We stare at each other across my small kitchen, and I feel that same electric tension that's been building between us since the night in his bathroom.
"You called me yours," I say, the words coming out before I can stop them.
His expression shifts, becomes more intense. "I did."
"What did you mean by that?"
"What do you think I meant?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with possibility and danger and something that makes my pulse race.
"I think," I say carefully, "that you were claiming me publicly. In front of those men."
"And how do you feel about that?"
The honest answer is that it thrilled me in a way I didn't expect. The possessive way he said it, the absolute authority inhis voice, the way those dangerous men backed down because I belonged to him—all of it sent heat spiraling through me that had nothing to do with fear.
"I should probably be offended," I say. "I should tell you that I don't belong to anyone, that I'm an independent woman who can take care of herself."
"But?"
"I'm not offended."
He takes a step closer, and I can smell his cologne, can see the way his eyes have darkened.
"What are you, then?"
"Grateful. Protected. And..." I take a breath, gathering courage. "Absolutely turned on."
The admission hangs in the air between us for a heartbeat before he moves. He crosses the space between us in two quick strides, backing me up against the kitchen counter. His hands slam down on either side of me, caging me in, and he's looking down at me with an intensity that makes my whole body tighten with anticipation.
"Madison." My name is a growl on his lips.
"Yes?"
"If I touch you right now, I'm not going to stop. Not until I've claimed every inch of you. Until everyone in this village knows exactly who you belong to."
The raw possession in his voice makes me burn. "Maybe that's exactly what I want."
His eyes darken to almost jet black. "Careful what you ask for. I'm not a gentle man."
"I don't want gentle," I breathe. "I want you the way you are."
He studies my face for one more heartbeat, then his control snaps. His mouth crashes down on mine, hungry and demanding. This isn't a kiss—it's a claiming. His tongue invades my mouth while his hands tangle in my hair, pulling just hard enough to make me gasp. He swallows the sound, angling my head exactly where he wants it, taking complete control.
One hand slides down to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there possessively while he devours my mouth. The gesture of the implied power, the careful restraint, makes me moan against his lips.
"Upstairs," he commands against my mouth. "Now."
He doesn't wait for me to move. Instead, he lifts me easily. I can feel how much he wants me, his cock hard and insistent against me, and I rock against him, making him growl.
"Careful," he warns, carrying me toward the stairs. "Or I'll take you right here against the wall."
"Maybe I'd like that."
He stops walking, pressing me back against the wall at the base of the stairs, grinding against me in a way that makes me cry out.
"You don't know what you're playing with, little American," he says roughly, his accent thicker now. "I've wanted to do this since the moment you walked into my office. Wanted to bend you over my desk and show you exactly what kind of business partnership this would be."
