The implication hits harder than it should.
My grip tightens a fraction. Not anger, restraint. She knows exactly what she’s doing. The satisfied look that crosses her face confirms it.
I don’t look away from her when I speak.
“Jaxon,” I say sharply. “We’ll be right back. Get back to work.”
The order lands heavy in the room.
I release her waist only long enough to catch her hand, my grip firm as I pull her after me toward the bedroom. She stumbles to keep up, breath hitching, the tension between us stretched tight and trembling.
The door shuts behind us with a sharp click.
I lock it.
When I turn, she’s standing in the middle of the room, eyes wide, chest rising and falling too fast. She looks like she’s bracing for impact, and that nearly stops me.
Nearly.
I cross the distance in long, unrestrained strides. There’s no warning this time. No hesitation. My hands find her waist and my mouth crashes down on hers, the kiss fuelled by everything I’ve been holding back, rage, fear, possession, need.
She gasps against me, then melts into it, her hands flying to my neck, fingers tangling in my hair as she pulls me closer, refusing to give me an inch of space. The response is immediate. Feral.
I tighten my hold, tilting her head just enough to deepen the kiss, stealing her breath as thoroughly as she’s stolen mine. A sound slips from her, soft, involuntary, and it hits me straight in the chest, wrecking what little restraint I had left.
Emmy
Oh God.
This man is going to ruin me.
His kiss is raw and relentless, like something feral has been unleashed, dragging me under with a force I don’t fight. I let it take me, let myself be pulled into his gravity, knowing full well I won’t come out unchanged.
Khai walks me backward without breaking eye contact, slow and deliberate, until the door stops me cold. His hands never leave my waist, firm, unyielding, like letting go was never an option to begin with.
He pulls me flush against him, stealing the last inch of space between us before lowering his mouth back to mine.
The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s dark, consuming, a demand disguised as desire. He takes what he wants, biting down on my bottom lip before soothing the sting with a slow sweep of his tongue, the contrast sending heat racing through my veins. My breath catches, but he doesn’t slow, doesn’t soften.
His hands slide beneath the shirt, exploring with shameless confidence, one settling low before squeezing hard enough to make me gasp. The sound seems to please him.
His mouth leaves mine only to claim new territory. Lips drag along my throat, kisses turning rough, teeth grazing, tongue soothing each mark he leaves behind. There’s an edge to it, something almost angry, possessive. These aren’t just kisses.
He’s marking me.
Claiming me all over again.
Before I can think, he spins me around. My palms hit the door, breath leaving me in a rush as his body crowds mine from behind. His hand closes around my hair, tugging just enough to arch my neck, forcing my throat bare for him.
The heat of him presses close, undeniable, and a shiver runs through me.
His lips brush my ear, voice low and dangerous. “You’re mine, Little Heaven.”
The words sink deep, heavy with promise and warning alike. His teeth graze my earlobe, sending sparks down my spine as his other hand slips lower, purposeful, possessive.
Every movement is controlled, unhurried, like he’s savouring the way my body betrays me. A broken sound escapes my lips, and he exhales sharply behind me, restraint fraying.
The shift in him is immediate.
