She sat up on his lap, her sharp, defiant eyes locked onto his. Slowly, she licked her lips, her fingers grazing the crisp fabric of his dark blue dress shirt.
The subtle scent of his cologne, rich and masculine, wafted up between them, igniting a tension that crackled in the air.
Her fingers toyed with his tie, tracing its smooth length with a deliberate slowness. "Do you think I'm scared, Mr. Lawyer?" she asked, her voice a sultry whisper that betrayed no hesitation.
Her hand slid lower, teasing along the buttons of his shirt, each press of her fingertips lingering just long enough to test his control. "I mean, if you were going to fall…" She trailed her fingers down to the breast pocket of his shirt, her touch making his muscles twitch beneath the tailored fabric.
"…then you shouldn't have stressed me earlier."
She smirked, tracing the ridges of his abs through the material. Her touch was featherlight, but his body tensed beneath her as though she'd set his nerves ablaze.
"The sooner I sleep with you," she murmured, her palm now grazing the edge of his belt, "and get what I want…" Her voice dropped to a whisper, hot and teasing. "…the sooner I can disappear from this hellhole."
Her lips hovered inches from his, her breath ghosting over his skin. She leaned closer, her thin skirt sliding as she shifted her hips. Her body pressed against his, teasing, taunting, rubbing directly against the hardness straining beneath her.
"Disappear?" he echoed, his voice a dark, low rumble that vibrated through her.
His gaze burned into her, unrelenting and sharp, stripping away every ounce of her composure. His next words sliced through the heat like a blade.
"You're so good at running away, Nickita," he said, his tone low and laced with something dangerous.
She froze.
Her body went stiff against him, her breathing shallow. Nickita. How did he know that name?
Her eyes widened as panic swirled in her chest, and suddenly, his lap felt like the most dangerous place in the world.
She tried to stand, to create some distance, but his hand clamped firmly on her waist, holding her in place.
"Do you think I'm not attracted to you?" he whispered, his voice rough and edged with control she couldn't crack.
Before she could answer, he grabbed her hair, his fingers weaving through it with a possessive grip that sent a jolt down her spine.
He pulled her closer, their faces mere inches apart, breaths mingling in a heated, chaotic rhythm.
"You're the fire in my veins, Nickita," he rasped, his voice dripping with raw intensity. "And I missed you so much that I had to make you come back to me."
Her heart pounded like a drum in her chest, so loud she was sure he could hear it.
She squirmed against his iron-like hold, her instincts screaming to run, but his strength pinned her as though he owned her.
"Are you scared, my love?" he asked, his words dripping with dark amusement.
Fear coiled in her chest, sharp and unrelenting, her voice shaking as she stammered, "Let me go."
"Never." His voice was dark, final, and absolute. "The moment you stepped into this house, you became mine. Forever."
Her stomach twisted as his words settled over her like a suffocating shroud.
"Who are you?" she whispered, trembling in his grip.
His eyes turned darker than any nightmare she could imagine, his face unreadable and yet terrifyingly familiar. His lips curled into a cold, predatory smirk as he leaned closer.
"Welcome home, my runaway bride."