The room was hushed, cloaked in a dim amber glow that spilt from a single lamp in the corner. Lilith staggered inside, her lungs burning, her skin aflame as though her veins carried fire instead of blood.
The dizzying haze refused to leave her. Her body felt foreign, heavy, yet she moved on instinct—her eyes, catching the wide bed at the centre of the suite.
She let herself collapse onto it, the mattress swallowing her weight. Her breath came shallow, ragged, her hands clawing at the straps of her gown.
The silk scraped against her fevered skin, unbearable, suffocating. With trembling fingers, she pulled at the zipper, tugging until the emerald fabric gave way and slithered down her arms. The dress slid to the floor, a fallen banner of her exhaustion.
She shivered in the aftermath, wrapped only in the remnants of her dignity, hoping—foolishly—that she was alone.
But then the sound came: the click of water shutting off, the faint rustle of movement.
From the shadows of the bathroom emerged a man.
He was tall—towering, almost unnaturally so—with broad shoulders that seemed carved from stone. His dark hair clung damply to his forehead, droplets trailing down the hard cut of his jaw. His eyes—icy grey, piercing as a blade—locked onto her with a glare that froze her in place. Every step he took seemed deliberate, predatory, until he stood in the doorway, a spectre of authority and danger.
Rhett Barone.
She didn't know his name yet, but it clung to him like a curse. He looked like a man born of storms and iron, one whose very silence commanded obedience. His presence filled the air, pressing down on her until it was hard to breathe.
"Who the hell are you," he asked, his voice low, husky, and sharp enough to wound. It wasn't curiosity—it was an accusation.
Lilith's lips parted, but her voice was frail, uncertain. The dizziness from the champagne still gnawed at her senses, dragging her closer to unconsciousness.
Without thought, she stumbled off the bed and toward him, her hands brushing against the wall of his chest. He was unyielding, solid, frighteningly so.
"Help me," she whispered, her breath trembling against him.
For a moment, he did not move. His jaw tightened, his nostrils flared; she could feel the war raging beneath his skin. It was as if some dark instinct in him wanted to respond, but something colder—a discipline, a restraint—held him still.
Then, suddenly, he moved. His hand shot out and gripped her chin with a strength that made her gasp. He tilted her face upward, forcing her to meet his eyes. His grip was not tender—it was iron, rough, a claim more than a touch.
"You don't know what kind of fire you've thrown yourself into," he murmured, his tone deep, vibrating like a threat beneath her skin. His mouth twisted into something between a cruel smirk and a warning.
The words slashed through her fog. Fear coiled tight in her stomach, mingling with something else—something she despised herself for feeling.
Lilith tried to pull away, her hands pushing against him, but he did not budge. He was immovable, a fortress in flesh. "Let me go," she rasped, though her voice trembled, betraying her own weakness.
Rhett leaned closer, his breath grazing her cheek, his voice dark and merciless. "You wandered into my den, Lilith Steele. And beasts do not release what dares walk into their jaws."
Her pulse hammered violently. His words dripped possession, his presence an intoxicating mix of menace and allure. She shuddered, torn between terror and a strange, unwilling pull she could not explain.
The room shrank around them, silence deepening, broken only by the ragged cadence of her breathing and the faint drip of water trailing down his skin. In that moment, Lilith realized with bone-deep certainty that she had not escaped danger—she had stumbled straight into it. And this danger had a name, a voice, and eyes that promised both ruin and something she could not yet name.
The silence in the room thickened until Lilith could hear her own pulse hammering in her ears.
Rhett stopped, studying her like prey caught in his den. "You shouldn't have come in here," he said, his voice deep, cold, threaded with restrained violence.
"I didn't… I didn't mean—" she began, but the words tangled in her throat.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "And yet… here you are."
Something in his stare made her tremble. She rose abruptly, crossing the small distance between them, driven by something desperate—fear, defiance, need, she couldn't tell. Before she could think better of it, she threw herself against him, her fingers clawing at his shoulders, her lips grazing his jaw in a reckless demand for his attention.
Rhett's hands snapped around her waist like shackles, holding her still. For a moment, he didn't move, his breath steady, his body rigid. Then, a low growl rumbled from his chest, dark and primal.
"You don't know what you're asking for," he muttered, his mouth hovering near hers, his breath hot.
"I don't care," she whispered back, though her voice shook.
His eyes darkened, a storm brewing in their depths. "From now on…" His lips crushed against hers, hard and merciless, swallowing her gasp. "You are mine."
The kiss was brutal, claiming. Her hands tried to push against him, but her body betrayed her, clutching at his shoulders instead, needing something solid to hold on to. He tasted of steel and fire, overwhelming, consuming. Her knees weakened beneath the onslaught, but he didn't let her fall—he held her tighter, pressing her against the wall as though she belonged there, pinned beneath his strength
Lilith whimpered into his mouth, the sound breaking free before she could stop it. Rhett tore his lips from hers, his chest heaving, his gaze burning down at her with the hunger of a beast.
