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“You came here because you were worried Dex might come back, didn’t you?” she whispered as she greedily took in my face, and her lips pulled up. “You wouldn’t have killed me. I see it now. You’re such a fucking kitten, Pussycat.” She ran her fingers down my shoulder, down my arm, until they rested on the back of my hand. “I told you I can take care of myself.”

“Stop calling me Pussycat, Diya. I hate it,” I said, but I had to admit it was growing on me.

“Will you still hate it if I scream that when I come?” she asked, her voice a soft, seductive caress. My skin caught fire from the look in her eyes, sending signals to every pleasure nerve in my body.

One look like that, and I was already fully aroused—so close to coming in my pants again, it was almost tragic. She didn’t even have to touch me.

“Anyone would think I’ve never had sex before,” I muttered.

She laughed, looking delighted.

Glaring at her—this was her fault—I stood up from the couch, moving toward the window.

“Do you think he’ll come again?” I asked, looking through the thick blanket of darkness. I didn’t want to sit here and wait for Declan to make an appearance. No, I wanted other things.

“If he shows up... we’ll know,” she said, slowly scanning me up and down. “The sooner I pay, the quicker the debt will be over.”

“I don’t need convincing,” I said with a grin. “Hey, Diya…”

“Yes?” she whispered, her voice almost docile. But the look in her eyes, one of ravenous hunger and feral intensity… Diya Sharma wasn’t shy or abashed. She was breathtakingly unrestrained, crazy, chaotic, and I loved it.

Every bone in my body burned to possess her, to control her, to make her mine— completely, utterly mine. The thought of anyone else touching her, even looking at her, made me mad with rage.

Fuck Vincent, fuck Declan—they had no claim on her.

I leaned closer, voice low and commanding. “Fold your hands, get on your knees… and start praying, Doc.”

Her eyes narrowed, lips flattening like I’d just told her pineapple belongs on pizza. She didn’t look too pleased by my order.

In that instant, it hit me like a brick to the face—I wasn’t calling the shots here. No. She wasn’t the one being controlled. I was. I was the helpless one.

Fuck. Somehow she had dragged me into this crazy dance, and I was just following her lead, tripping over myself to keep up with this woman.

“What? Did you forget already?” I said with a smile. “I saved your life, and you owe me so many nights of this, and perhaps more.”

She muttered under her breath—a list of things she’d like to do to me and none of them sounded pleasant—and then flicked her hair back with a look that screamed, you should bow before me, peasant.

I would, gladly, but not tonight.

“How about you remove that dress while you’re at it?” I said with a smile.

“How about I remove your cock while I’m at it?” she said, her voice sweet as honey with a hint of venom.

“I’m giving you exactly what you’ve been begging for for so long.”

She whimpered and pulled the dress off, finally giving up, giving in.

I had never seen anything so sexy, so utterly bewitching in my life, or if I had… I couldn’t remember anyone who compared as I stared at Diya Sharma.

She was made by the devil, to lead a man into temptation. There was no forgiveness, no salvation. The only way to get out of this sin was to get into her.

“And that pink little thing too,” I said, motioning to her panties. She shuddered before her fingers went to her already-soaked pussy. She removed it with a long moan.

Oh, I had dreamed of this, dreamed of everything I’d do to her, and I wanted to take my sweet time. I was torturing myself just as much as I was torturing her, but I wanted it to last as long as possible.

“How wet are you? Tell me, Diya?” I asked, caressing her body with my eyes.

“Wet…” she whispered, eyes half-closed.