I tilt my head. Let the knife catch the light once more before I set it down on the desk between us. A peace offering. A promise. “I’m not running anymore.”
His hand slides higher, not demanding—claiming by presence alone. Like the room itself has decided for us.
“Good,” he murmurs.
The word lands heavier than any command he’s ever given me.
He leans in then, forehead brushing mine, voice dropping low enough that the walls won’t remember it. “They’ll fear you now.”
I smile. Slow. Sharp. Certain. “They already do.”
His breath ghosts my mouth. A ghost of a laugh. A sound torn straight from his chest.
“My queen,” he says—not as a title, but a truth.
And this—this—is where the world narrows. Where the desk becomes an altar. Where choosing him stops feeling like surrender and starts feeling like coronation.
I reach for him first. My fingers slide up to his jaw, tracing the line of it, feeling the muscle tense beneath my touch. I pull him toward me, our lips meeting with none of the violence from before. This is different—deliberate, unhurried, like we have allthe time in the world now that blood has been spilled and truth has been laid bare.
"I want you," I whisper against his mouth. "Not because I'm angry. Not because I'm afraid."
His hands move to my waist, lifting me effortlessly onto the desk. Papers scatter. The knife clatters to the floor. None of it matters.
"Tell me why," he murmurs, his eyes never leaving mine as his fingers work at the buttons of my blouse. One by one, they come undone, exposing skin marked from nights before.
"Because you're mine," I say simply. The words feel different on my tongue—not a claim born of possession but of belonging. "And I'm yours."
His breath catches. His hands still for just a moment before continuing their path down my body. "Say it again."
I cradle his face between my palms, making him look at me—really look at me. “I'm yours," I say again, more firmly this time. "By choice, not by contract."
His eyes darken, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of blue remains. His hands slide beneath my skirt, fingers skimming up my thighs with deliberate slowness, leaving trails of heat in their wake. I part my legs wider, inviting him into my space.
"They'll pay," he promises, voice rough with controlled rage. "Every last one who was there that night."
I nod, my hands working at his belt, needing to feel him against me. "Together," I remind him. "We make them pay together."
He lifts me higher on the desk, positioning me exactly where he wants me. Papers crumple beneath me, ink smearing against expensive silk. I don't care. Neither does he. The room smells of blood and smoke and us—the scent of vengeance and desire mingling into something almost sacred.
"Mine to protect," he murmurs, his mouth trailing down my neck. "Mine to avenge."
"Yours," I agree, arching into his touch as his fingers find me wet and ready beneath my underwear. I gasp against his mouth as he circles my entrance, teasing but not entering.
"Do you know how beautiful you looked?" he murmurs, his thumb finding my clit. "Sitting in my chair. Speaking with my voice. Taking what's rightfully yours."
I rock against his hand, desperate for more friction. "I wasn't speaking with your voice," I correct him, my fingers tangling in his hair. "I was speaking with mine."
He smiles against my throat, a predator's smile I can feel against my skin. "Exactly."
In one fluid motion, he tears my underwear away, the delicate fabric giving easily in his hands. I should be outraged at the destruction, but all I feel is heat pooling low in my belly. His fingers return immediately, two sliding inside me without warning.
"Christ," he growls, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. "Already so wet for me."
I gasp as his thumb circles my clit, my hips rising to meet his touch. "For us," I correct him, fumbling with his zipper. "For what we're going to do to them."
His eyes meet mine, dark with understanding. His fingers curl inside me, hitting that perfect spot that makes my vision blur at the edges. I can't look away from his eyes, dark with promise and possession.
"Yes," I breathe, finally freeing him from his trousers. He's already hard, straining against my palm as I wrap my fingers around him. "For every secret they kept. For every lie they told."