"You should run," he growled, his fingers trailing down the line of her throat, firm enough to remind her he could crush her if he wanted. "But you won't."
Her lips trembled, her eyes wide and wet. "Please…" she breathed, though whether it was a plea for mercy or more of him, even she didn't know.
That was all it took. Rhett's restraint shattered. With a low, dangerous curse, he pounced, lifting her with ease, tossing her onto the bed as though she weighed nothing. She scrambled back, her heart racing, but he was already on her, caging her in with his body, his mouth finding hers again in a kiss that was all teeth and fire.
She tried to resist, clawing at his chest, but his muscles were iron beneath her hands. The more she struggled, the rougher he became—until finally, her resistance melted into a flood of tears and gasps, her body betraying her in its own confusing surrender.
Her dress slipped away beneath his hands, her skin burning wherever he touched. His lips seared trails down her neck, his grip bruising her hips as if he were staking a claim. She cried out, her voice breaking, but he silenced her with another kiss, relentless and unyielding.
It was too much. Too fast. Too intense. Yet when he pulled back for breath, her hands clung to him, betraying her again. His smirk was dark, dangerous, and victorious.
Rhett Barone's shadow fell over her like a storm consuming the horizon. Lilith's chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, her heart thundering against her ribs. His body pressed her into the mattress, caging her with sheer force, the heat of him searing against her skin.
And then she felt him. Hard. Vast. Terrifyingly big.
Her eyes widened, panic flaring in her chest. "No—" she choked, trying to twist away, but his grip only tightened, iron hands on her hips.
"Too late for that," Rhett growled, his voice dark and merciless against her ear. "You came into my den, little Steele. And I don't let prey walk free."
He thrust into her. The sharp tear of pain ripped a scream from her lips, her body convulsing as if it had been split apart. It was brutal, shocking—her first time stolen in an instant, the fragile barrier of her innocence shattered beneath his force. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her voice breaking as she sobbed in horror.
Rhett did not stop. If anything, her cries only spurred him on. He drove deeper, mercilessly, stretching her beyond what she thought she could endure. Every thrust was a violation, every movement a brand, his size filling her to the edge of breaking.
"Cry for me," he whispered, his lips dragging down her throat, his teeth sinking into her skin. He sucked hard until a bruise bloomed, dark and violent, a hickey etched into her flesh. "I want the world to see who owns you."
Lilith clawed at his shoulders, tried to push him away, but her hands were weak against his iron frame. His mouth descended again, and again, leaving marks across her collarbone, her shoulders, the curve of her breast—each one deliberate, each one a seal of possession. Her skin burned with the trail of his teeth and tongue, her body shaking beneath the storm he unleashed.
The pain blurred into something worse—an exhaustion that made her limbs heavy, her voice hoarse. Yet still, he did not relent. His rhythm was merciless, driving into her again and again until she lost track of time, until the only reality was his weight, his breath, his relentless claim.
Hours passed. She cried until there were no tears left, begged until her throat was raw. The sheets tangled around her legs, damp with sweat, the air thick with heat and despair. Rhett was insatiable, a beast who could not be sated. Every time she thought he was finished, he seized her again, crushing her mouth with his, thrusting back into her trembling body as if he would never be satisfied.
The night stretched into eternity. Lilith felt herself unravel, her spirit torn between hate and helpless surrender. Her body bore the proof of his cruelty—purple hickeys, swollen lips, and bruises where his hands had gripped too hard. She wanted to vanish, to sink into nothingness, but Rhett's voice kept dragging her back.
"You're mine," he growled, again and again, as though the words themselves were chains binding her soul.
When at last dawn crept through the curtains, pale light spilling over the ruined bed, Rhett's rhythm faltered. His body shuddered against hers, his breath harsh and ragged. He buried himself deep, and Lilith felt the final act of his possession—the hot, consuming release that branded her from the inside out. She whimpered, a broken sound, as the last of her resistance dissolved in that moment.
Rhett collapsed beside her, not gentle, not tender, but satisfied. He draped an arm over her waist, heavy and possessive, anchoring her as though she were nothing more than a prize conquered in battle. His lips brushed the fresh bruise on her neck, his voice low and cruel against her skin.
"You're mine now, Lilith Steele," he murmured. "And no god, no man, no dawn will take you from me."
Lilith lay trembling, her body aching, her skin marked with the evidence of his claim. Her voice was gone, her spirit cracked, and yet her heart still beat beneath the weight of his arm. She closed her eyes against the light, knowing that nothing in her world would ever be the same again.
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