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Naked.
Cuffed and collared.
Huddled on bare knees before the man I suddenly very, very much wanted to kill.
Fuck.
Me.
There was a unique difference between touching and looking.
Both were intimate in different ways.
I’d touched her. Fingered her. Almost been inside her.
Yet seeing her?
Naked.
Kneeling.
Subservient.
Her captured beauty shattered my black-tainted mind.
I couldn’t stop sick fucking possession whipping through me.
Mine.
She’s mine.
The way she kept her legs glued together. The way she cupped her full breasts. The way her honey skin flushed a delectable red as she tried to hide from greedy eyes. She tipped her chin down, blocking her face with a curtain of raven hair.
The hint of a tattoo I’d seen back in the nightclub ran down the length of her spine. Delicate and narrow, it looked like a wand capped with a gemstone. The gemstone cast out flecks of flowers, stars, and raindrops, cascading down her ribs before scattering into nothing.
She was beyond stunning.
Undoubtedly the most gorgeous creature I’d ever seen, and I would never get her out of my head.
Never.
The expensive selection of clothes I’d found in the suite’s wardrobe bit into me with teeth. I felt trapped. Imprisoned. My flesh sizzled beneath the white shirt and black shorts as hunger so violent, so savage blazed through me.
I’d never felt anything like it.
Never buckled beneath the primordial need to thump my chest, tear out the hearts of competition, and claim a girl I’d only just met.
I wanted her more than I’d wanted anything in my godforsaken life.
I wanted to grab the leash that’d been snapped onto her collar, land on my knees behind her, and sink myself so deep, so damn hard inside her, she knew exactly who she belonged to, not just for now, but for fucking always.
“Ah, Henri. There you are.” Victor threw me a grin, his hand twining in the leash binding Ily to him. “I wondered if you’d gotten lost wandering the corridors.”
It took every shred of my control.
Every damn strength as I swallowed back the monstrosity inside me and pasted on an uncaring grin. “I admit I got lost once or twice.” Striding toward him where he sat at a metal table with a half-eaten almond croissant and a forgotten coffee before him, I rested my hands on the back of a spare chair. “You’ve spared no expense in the suites and living quarters, but the corridors remind me of some ancient prison with their oppressive stone, arrow slits, and burning torches.”
Fuck, Ri.
