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“One night,” he says when he reaches me, his hand closing around mine, firm and cool as he pulls me after him without another word.

He doesn’t look back, doesn’t wait, and I follow, my body moving before my mind can catch up, a silent acceptance of everything that comes with his decision.

We start up the stairs, the lights flickering on beneath each step as he moves, and I stay just behind him, always one step lower, my gaze betraying me as it traces every movement of his body, every shift of muscle beneath his skin.

This isn’t normal, but I don’t care enough to stop.

If he could hear my thoughts right now, I’d never recover.

At the top, he leads me further, up another set of stairs, until we reach a wide hallway with three doors, one on each side and one straight ahead, and of course, he heads for the one in front.

But just before opening it, he stops.

“If you walk through this door, it means you’re agreeing to let me do whatever I want with you, Thalia,” he says, his tone low and firm, giving me one last chance to turn back.

I don’t take it.

Instead, I reach past him and push the door open myself, grabbing the waistband of his pants and pulling him toward me before he can say anything else.

His hand comes up instantly, gripping the back of my neck, protecting me before I hit the half-open door, holding me there with effortless control.

I don’t want words, don’t want time to think, don’t want the possibility of either of us changing our minds.

So I kiss him.

I don’t even know if he wants to—last time, he didn’t kiss me, not once—and for a brief second he stays still, measuring the moment, before his grip tightens and he pulls me closer, his mouth taking mine in a deep, searing kiss that makes the exterior world disappear.

Still kissing me, he moves forward, guiding me backwards with slow steps, our bodies pressed tightly together until we cross the threshold and his arm reaches back to push the door shut with a quiet click.

In the next breath, he spins me around, my back slamming lightly against the solid wood, and his hand comes up to cradle my head, shielding me from the impact.

“You just lost your chance to back out, kitten,” he murmurs, rough, intense.

"Kitten?” I manage, my voice uneven, barely there.

“Mhm…” His lips brush along my throat, his breath hot against my skin. He moves upward, his mouth grazing my ear. “Like a cat with her claws out when she feels threatened,” he says softly, his scent wrapping around me, intoxicating. “But when touched the right way…” his voice drops lower, darker, “she starts to purr in your lap.”

A shiver races down my spine, goosebumps rising across my skin. My whole body hums, pulsating from the inside out. I can’t think, can’t form a single coherent thought—all I want are his hands on me, his mouth against mine, his cock deep inside me.

So I grab a fistful of his hair and pull him back to me, kissing him again, and his response is instant—a low, amused chuckle vibrating against my lips before he deepens the kiss, his tongue tangling with mine in a fierce, relentless battle for control.

My hands stop obeying me, moving on their own. They glide over his chest, his shoulders, down the hard planes of his abdomen, every touch making him tense beneath my fingers until I realize I’m affecting him just as much as he’s affecting me.

Thank God. At least we’re both losing our minds in this madness.

Suddenly, his hands slide under my ass, lifting me effortlessly into his arms, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist while my hands clutch the back of his neck, holding on. The heat of his body presses against mine, his breath warm and uneven against my skin. My heart pounds wildly, desire and anticipation coiling low in my stomach, intensifying with every second.

He moves with me in his arms, still kissing me with a fierce, consuming hunger before placing me down on a hard surface. I don’t know exactly where I am—probably on a dresser in his dressing room—but it doesn’t matter. What matters is the way he owns me completely.

His fingers slip beneath the straps of my dress, tugging them down urgently, and suddenly my breasts are bare in front of him, the air colder against my skin, making me shiver. He doesn’t stop kissing me, his hands roaming to my chest, cupping each breast—first gently, then firmer, teasing the sensitive nipples between pinches and strokes.

Every touch sends need spiraling through me, pulling a helpless arch from my body. I press my legs tighter around him, dragging him closer until there’s no space left between us.

I can feel the hard, unyielding pressure of him through his pants, and the sound of his groan thrums between us, harsh and rough. Sitting like this, my pussy aligns perfectly with his cock, and when he presses himself fully against me, I feel his hardness insistent between my thighs.

A rush of wet heat spreads lower in my belly, a magnetic pull that steals my breath, and that’s all it takes to push me past the point of no return. I start to move my hips instinctively, and he groans deep into my mouth, his teeth grazing mine, the kiss turning rougher, more consuming.

My hands drift lower, gliding over his body, exploring every line and contour beneath my fingers, the warmth of his skin making my breathing hitch. When I reach his trousers, I tug them down, pulling his boxers with them. His cock brushes against my palm—slick, hot—and a sudden wave of panic surges through me.