She finds her voice, hoarse but steady. “Stop.”
She doesn’t move away, though. She stands still, head tipped back, gaze locked to mine. The smallest moan escapes her lips, unbidden—a sound caught between protest and desire. The hunger in me sharpens, almost painful. The office falls away; there is only her, the quiver in her jaw, the invitation she cannot name.
My hands move with care, exploring the fragile line between terror and want. I tug her closer, feeling the shape of her body under my palm, and in that touch I discover something rare—a hesitation, an untouched innocence that sends shock through me. Her body’s never truly belonged to anyone. Not in this way. Not ever.
It startles me, cuts through lust and command alike. She’s mine, all mine, a treasure left unsullied by the world’s cruelties. For a moment, I feel the urge to ravage, to mark her as mine so thoroughly no one would dare to question it.
I don’t. My discipline wins. I step back, circling her like a wolf around a fawn, letting my eyes drink in her startled, trembling vulnerability.
The rules change. This is no longer about control; it is about possession. About the first taste of something unspoiled, a jewel no other hand has claimed.
I lean close, lips at her ear, voice dark and velvet. “Such innocence, little raven. Do you know what a rare thing you are?”
She tries to look away, but I catch her chin in my hand, forcing her to meet my gaze. My grip is gentle, but it brooks no disobedience. “You hide it so well—your cleverness, your bite. This, no one will ever touch but me.”
Her eyes widen, not with fear, but with something rawer: anticipation, dread, a wanting she can’t voice. She shivers, and I feel it run through both of us.
“You’re mine to take,” I whisper, every syllable weighted with promise, with threat. “No one else will ever have this. Not a man in this world will know you as I will.”
She swallows, lips parted, breath coming quick and shallow. Her hands twist in the fabric of her shirt, but she doesn’t push me away. She doesn’t beg. I can feel her heart racing, the wild animal beat of it echoing in my own chest.
“Are you frightened?” I ask, not unkindly.
Her defiance returns in the set of her jaw. “Should I be?”
My smile is slow, predatory. “Yes, but you’ll learn soon enough—I prize what’s rare. I never share.”
I let the moment hang, charged and trembling. The air between us thickens, electric, waiting for a spark. Her eyes search mine, desperate for some hint of mercy. There is none. Only the promise that what I claim, I keep.
My thumb brushes her lower lip. I savor the way she trembles, how she holds my stare even as she wants to run. That’s what I want. The fight, the yielding, the knowledge thatwhen she finally falls, it will be because she can no longer stand the distance between us.
I step back, finally, allowing her the space to breathe. She shudders, relief and disappointment mingling on her face. The game has changed. She knows it. I know it.
She is my jewel, my captive, my prize. And soon, she will be mine in every way.
I guide her back through the halls, my hand at her elbow. I’m gentle enough that no one watching could accuse me of cruelty, firm enough to remind her who leads.
Sera bristles, snatching glances at every closed door, every turn in the corridor. When she realizes I’m taking her to her room, her protests flare up, all spit and acid.
“I’m not a child,” she snaps, twisting in my grip. “You can’t just lock me away every time I displease you.”
I pause outside her door, keys in hand. “I do what I must to keep order.” My tone is quiet but final. I unlock the door, usher her inside. She turns, defiant, arms crossed, chin lifted.
“You want a prisoner, not a partner,” she hisses. “What’s the point of all this, parading me in front of your men, feeding me like a dog, then locking me up when I try to breathe?”
I consider her for a long moment, weighing what answer to give. She’s trembling, fury and humiliation bleeding together. I close the door behind her, the lock clicking into place with a sound that leaves no room for argument. “You’re not ready to roam free,” I say, and leave her with that, walking away from the storm in her eyes before it can wreck something in me.
The click of the lock is a final note. She shouts something after me, sharp, wounded. I don’t let it touch me. I’ve lived too long in a world where feeling is a luxury I can’t afford.
Back in my office, the screens flicker as the security feed updates, and I lean back in the leather chair, pinching the bridge of my nose. The weight of the night presses down. A knock on the door breaks the silence.
Two raps, measured, cautious. Pavel steps in, closing the door softly behind him. There’s a tension in the way he stands, hands in his pockets, gaze a little too direct.
“Boss.” He nods, waiting for permission to speak.
I wave him in, gesturing to the seat opposite my desk. He sits, but not all the way back—ready to stand, ready to move. Always wary.
“What is it?” I ask, keeping my voice even.
