Corruption Ch. 01

"Thanks for that. I'm sorry for assuming you're a complete douche just because you're a conventionally hot corporate guy."

Ellison laughed as he wet his lips. "Oh, don't — don't fucking switch up on me now. I'm not nice just because I helped you out from being drugged and possibly violated," he said, rolling his eyes with his head tilting slightly as he teased, "But what did I just hear? Uh-oh. Ms. Journalist thinks I'm hot?"

"I also thought you were a douche, so get over it."

"Well, you thought right—on both accounts."

She rolled her eyes at him. "You're such a fucking narcissist!"

They both laugh, looking at each other, only the ever-growing build up of music between the spaces of their silence. She broke it first as she spoke, "You may not be giving yourself enough credit, sir. Wow, I couldn't even hear myself say that. This stuff is strong." Max raised and gestured at her Long Island—a cocktail.

Ellison looked at her slightly flushed cheeks. He doubted it was the alcohol—she was moving way too stably for that. No, no, Ellison bet it was because of how embarrassed she was. He could almost feel the same flush of excitement creeping on his face. The simple, quiet 'sir' was fucking lethal.

Ellison grinned.

"I think I'm giving myself way too much credit by calling myself a douche, honestly," he replied, taking a sip of his red wine.

He wasn't lying when he said that. As a corporate raider, Ellison couldn't count how many businesses or families he's broken. He could feel it weigh on his soul, and he doubted a single speck of him could touch Heaven, the golden-fucking-afterlife.

But he liked the weight. God, he loved that shit. Nothing made him hotter than stomping on life-long dreams, taking everything people ever worked for with a small change. Disrespecting it right in front of them for his own amusement.

You'd think he loved doing that because of unresolved trauma or feelings of inadequacy, but no. He wasn't insecure or anything like that.

It wasn't as if Ellison had an unhappy childhood. In fact, he had everything he could ever ask for. One might even say he was spoiled rotten. He could buy anything he ever wanted, get anything he ever thought of.

At eighteen, he moved out of the house and bought a whole fucking building instead of a single condominium because he felt like it.

That same year, his parents gave him a kick-starter on his inheritance because he impulsively asked them to on a bored Saturday morning. He used the capital to explore his own business ventures, investing in multiple pioneering markets, mostly tech-related. AI-Engineering, Augmented Reality, stuff like that.

Shortly after that, he acquired multiple companies that remarkably function as laundering machines for his family's under-the-table deals. Since he had a head for business, the money stockpiled and has only grown larger and larger under his management. Not that he ever needed it.

Why?

Because he was Ellison-fucking-Bryce, a born and bred Albrecht-Klein. Old-rich wasn't enough to describe him—they had marriage ties with multiple royal families for generations.

AK Group, the modern conglomerate empire his clan's wealth actualized three generations ago, was Ellison's by birthright. With a few personal discreet millions in his account at the age of eight, he was the sole successor to a multi-billion dollar conglomerate, as well as the owner of several antique properties and subsidiaries on the most expensive places in the world.

He for sure didn't lack anything to want to screw lesser people up.

But looking at a man's eyes as you take everything away from him? That meant the world to him. It was like a drug. It fuels his ego. Fueled his fucking cock when he raw-dogged their wives too, that's for sure.

It wasn't personal, of course. The women clung to him, a powerful man, and he simply didn't want to refuse good pussy you could fuck anytime and anywhere. Simple as that. Once he was done with them, he naturally threw them out with a sum. Ellison didn't even bother to learn their names. He had no interest in shallow, backstabbing bitches outside of a little fun after all.

All of these actions were undeniable testaments to who he was as a person. And that person was far from the human concept of "good."

Many people see the world, the dirty money, the corrupt capitalism, and think they don't belong in this godforsaken place.

Ellison could never relate to the sentiment. To him, the world's imperfections and errors were what made it fun. Messy and chaotic. Like a sport where you could die at any moment.

Where people saw errors, he saw flaws he could exploit. Where people saw demolition, he saw space for creation. Of better things, with bigger flaws he could take advantage of. The system wasn't random chaos, they were purposely designed to benefit the elite.

