We keep dancing, bodies sliding into each other with heat and promise. His thumb strokes slow circles against my side, and my pulse stumbles every time he pulls me closer. The magicin the room thickens—cinnamon, smoke, warmth—wrapping around us like a spell.
I don’t know how long we dance like that, the two of us grinding against each other with careful precision. It’s only when Slade pulls me from the dance floor and toward the front door that I realize I’ve never felt this alive.
When we finally step outside, snow is falling again in slow and quiet little flakes. Slade wraps an arm around me, pulling me against him as we walk through the near-empty street. The world somehow feels warmer next to him—less dangerous, more possible.
The snow catches in my curls. Slade brushes a thumb across my cheek, everything about him soft, intense, and unbearably mine.
“Piper,” he murmurs, voice rough with something deeper than desire. “Let’s go home.”
There’s no hesitation. No fear. Just heat, certainty, and the bond humming between us.
I take his hand. And we walk the rest of the way home.
I don’t release his hand until we’re inside my apartment and the lock has clicked shut behind us. The air is cold from the snow outside, but the heat Slade generates is immediate and overwhelming.
I turn, ready to be kissed, ready to be taken, but he simply leans back against the closed door, his dark green eyes heavy with a patience that feels like a threat.
“That dance was a declaration,” he states, his voice low. “Now, I take the payment.”
He doesn’t move. He waits. For me to cross the floor, for me to submit to the inevitable. The challenge hums in the air between us.
I walk to him, slow and deliberate, shedding my coat onto the floor as I go. My blue eyes don’t leave his. When I reach him, I place my hands flat on his chest, feeling the steady, powerful thrum of his heart.
He still doesn't touch me, letting me feel the weight of my own desire, my own need to be dominated.
“Do you know what you’re doing, Piper?” he asks, his fingers hooking lightly under my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“I’m giving you control,” I whisper, my voice catching.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and the praise is a coil tightening low in my belly.
This time, he kisses me like he’s starving—a kiss of deep possession that sweeps away the cold and the noise and the magic of the nightclub. His hands finally settle on my waist, not to hold me, but to lift me, slamming me against the door with a controlled force that makes my teeth click.
I wrap my legs instantly around his waist. He pushes my skirt up, bunching the fabric at my hips, his fingers finding the edge of my silk underwear.
“Mine,” he growls against my throat, the word a deep, guttural sound that vibrates through my bones.
He doesn’t waste time. His fingers slide beneath the silk, slick and demanding, and the sudden, intense pressure sends a bolt of desire straight through me. I gasp, arching my back, pressing my mouth frantically to his jawline.
He releases my mouth and lowers his head, his teeth scraping lightly over the sensitive curve of my collarbone, establishing his claim with a lingering, biting intensity. His hand moves, finding the perfect, unrelenting rhythm to drive me wild.
“Look at me,” he commands, pulling his face back just enough for me to see the darkness in his eyes. “Tell me what you need, little witch.”
“You,” I choke out, unable to form anything coherent. “Now.”
He laughs—a low, dark sound of triumph. “Now is my command.”
He frees himself, his length hot and heavy against my core. He positions me, making me feel every heavy inch of him, and then he drives home in one single, punishing thrust. My head falls back against the wood of the door, and the impact rattles my teeth, but the shock is immediately replaced by agonizing, beautiful pleasure.
He moves with a furious, controlled rhythm, pinning me against the door, my feet dangling, dependent entirely on his strength. He takes me high and hard, dominating the space between us. Dominating every action, demanding every single sound and tremor from my body. I clutch his black hair, pulling him closer, begging without words for him to speed up, to take me past the edge.
He stops abruptly, pulling back halfway, breathing hard.
“Say it,” he orders, his voice raw.
“Please," I beg, frantically, my hips twitching.
“No,” he shakes his head, watching the desperate plea in my blue eyes. “The other one’s.”
