Ava couldn't look at herself in the mirror the next morning. Not because she felt dirty—but because she felt branded.
Kai hadn't just touched her. He'd claimed her. Silently. Completely.
Her lips were still swollen from the way he kissed her. Her thighs ached. Her mind replayed everything, every second, and her body kept reacting as if it were happening all over again.
She showed up to the office in a cream silk blouse and high-waisted pants—powerful, polished, and untouchable.
But the moment she stepped off the elevator, Kai was already there.
He didn't speak. Just looked at her. Then walked past.
The burn of his gaze on her back lingered.
She entered her office. Closed the door. Tried to breathe.
Ten minutes later, a knock.
She opened it.
Lucien.
In her workplace.
Her heart slammed into her ribs. "You shouldn't be here."
"You didn't answer my message."
"There's a reason."
He stepped inside before she could stop him. His cologne filled the room—cool, clean, a sharp contrast to the heat that clung to her skin.
"He left bruises on your neck," Lucien said softly. "You think that's love?"
"And you think showing up here makes you better?"
"No," he said, voice low. "I think it makes me brave."
Before she could argue, the door opened again.
Kai.
His eyes locked on Lucien. Then drifted to Ava. Then to where Lucien's hand rested too casually on her desk.
"Out."
Lucien smiled slowly. "Afraid I'll remind her what real men feel like?"
Kai didn't flinch.
He simply stepped closer, and the air went dark.
"You're alive because she asked. Don't make her regret it."
Lucien's jaw tightened. But he backed off.
"Enjoy your obsession, Kai. But know this—lust fades."
Kai waited until the door shut behind him.
Then turned to her.
"Do you want him?"
"No."
"Do you want anyone else but me?"
She shook her head.
He walked to her. Pulled her close.
"Then say it."
"I want you."
He kissed her. Rough. Quick. Like a stamp of ownership.
Then whispered in her ear:
"Tonight. My place. I'll mark you where no one else can see."
Her knees went weak.
That night, Kai didn't just take her. He owned every part of her.
He started by slowly undressing her—unzipping her dress with aching patience, letting the fabric fall like a whisper to the floor. He stepped back, looking at her like she was art. His hands were reverent at first, stroking her skin, tracing the lines of her collarbone, her waist, her thighs.
Then his mouth followed.
He kissed her neck, bit gently at her shoulder, then dropped to his knees and tasted her—deliberate, skillful, relentless. His tongue moved like he knew exactly what would make her crumble, and he didn't stop until she was breathless, shaking, and pleading for more.
Then he stood, lifted her in one smooth motion, and laid her on his bed. He didn't rush. He watched her. Studied her reactions. Learned her.
He slid inside her slowly, deeply, making her feel every inch. She gasped, arched, clutched at his shoulders. He moved with purpose—controlled, possessive, overwhelming. Their bodies crashed together in waves of heat and want. He growled her name into her neck. She cried out his over and over like a prayer.
When she came the first time, he held her tighter. The second, he whispered filth into her ear, never stopping. And when she came a third time, trembling beneath him, he pinned her hands above her head and said:
"Now I make you mine again."
And he did.
All night long.
And this time—
It wasn't just obsession.
It was war.
And she was both prize and battlefield.