve challenged.” Sophia trembled, her back against the wooden wall, heart p//ounding. “D-Damien… what are you doing?” she asked, voice quivering, but her b//ody leaned toward him, as if hypn//otized by his gaze.

He leaned in, l//ips hovering near hers, his h//ot br//eath grazing her skin. “You’re a dangerous fl//ame, Sophia,” he murmured, then k//issed her, a slow, poss//essive k//iss, as if marking her soul. His t//ongue brushed her l//ips, teasing gently, drawing a soft m//oan that echoed in the confined space. Her hands clutched his suit, fingers trembling, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. “Mmm… Damien… st//op…” she wh//ispered, but her voice faltered, heart racing from his t//ouch.

He pulled back, eyes gl//eaming, his hand brushing her cheek, thumb tracing her lower l//ip, sending sh//ivers through her. “St//op? You don’t want that, Sophia,” he said, voice s//ultry, commanding. His hand slid to her n//eck, grazing her coll//arbone, pausing at the c//urve of her ch//est, not venturing further but enough to make her b//ody b//urn, br//eath quickening. “You… we… the others are out there…” she st//ammered, face flushing, but her eyes were drawn to him, as if bew//itched by n//eon light.

Damien leaned closer, k//issing her n//eck, l//ips gliding over her skin, leaving trails of h//eat. “You’re my f//ire, Sophia,” he wh//ispered, voice a sp//ell, making her m//oan softly, b//ody melting in his arms. He k//issed her earlobe, t//ongue flicking lightly, making her arch, a jolt of el//ectricity coursing through her. “Damien… don’t…” she g//asped, but her hands gripped his shoulders, as if begging him to continue. He chuckled softly, pulling away, eyes tw//inkling. “This is just the first oath, Sophia. You’ll soon be mine.” He stepped back, leaving her flushed, heart p//ounding, b//ody tr//embling from his t//ouch.

Plot Continuation:

The explosion threw the yacht into chaos, and Sophia, with quick reflexes, pulled Damien out of harm’s way, saving him from an assassination attempt by a rival. Damien, surprised by her actions, invited her to a secret nightclub to “thank” her. At the club, steeped in golden n//eon and the scent of ch//ampagne, Damien revealed he needed Sophia to analyze financial data to expose a rival, Marcus Kane, the secret lover of a rival senator’s wife and the mastermind behind the assassination attempt. “You’ve got the brains, Sophia, but you need me to survive,” Damien said, voice low, eyes locking onto hers. Sophia tilted her chin, def//iant. “I don’t need saving, Damien. But if you want to work together, be honest.”

He smirked, stepping closer, gray eyes like fl//ames. “Honest? You want proof?” he wh//ispered, and before she could reply, gunfire from Marcus’s men erupted, pulling them into a fi//ery moment of p//assion in the club’s secluded VIP room, as if Dubai’s n//eon fueled their d//esire.

Under the radiant golden n//eon glow of the nightclub’s secluded VIP room, Damien Wolfe pressed Sophia Clarke against a leather sofa, his gray eyes like i//cy fl//ames, bl//azing with fi//erce d//esire, as if the gunfire outside amplified their cr//aving. “Sophia,” he gr//owled, voice h//usky, s//ultry as a gl//ass of w//hisky, “you saved me, and now, I’ll make you mine.” Sophia trembled, her back against the soft leather, heart p//ounding as if it would sh//atter. “D-Damien… what are you doing? They’re trying to kill us out there!” she cried, voice p//anicked, but her b//ody betrayed her, b//urning like a f//urnace, her s//ensitive ar//ea drenched, ach//ing for his t//ouch with p//ainful intensity.

He smirked, l//ips crashing onto hers, a fer//ocious k//iss, as if to dev//our her soul. His t//ongue plunged in, tangling with hers, s//ucking hard, draining her br//eath, drawing loud m//oans that drowned out the gunfire. Her hands clutched his suit, nails t//earing fabric, leaving red scr//atches on his ch//iseled ch//est. “Mmm… Damien… st//op… st//op…” she p//anted, but her ch//est pressed against his, n//ipples hardening through her red dress, prompting a pr//imal gr//owl, raw and be//astly.

He pulled back, eyes abl//aze, Adam’s apple bobbing. “St//op? Sophia, you’ve set me abl//aze, and I can’t let you escape,” he wh//ispered, voice s//ultry, t//earing her dress, letting it pool at her feet, revealing a red lace bra cradling her full, he//aving ch//est. He swallowed hard, his h//ard mem//ber straining p//ainfully against his trousers, brushing her th//igh, massive and s//earing. “You sh//ine like n//eon, Sophia,” he murmured, hands kne//ading her ch//est, thumbs p//inching her n//ipples through the lace until they stood er//ect, pink as radiant g//ems. Sophia arched, a jolt of el//ectricity surging through her, her p//anties soaked, fl//uids glistening under the n//eon light. “A… ah… you… it’s too much…” she g//asped, nails digging deeper, leaving red w//elts.

He grinned lasc//iviously, yanking her bra down, exposing her petite, pink n//ipples, beckoning him. He latched onto one, s//ucking hard, t//ongue swirling, n//ibbling lightly, while his other hand sq//ueezed her ch//est, kne//ading until Sophia scr//eamed, b//ody melting in ec//stasy, t//ears of pl//easure streaming. “A… a… Damien… I’m… gonna d//ie… it’s too good…” She clutched his head, fingers tangling in his thick dark-brown hair, pulling him closer, t//ears rolling down her cheeks.