And while the masses only see what they were permitted to see, he was privileged at a very young age to view the world for what it actually is—a playground. An uneven playing field where the strong kill, fuck, and eat casually at the top, while the weak begged for scraps under them.

It was nature at its fucking course, so why deny the pleasure of being on top? Why feel any remorse? If they were capable, they'll eventually stand on his level and cause him trouble. If they couldn't, then that simply meant they fit right there. As another property or product to exploit.

The same way he fits right here on Earth—which people like to call hell anyway so that fits the description.

So to call him a douche, while he's done all that and enjoyed it? That was the fucking equivalence of salvation. In fact, he was way worse than the guy he defended her from.

The journalist, in her current state of idolatry, looked as if she would be hearing none of that, though. Ellison guessed that even if he told her, she'd be wholly unable to imagine what it is he actually does. How morally corrupt it was.

It was understandable. Most people under the system were blind to how it actually works. Not only because people like Ellison find benefit in preventing them to know for sure, but because no matter how many people advocate against capitalism, they were still born and raised in it. Seeing the inequalities between classes came with a sense of normalcy. Even for people like her.

She trusted people way too easily, and that proved her less dangerous to corrupt bastards like him. The brunette was way too naive to be a journalist in that regard. Although it kind of makes sense. Knowing that the world isn't black and white has always been an activists' greatest weakness, he thought.

He had to admit that even amongst them, Max was a rarity. So sweet. So innocent.

God, he would love to corrupt that starry-eyed idealism of hers. Not for the benefit of doing so, but for the fucking high. He could almost feel the thrill creeping on his skin.

He could use a challenge, though. And part of him wanted to show her the ropes of the world she was about to enter. Otherwise, it wouldn't be as fun. There wasn't anything to be broken from trickery after all.

And Ellison loved breaking things.

He leaned closer for her to hear him and spoke, "Listen closely, Ms. Journalist. I'm not part of the whole, 'I'm-a-bad-guy-who's-actually-nice-deep-down' trope you're so desperately craving for. Honestly, I'm way worse than that guy if you get to know me."

"People who admit that are usually good guys," she retorted.

Ellison scoffed at her naiveté, "See, now that's some bullshit. Being aware that you're a fucking asshole doesn't make you less of a one."

"You're right, but it does make you closer to fixing yourself. Isn't that what life is all about—progress?" she argued eloquently.

"Not everyone wants to fix themselves, Max. In their heads, there is nothing to fix. Some people are just horrible for no reason—and they don't care."

"So you're telling me you're one of those people? That you think you're somehow the best version of yourself and that there is nothing about you that you would change?"

Ellison shrugged. "Pretty much." He was a powerful white male. It doesn't get better than that.

She groaned, "Fine. Whatever. You're the living embodiment of the devil, Ellison. You don't deserve to live at all!" He smirked at her exaggerated antics. Max raised her arms and exaggeratedly recited it like a wise, fantasy-based character, which is almost always either an owl or an old man with a white goatee, Ellison realized.

Noticing a group of people looking to pass them by, he held her hands down to prevent her from hitting anyone. "Well, I didn't say that either," he said with a shrug.

She looked at him as if he was being impossible. His hands still holding hers, she questioned, brows furrowed, "Then what are you saying?"

"Get to know me." Ellison then leaned down and lightly kissed the back of her hand before smiling.

Max turned quiet. Feeling movement in her hands, she looked at the cause of the slightly ticklish feeling. Ellison was gently rubbing the surface of her palm with his thumb. Her skin crawled. Not in a bad way. In the just-watched-an-awesome-movie way. Apart from the searing kiss on the back of her hand, the brunette could feel his callused points of his fingers directly on her palm as he stared into her eyes. She didn't know why someone with an office job like him had calluses, but that was the least of her concerns right now.

Her mouth let out a slight breathy moan as her body froze in response. Much unlike the freezing, however, she felt the opposite spectrum of temperature on several parts of her body; particularly her face and stomach. But before she could savor that warmth, he let go and grabbed his cup, drinking from it again.

After a short chorus of trying to recollect herself, Max let out a chuckle while she unconsciously bit the left side of her pretty lower lip; a gesture Ellison fixated on as his pupils grew larger. "You're....good. You're really good. Do you say that to all the women you meet at the club?" she asked him.

