[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl-Chapter 84: Competition

NOAH

I scrubbed at the marble sink for a full three minutes, convinced that my skin was glowing with the neon sign of just-had-bathroom-jerk off session.

My reflection looked back at me like a startled deer that had just survived a landslide. My lips were a little tender from where it was sucked on and grazed, my hair was a bird’s nest of "Cassian-grip" flyaways, and my chinos felt like they were made of sandpaper against my oversensitized skin.

Worst of all, the plug was still there. It wasn’t going crazy, but it felt heavy... a solid, shameful anchor that made every step I took feel like a deliberate act of treason against my own dignity.

"Compose yourself, Noah," I hissed at the mirror. "You are a professional. You are an assistant. You are... currently leaking into your underwear. Okay, maybe don’t focus on that part."

I straightened my shirt, took a shaky breath, and headed back out into the bright, judgmental Spanish sun.

The grounds of the estate felt ten times larger and more intimidating than they had twenty minutes ago. As I approached the paddock, the group was already gathered under a pristine white canopy. Cassian was standing next to Mateo, looking utterly untouched by our encounter. He looked like he’d spent the last ten minutes meditating on the stock market, not pinning his assistant to a toilet lid.

Alex was the first to spot me. He detached himself from a conversation with a stable hand and jogged over, his riding boots crunching rhythmically on the gravel. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

"There you are! Feeling better?" he asked, his voice dripping with that irritating, golden-boy concern. "I was about to send a search party. Or a doctor."

"Yeah. Much better," I forced out, my smile feeling like it was held up by Scotch tape. "Just... a bit of a dizzy spell. The heat, you know?"

Alex didn’t look convinced. He stepped into my personal space, his eyes narrowing as he scanned my face. I tried to stand still, but the plug shifted as I tightened my muscles, and I had to suppress a shiver that threatened to buckle my knees.

"You’re very flushed, Noah," Alex murmured. He leaned closer, his gaze dropping to the side of my neck. "Is that... a mark?"

My heart did a triple backflip. My hand flew to my neck, covering the skin just below my ear where I’d felt Cassian’s teeth earlier. "It’s nothing! Just... bug bite. Huge bugs in Spain. Massive. Like, prehistoric-sized mosquitoes."

Alex tilted his head, a strange shadow crossing his expression. He didn’t look like he believed the mosquito story, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he reached out and flicked a stray piece of lint off my shoulder. "Well, the games are about to start. Should be interesting. You might want to find a seat, Noah. You look like you’re about to fall over."

As we walked toward the field where the obstacles had been set up, I glanced at Alex sideways. He was humming a low tune, looking incredibly energized. Too energized.

Then I saw it.

Just on the edge of his left nostril, there was a faint, jagged streak of white residue. It was barely visible against his tanned skin, but in the harsh afternoon light, it stood out like a red flag.

"Hey," I said, pointing. "You’ve got something... " I gestured to my own nose.

Alex’s hand moved with lightning speed. He wiped it away in one smooth motion, laughing a bit too loudly. "Oh, that? Must be from the chalk. The riding instructors use it to mark the leather on the reins for better grip. I must have caught a face-full when I was checking Paloma’s gear."

He flashed a brilliant, white-toothed smile. It was a perfect explanation. Rational. Simple. But something about the way his pupils were dilated... even in the bright sun... made the back of my neck prickle.

"Right. Chalk," I muttered. "Makes sense."

I dismissed it. I had enough problems... specifically a black silicone problem currently nestled in my rectum... to worry about Alex’s skincare routine.

Mateo de la Vega stepped into the center of the lawn, clapping his hands to gather our attention.

"Gentlemen! Welcome to the De la Vega Challenge!" he announced with the booming enthusiasm of a man who hasn’t had to worry about a bill since the 1970s. "A tradition for our guests. Three rounds to test the mettle of a true caballeros."

He laid out the rules. First, a timed obstacle course on horseback. Second, skeet shooting. And third, the "Mounted Shoot"... the crown jewel where they’d have to hit targets while in a full gallop.

I retreated to the sidelines, grateful for a high-backed chair under the shade of the canopy. I sat down gingerly, my teeth gritted as the plug settled into a particularly sensitive spot.

Alex went first.

He mounted a chestnut horse with a flair that felt like he was auditioning for a movie. He was good... I had to give him that. He navigated the tight turns and small jumps with the ease of someone who’d spent his summers in the Hamptons. He finished with a flourish, his time flashing on a digital board Mateo had set up.

The crowd... mostly wealthy neighbors and business partners... applauded politely. Alex dismounted and looked directly at Cassian, wiping sweat from his forehead with a smirk. "Let’s see if you can match that, Wolfe. Or is the ’Wolf of Wall Street’ more used to cushioned office chairs than saddles?"

Cassian didn’t even look at him. He didn’t even acknowledge the jab. He simply walked toward a massive, coal-black stallion named Obsidian that looked like it had been forged in the depths of a volcano.

The moment Cassian mounted, the entire atmosphere changed.

He didn’t just sit on the horse; he commanded it. His posture was a straight line of pure power, his hands light but firm on the reins. When the signal started, he didn’t just ride... he flew.

I forgot to breathe. As a spectator, I was supposed to be objective, or at least pretend to be bored. But watching Cassian take a tight corner, his body leaning in perfect synchronization with the horse, was... intoxicating. He cleared the jumps with such height and grace that it looked like the horse was hovering.

He finished ten seconds faster than Alex. Ten seconds is an eternity in a timed heat.

The crowd erupted. Even Mateo was shouting "Bravo!"

I felt a treacherous heat pooling low in my stomach. I shifted in my chair, the plug rubbing against me as I watched Cassian dismount. He looked dangerous. He looked like the kind of man who didn’t just win; he dominated.

Alex, standing near me, muttered under his breath, "Lucky run. The horse is a freak of nature."

I bit my tongue to keep from pointing out that the horse only ran that way because Cassian knew exactly how to handle it.

The tension was thick enough to choke on as we moved to the shooting range. The mechanical launchers were set up to hurl clay discs into the sky at unpredictable intervals.

Alex took his position first. He was focused now, his jaw set. He hit four out of five discs. It was an impressive display of marksmanship. He looked pleased with himself, reloading his shotgun and stepping back.

Then it was Cassian’s turn.

He didn’t do the dramatic shoulder-rolls Alex had done. He didn’t check the wind with a wet finger. He just raised the shotgun, his eyes tracking the horizon with the cold precision of a predator.

Pull!

The disc flew.

Crack. It exploded into a cloud of red dust before it even reached the peak of its arc.

Pull! Crack.

Five for five. He didn’t miss a single one. He didn’t even look like he was trying.

I was mesmerized. There is something profoundly primal about watching a man who is that good at something lethal. I shifted again, my thighs rubbing together, the plug inside me pulsing with a phantom rhythm I could almost hear.

My face was on fire. I was a terrible assistant. I was supposed to be taking notes, and instead, I was wondering what those steady, recoil-dampened hands would feel like back in the hotel room.

Alex’s eyes were darting between the leaderboard and Cassian. The "cockroach" was starting to look a little frantic. The "chalk" on his nose was long gone, but he was twitchy, his foot tapping a rapid beat against the grass.

"Impressive," Alex said, his voice a little too high, a little too tight. "But anyone can hit a disc from a standstill. Let’s make this much more interesting."