ROSE POV
This man has the audacity, the nerve. I sigh and toss in bed again. The anger has cooled, but it lingers like smoke in my chest. Maybe I overreacted. I never even gave him a chance to explain. Perhaps it isn't cruelty, it's just the way he communicates.
He's basically a giant cat, isn't he? Aloof. Independent. Possessive. They do what they want, when they want, and you either accept it or get clawed.
Hmm. That actually sounds more like me.
I groan, grab a pillow, and hurl it across the room.
That's when I hear his footsteps. Heavy. Measured. Coming closer.
Shit. Void.
I snap to my side, shutting my eyes, faking sleep. Why isn't he on the couch? Can't he take a hint? Can't he process a slap in the face?
The door opens. The air shifts. He's here. Watching. His presence presses down on me like a storm. My pulse hammers, and every instinct screams at me to curl into myself, but I stay still.
He sighs. Moves around the bed. Each step is deliberate, mocking. When he lowers himself onto the mattress, it dips beneath his weight, and my breath hitches. Even lying down, he feels like a threat. Like he's seducing me without touching me.
"Rose?" His voice is low, rich, laced with heat. My heart skips, traitorous.
I clench my fists under the blanket. I am not sleeping with a man I barely know.
I don't answer.
"I didn't mean it like that," he murmurs. "I should change my approach. But understand this—if you ever try something foolish, I will kill you."
Wow. My heart just melted. Truly.
"The reason I suggested intimacy is simple. To protect you. And me," he continues, calm, dangerous. "You smell human. That makes you vulnerable. It makes me vulnerable. My scent can mask yours."
The way he says it—smooth, commanding—slides under my skin.
"We don't have to fuck," he adds, voice dropping, seductive in its restraint. "Skin on skin is enough. I'll respect you… to a point."
My chest rises and falls with a shaky breath. Fighting him feels pointless tonight. Slowly, I shift closer.
The growl he lets out rumbles through the bed, deep and feral. Lust sparks inside me, raw and hungry. Heat floods between my thighs, dampening the thin fabric of my underwear.
He moves in, spooning me. His chest presses against my back, hard and unyielding. His breath ghosts over my neck, hot enough to make me shiver. His hand slides onto my waist, heavy, claiming.
I cover his hand with mine, holding it there. He answers with a sound low and primal, almost a purr, vibrating against my skin.
Then his hand starts to wander. Up. Over my ribs. Until it cups my breast and squeezes, firm but careful. A moan escapes me before I can stop it. His lips find my neck.
God—wet, hungry kisses, sharp with teeth. He sucks at my skin like he wants to brand me. His hips grind forward, and I feel him—hard, thick, pressing against my ass. My moan turns breathless, needy.
"Void…" It slips out, a broken whisper.
He groans into my neck, rutting harder against me. His other hand slides lower, trailing over my stomach until his fingers toy with the waistband of my pants.
"May I?" His voice is wrecked with hunger.
My chest heaves. The word tears out of me "No."
He stills, then nods. He doesn't push. But instead of retreating, his mouth devours me again. He marks me with lips, teeth, and tongue, coating me in his scent. I can smell it—pheromones thick in the air, wrapping around me like smoke.
His hand stays at my waist, gripping tight, as though holding himself back. His cock grinds against me, hard and insistent, and every thrust makes me wetter, needier. I arch back into him, shame burning through me at how badly I want more.
His breath is ragged in my ear. His growl vibrates down my spine. My body betrays me, melting into his hold, drowning in his heat.
Sleep claws at me, but it's his touch—his sinful, dangerous touch—that drags me under. The last thing I know is his body against mine, claiming me without taking me, and the terrifying truth that I want him to.
It's becoming a nightly ritual.
The second night, he kisses every inch of me, my shoulders, my stomach, my thighs, leaving trails of wet heat everywhere except the one place that aches for his touch. He worships my body while deliberately denying me release, making it harder and harder to control myself.
He never touches my lips, either. Not once. Except that one morning… and I've been craving it ever since.
During the day, we barely speak. He acts like nothing happened. But today is different. Today, he corners me in the hallway.
"Void, what are you doing?" I ask, my voice sharp but my body trembling. This time, I don't think I'll say no.
"You… smell…" he murmurs, lowering his face to my neck, inhaling like a wild animal.
My knees weaken, and a soft purr escapes my throat.
"Tempting. Inviting. All mine." His hand grips my hip, his lips hovering close to mine, his breath hot against my skin.
His eyes fix on my mouth, dark with hunger.
I lean in, desperate to finally taste him.
But he pulls back. Our eyes lock, and his shock burns into me before he tears himself away.
The rejection slices through me. My chest aches, then flames with anger.
"You fucking asshole," I hiss, shoving him back.
"You're sleeping on the couch!" I shout, storming into our room and slamming the door.
"Don't slam the door, Rose! This place is old, for Christ's sake!" he growls from the hall.
I collapse onto the bed, fury and longing twisting together until I don't know if I want to strangle him… or drag him back here.
THE NEXT DAY
It's probably been a week since I got here. A week since I saw Rain. A week since I lost all sense of rational thinking and morality. I've become a horny rabbit.
I think it's the necklace.
It tugs me to him and him to me. The bond it's creating builds on our mutual attraction, but I hate him as a person.
I don't even think he speaks. He's always on his laptop, answering calls like some furious tycoon. He's made no effort to know me. But he's made every effort to understand my body, those hands that explore every curve, that bulge I've been curious to see… to taste.
I shake my head. I try to control myself.
The front door slams, and I roll my eyes. Wasn't he the one who told me not to slam doors?
I stand, noticing a paper on the floor. I pick it up.
I'll be gone for a bit. Jeremiah will come and teach you.
He couldn't tell me this to my face?
Asshole.