"Just the brunettes," he jested. Max laughed before her gaze uncontrollably fixated on his beautiful upturned lips, laughing with her. His pristine teeth. His strong and sharp canines. His tongue, playfully running around under it.

She looked back up at his eyes and realized his eyes were doing the same. The man was surveying her lips with unquestionable hunger—a fact that made her happy despite not wanting to admit it. At least openly.

Truthfully, she's always had this habit of not allowing herself to look flattered with gorgeous men's advances. There's just this innate aversion inside her to compliment them, as though they'll grow cockier by the moment. And she's met enough handsome cocky men.

This man was of the same breed, but her feelings towards him were completely different, although she couldn't pinpoint how or why exactly.

Ellison took out his vaporizer and inhaled, all while she continued staring at him.

When the man realized she was still staring, he offered her the electronic device, mistaking her gaze to be drawn by it.

"You want some?" Ellison asked.

Max shook her hands in refusal. "I don't vape," she answered.

"Oh, this is weed," he explained, as if it were any better.

Max looked at him incredulously.

"What? You haven't done weed? Marijuana? Crack? Joint?" Ellison asked, unbelieving.

"No, and I'm surprised they made a vaporizer form of that."

He took another puff before shrugging, "You'd be surprised with a lot of things that go around here." he remarked.

"Probably. I've never even smoked before."

He peered at her with a playful smirk. "Damn. A goody-two-shoes 'till the end, huh?"

She rolled her eyes but admitted it, "Yeah."

"Try it." He put it down in front of her.

"No, thank you," she refused.

"C'mon," he insisted. "I'm here to help you loosen up, remember?" he added.

"Loosen up could mean multiple things. It's not a euphemism to get fucking high." She gently pushed it back to his side of the marble bar top, blaming Sydney for inserting whatever crap she did on the guy.

He grabbed it back, pausing as he fiddled with it before chiding her, "You're at a club full of people despite not liking people. You're in the middle of a crowd despite not liking crowds. You're talking to an arrogant corporate jerk despite hating corporations. Don't you think tonight is the perfect time and place to try something new?" Ellison tilted his head. She grew silent.

Max thought about it for a minute and nodded. He was right. There were a lot of things she didn't like today, but there were new experiences she didn't regret either.

For example, meeting this man.

He's...definitely an eye opener, that's for sure.

Max sighed. "All right, fine. What the hell. How do I do it?" she asked.

"Here." He slowly placed the device on his mouth and inhaled. A moment later, she felt his lips on hers. Max's mind blanked. She could feel his tongue wandering around as the smoke pervaded her lungs.

Then as suddenly as it came, his mouth left hers.

"Like that," he said.

She blankly looked at him and spoke, "I can get used to that." As soon as she said it, her cheeks started to redden. She didn't know what came over her.

But it was her naked, honest thoughts. She had no shame in what she was feeling. Well, she felt a little shame, but it was understandable. Her attraction to him was undeniable and clearly, he was feeling it too. So maybe she shouldn't be that embarrassed.

They were just two normal (kind of) people, from two different worlds—madly attracted to each other. Like, insanely so.

Disregarding the fact that their jobs are at complete odds with each other.

"Yeah?" he spurred on before licking his lips, tasting her. The sight of him irritated her. And a certain part on her lower body.

"You know I hate men like you, right?"

He nodded. "I'm aware."

"I don't like to talk to men who're too full of themselves, let alone fuck them," she said, inwardly flinching at her coarse language. But she didn't care to change it—a testament to how turned on she was right now.

"Sure." Ellison's lips curled smugly.

"And this is a one-time thing."

He retorted with a chuckle, "Now, don't be so sure." He slowly got up from his seat and moved closer to her.

"Oh, I am."

"Well, you'd be lying." His beautiful lips were now just inches away from her nose.

"I wouldn't be. This... This is just me loosening up."

"Which you'll need a lot of before I could fuck you," he whispered.

She breathed out, standing up to him as her hand slowly snatched the vaporizer between his palm's heavy, yet relenting grip.

Quietly, he only stared at her, observing what she was about to do.