He looked up, l//ips glistening, a w//icked smirk spreading. “Too good? I’ll make you mine alone, Sophia, as n//eon belongs to the night,” he gr//owled, t//earing her p//anties, exposing her pink, s//opping s//ensitive ar//ea, p//ulsing like a blooming flower, b//egging to be filled. He knelt, k//issing her inner th//ighs, t//ongue tracing soft skin, leaving w//et trails. He latched onto her s//ensitive ar//ea, s//ucking fiercely, t//ongue plunging deep, l//apping from inside out, as if savoring a masterpiece. Sophia arched, scr//eaming, legs qu//aking violently, fl//uids g//ushing, soaking the leather sofa, pooling beneath her. “A… a… Damien… I… too good… I’m done…” She gripped his head, b//ody taut, hitting her first cl//imax, mind sp//inning like a n//eon whirl.

He didn’t stop, t//ongue delving deeper, s//ucking harder, making Sophia scr//eamed again, b//ody convulsing, fl//uids streaming, soaking his chin. “A… you… I… I can’t take it…” she ch//oked, b//ody arching, hitting her second cl//imax, t//ears streaming, b//ody nearly spent. He stood, unbuckling his belt, revealing a massive, r//ock-hard mem//ber, tip red and glistening, aimed at her like a declaration of poss//ession. Sophia flushed, looking away, heart racing. “You… too fast…” she st//ammered, but he pulled her close, letting her feel his st//eel-hard length.

“Feel it, Sophia? This is our oath,” he gr//owled, k//issing her, t//ongue entwining fiercely. His hand slid down, three fingers plunging into her s//oaked s//ensitive ar//ea, thr//usting fast, thumb r//ubbing her s//ensitive sp//ot, drawing relentless m//oans, fl//uids streaming, soaking his hand. “A… you… I… I need you… now…” she wh//ispered, eyes glazed with d//esire, b//ody trembling, pl//eading to be filled.

He smirked, lifting her onto the sofa, spreading her legs, her w//et, pink s//ensitive ar//ea p//ulsing invitingly. “You’re mine, Sophia, as n//eon belongs to Dubai,” he gr//owled, his tip brushing her ent//rance, making her m//oan and arch. He pushed slowly, filling her inch by inch, until she scr//eamed, “A… you… so deep… I’m… gonna d//ie…” Her b//ody shook violently, fl//uids g//ushing, soaking the leather, the sound of fl//esh sl//apping echoing. He moved, thr//usting fast and deep, each stroke hitting her core, making her m//oan incessantly, b//ody arching, ch//est bouncing, h//ips quivering with each impact. “A… a… Damien… faster… I… can’t take it…” she scr//eamed, t//ears of pl//easure streaming, nails cl//awing the sofa.

He gr//owled, switching positions, standing her up, pressing her against the glass wall, lifting one leg, thr//usting deeper, hands sq//ueezing her ch//est, p//inching her n//ipples, making her arch, hitting her third cl//imax, fl//uids fl//ooding, dr//enching them both. “Sophia, are you l//ost in it?” he rasped, eyes bl//azing. “So good… I’m d//ying… I l//ove you…” she ch//oked, voice breaking, b//ody taut. He switched to a r//iding position, seating her on him, his mem//ber thr//usting up, filling her completely. She b//ounced, ch//est jiggling, h//ips sl//apping his th//ighs, fl//esh sounds echoing, fl//uids g//ushing, soaking them. “A… a… Damien… I… too good…” she scr//eamed, hitting her fourth cl//imax, t//ears streaming. He gr//owled, thr//usting up hard, reaching his peak with her, h//ot fl//uids mingling, dr//enching their skin, the sofa, the floor. He held her tight, k//issing her l//ips, p//anting. “Sophia, I l//ove you, forever.

Sophia adjusted her dress, face flushed, struggling to regain composure. “Damien, that… we lost c//ontrol, didn’t we?” she asked, voice trembling, eyes wary. He stepped closer, gray eyes still sc//orching. “Lost c//ontrol? Sophia, that was the real f//ire between us,” he said, brushing her cheek. She stepped back, heart racing. “Don’t… we need to talk about the deal, not… this!”

Damien chuckled, softening. “Stubborn, I like it. This deal is dangerous, but I need your mind, Sophia. Marcus Kane will do anything to ruin you. I can help, but you must trust me.” Sophia tilted her chin, def//iant. “I don’t need saving, Damien. But if you want to work together, be honest.”

They discussed the deal, and Sophia was surprised by Damien’s sharpness. He proposed analyzing data to expose Marcus’s fraud, but she noticed he kept his distance, eyes occasionally distant, hiding something. When she asked about Marcus, he cut her off: “Don’t dig into my past, Sophia. Focus on the numbers.” She nodded, but resolved to uncover the truth.

The next day, Sophia began working at Al-Mansour’s office, the space pulsing with n//eon and the wh//isper of high-stakes deals. She received a text from a colleague, warning that Marcus was colluding with a rival tycoon to frame her for fraud. Sophia texted Damien: “Marcus is playing dirty. We need to meet.” He replied: “You’re quick. Tonight, Eclipse Club. Don’t let Marcus know.”

At Eclipse Club, golden n//eon lights tw//inkled, Damien seated in a corner, gray eyes scanning her as she entered. “Marcus is a threat, but I have a plan,” he said, voice low. “Stay with me, Sophia, and I’ll keep you safe.” Sophia smirked, eyes ch//allenging. “I don’t need guarantees, Damien. But I’ll work with you, if you’re honest.” He looked at her, eyes sh//immering, as if seeing a new fl//ame. “You make me want to be honest, Sophia,” he wh//ispered, his hand brushing hers, making her heart race.