Still nothing.
But her eyes gave her away.
That hesitation. That storm brewing just beneath the surface. She didn’t want to admit it—not to me, not to herself—but some part of her had already made the choice.
And it brought her to me.
Here.
Now.
Mine.
I tightened my grip on her wrist—not enough to trap her. Just enough to remind her.
She wasn’t caged.
She chose to stay.
That fire in her still danced just out of reach, taunting me. Daring me.
And suddenly I needed to know—how far could I push her? How much could I bend before she shattered?
And what would it look like… if she shattered for me?
I let my fingers trace the edge of the choker wrapped around her throat.
The leather was soft, but her skin—fuck, her skin was softer. Warm. Alive. And that silver H? My mark, gleaming against her pulse like a crown.
She flinched. Barely.
But her breath hitched.
And that—that was what I wanted. Not fear. Not resistance.
Reaction.
Her pulse thrummed beneath my touch, defiant and delicious. A heartbeat begging to be claimed. I dragged my fingers down slowly, savoring the tension winding tight in her body like a coil ready to snap.
“Beautiful,” I murmured. Not a compliment. A truth.
She didn’t realize what that pulse meant to me. Power. Life.
Control.
And I was already halfway to owning all of it.
I released her wrist, slow and deliberate. A mercy. Or maybe a test.
“You can go now,” I said, voice flat. Masked. Like I wasn’t already memorizing the way her throat moved when she swallowed.
I met her gaze. Let her see what waited in me, if she wanted it. A storm held back by threadbare restraint. And still… she held her ground.
I wanted to ruin her.
She was standing there like a battlefield dressed in silk. Anger in her spine, confusion in her eyes. Everything about her screamed don’t touch me and yet begged don’t stop.
The air crackled between us—electric and heavy with everything we hadn’t said. She didn’t understand what this was becoming.