With a heavy breath, Max took it into her mouth and inhaled before slowly brushing her lip against his, kissing him with a mouthful of vapor. Gasping at her tempting audacious act, he kissed her back as they both melted into each other. A few seconds later, she started to feel the smoke gather up between her throat and lungs.

Max coughed uncontrollably, pulling herself away from him. Before she could do exactly that, however, he grabbed the side of her neck gently and held her there.

"Inhale," he instructed softly, trying to help her do it right.

Max obeyed. She hissed, her lungs burning in effect.

"I hate you," she painfully growled in between a mixture of gasps and deep kisses.

"Then fuck me like you mean it," he whispered back, teeth baring at her lips. Suddenly, Ellison wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to his body. She groaned in pleasure at his slight manhandling. He kissed nice, she thought.

That was an understatement. She's probably never met a better kisser. Despite the ferocity, his tongue didn't feel like an invasion. It should have felt like it, yes.

But it didn't.

It was aggressive, but sensible. Offensive, yet inviting. Disrespectful, but somehow worshipping.

And patterned almost as if to incite her deepest, innermost desires.

He moaned into her mouth, "You may hate me, but I'm the type of guy you fuck with a passion."

It was a horrible thing to say, but if that didn't make her want to hate-fuck him more.

Slowly yet surely, they both lost themselves in each other's rhythm. In just a minute of intensity, they were already running out of breath. With each kiss, their motions became much bolder. Max undoing his belt. Ellison's hand slowly traveling waist-down.

A slight pinch on her cheeks woke Max up. From the corner of her eyes, she could see the people around them starting to stare.

"My house is 30 minutes away from here at full speed," she said, frustrated.

He replied, "Too far. We're doing it here." Ellison wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her again.

"No fucking way." She pushed him back.

Ellison was half amused and half offended as he explained, "Well, not here-here, obviously. With this much people watching us? What kind of deviant do you think I am?"

Max realized she misunderstood him and murmured quietly, "Oh. Sorry."

He leaned in her ear and mumbled, "Sorry for what? Being a fucking exhibitionist pervert?"

She pinched him in the waist.

"Ow," he reacted, face contorting. She laughed before talking somewhat faster than she usually does, "So what did you mean? Where can we do it?"

Ellison looked at her—pure need reflected in her eyes.

This girl needs to get fucked good. And he planned on making sure of that.

He leaned in and pecked her ear before whispering, "You ever done it in a bathroom?"

She hasn't. Max never really saw herself as the kind of woman who could do that. Comfort was a big part of who she was sexually. And how comfortable was it to fuck in a public bathroom?

But the alternative was getting in a car and waiting thirty minutes.

That wasn't an option. She was way too worked up for that. So much so that sex in a dirty bathroom seemed a lot more enticing than literally anything else if it included waiting for more than a minute.

So she quipped back, "As you've said, the time and place for something new."

Ellison's lips turned up. He grabbed her wrists and stormed through the crowd. In just under a minute, she could see the bathrooms. Gendered, obviously. She wondered which one they were going to use.

With no pause or hesitation, Ellison barged inside the women's bathroom with her in hand. Thankfully, there were no women inside.

Max looked at him weird. She grew up with three older brothers so she knew a lot about guys. Most of them would've chosen the men's bathroom for a quick fuck. That's how reluctant they were to enter women's spaces. They avoided them like a plague as if it was this forbidden secret ground. And sadly, it was almost always either because of outdated chivalry or just a social no-no.

He shrugged, as if he knew what she was thinking. "What? Women's bathrooms are way cleaner."

She smirked. It was true.

He chuckled, carrying her over the marble sink and leaning against her to kiss again. He was tall enough that he towered over her despite being elevated, a fact she found irresistibly hot. Grabbing her waist, he pulled her closer to his body until her legs could wrap around his waist. Eventually through the blurs of physical touch and proximity, she felt his hands pawing under her clothes, on the crevices of her breasts.

Her body hummed with desire.

Before she could relish in it, murmurs faintly traveled to her ears.

Someone was coming. Her body froze in panic, which was weird considering she was the one allowed to be here. Not this guy she was about to fuck the first few hours after meeting him.

But swiftly in one full sweep, Ellison calmly carried her over to the nearest stall. For a moment, she felt weightless in his arms.