Zayden knocked on the apartment door, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His black tie was undone, hanging loosely around his neck, while his hair was a mess—as if he had just run through a storm.
His eyes were dark, burning with suppressed rage and unbridled passion, locked onto the figure before him.
The door opened. There stood Irish, wrapped only in thin white satin that clung to her slender frame. The fabric was so light it was nearly transparent, revealing her intoxicating curves under the glow of the lamp.
Zayden said nothing. His hand reached out immediately, pushing Irish slowly inside. The door shut with a sharp kick from his foot, and the click of the lock echoed like a promise. One hand coiled around Irish's waist, pulling her into a broad chest that was still thumping hard.
"Do you have any idea how crazy you made me last night?" Zayden whispered hoarsely into her ear, his voice heavy and low, vibrating with a wave of emotion that was about to explode.
Irish swallowed hard, her heart racing. "Then... finish me today."
Zayden straightened his face, looking deep into Irish's eyes before tilting her chin up with two fingers. Their gazes locked—hot, challenging.
"You know the consequences, don't you?" His voice was barely a sigh, yet in the silence of the room, it sounded like the rumble of approaching thunder.
Irish gave a faint, teasing smile, refusing to back down. "This is what I've been waiting for. I want to know just how hot... just how crazy your consequences will be."
Zayden grabbed something from a small table near the door: a strand of black silk ribbon. He wound the ribbon with slow, deliberate movements, binding Irish's hands to the high iron frame of the bed that loomed in the center of the room.
His movements were never rushed, yet they radiated absolute possession. Zayden was trapped between love, desire, and obsession. And Irish was now bound within it all.
Zayden looked at the now-bound Irish, his breath hitching. There was a fire in his gaze, a mixture of self-control and a madness that was nearly spilling over.
"Which tool are we trying tonight? A ball gag? Are you going to teach me?" Irish asked softly, a hint of provocation in her tone.
Zayden gripped the edge of the satin gown hanging off Irish's shoulder. "No tools tonight. No games." With one rough yet passionate tug, he tore the satin from her body. The soft fabric pooled on the floor, leaving her bare skin shimmering in the lamplight.
"I'd rather hold back... than hurt my future child who might be arriving soon," he whispered, before kissing Irish's stomach gently, causing her body to tense in uncertainty.
"Hmm?" Irish's eyes widened. That answer was not what she expected. But before her mind could process his words, he united their bodies in one deep, sudden movement.
Irish gasped, her body reflexively arching upward. "Zayden...."
"Yes, call me that. I love it so much..."
Zayden held her close, his hips moving in a rhythm that grew increasingly frantic. "I don't want to hurt you with those tools. But I can't stop either. So I've decided... we'll just do the hot things without the violence."
A stifled moan escaped Irish's lips as their bodies rolled in an intense rhythm. The sound of the bed creaking, labored breaths, and Zayden's possessive whispers filled the air.
Zayden traced Irish's bound body. His breath was shallow, not just from desire, but from the reality that this woman... had managed to ensnare him.
Zayden leaned down, kissing Irish's neck with gentle pressure, then moved down to her chest, her stomach, and lower still. Every part of her body was kissed like a ritual, like a prayer never offered by a saint. The warmth and softness of his tongue, his caresses, made Irish writhe intensely. Irish was an addiction that already ran too deep in his veins.
"I can't promise you a good kind of love..." he whispered faintly. "But I will give you the craziest version of me that no one else has ever seen, without hurting you."
"I like it; it's okay if what you show me is even more than this!"
"I know you're afraid; it was obvious when I tied your hands. Don't force yourself; I don't want to just give in to my ego either." Irish was touched by those words. She had misjudged Zayden.
"Isn't lovemaking... supposed to be liked by both parties? Enjoyed by both?" Zayden remained in position, offering a gentle caress to her down there. Slow, soft. But with a pressure that implied just how much he wanted to dominate her entirely.
She sighed as Zayden pushed back in with a force that made the bed shake. His thrusts felt deep and jarring.
Zayden gripped Irish's bound wrists while his movements became deeper and harder.
"You want consequences? You'll get them. Inside your body, inside your womb. And I'll make sure... we both enjoy it in the wildest way possible!"
Irish bit her lower lip, holding back moans and tears brought on by the sheer pleasure. Zayden was marking her. Not with ink or physical scars, but in the only way he knew how.
Irish's hands were still tied above her head, turning slightly blue because the silk ribbon that was once soft now felt restrictive. Her eyes were half-closed, her breath still heavy, but in her mind, a storm began to brew.
As they reached that peak, a faint sound escaped Irish's lips. She didn't know if it was a complaint, relief, or... a sense of loss as Zayden pulled away. Irish could feel the warm fluid slowly trickling within her, warming her.
Without a word, Zayden untied the ribbons on her wrists. Irish stretched slowly, trying to regain sensation in her tingling hands.
"Does it hurt?" Zayden kissed her wrist.
Irish shook her head, then leaned coquettishly against Zayden's chest, letting the man hold her, wrapping her in a fleeting warmth.
With her breath still heavy, she whispered words that cut sharper than a knife.
"Can I have you all to myself?" Irish kissed Zayden's lips lightly, but with deep meaning. She bit, sucked, and savored that taste over and over.
"Why so sudden?" Zayden chuckled, returning the kiss even more passionately.
Irish began to get aggressive. She climbed on top of Zayden, sitting on his lap before he had fully settled. Her long hair fell, veiling their chests. "Try to feel... who do you love more right now? You even came to see me in the dead of night like this!"
Her body began to move slowly over him, even though they weren't quite ready to go again. But that wasn't the point. This wasn't about sex. This was about dominance. About clarifying positions.
"After thinking about it, I don't want to be second. I want you, entirely."
Those words weren't just a demand; they were a soul-shaking confession. Zayden was speechless. His body froze, but his mind boiled with hesitation... and a wildly burning desire.
Irish guided him back inside, slowly but with insistence. This time, she was the one setting the pace.
"Let me go now, if you don't agree," Irish said between gasps, challenging him, her eyes staring directly into Zayden's soul.
But it was that very challenge that incinerated Zayden's sanity. He growled softly, then flipped their positions in one swift motion. He was now on top of Irish, dominating. His thrusts were deep and powerful, making the bed creak as Irish was shaken violently beneath him.
Irish groaned, wrapping her legs tightly around Zayden's waist, binding him close as if to ensure he could never escape.
"I will lock in your choice," she whispered lustfully, biting her own lip as her body arched to receive thrust after thrust.
"Yes, lock it... I really can't let you go!" Zayden replied, his voice breaking. "I am indeed crazy about you! And it can't be stopped!"
His hands gripped the bed, his eyes watching Irish with turbulence. Guilt, passion, and love mixed into one. Nothing remained of the control he once took pride in.
If you truly become mine... then soon everything will crumble. My revenge is successful, and I have also won Zayden. A man as good as you doesn't deserve a woman like Marisha, Irish thought amidst her moans and the hard thrusts Zayden gave her. The man truly would not let her go.