Adrian didn't ask her to follow him—he simply took her hand and led her into the master suite.
The moment the heavy door clicked shut, the outside world ceased to exist.
The room was drenched in shadows and gold, lit only by the glow of the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. The scent of him—spiced smoke and warm leather—coiled in the air, filling her lungs until she felt dizzy.
"You're shaking," he murmured, stepping close enough that his chest brushed hers.
"I'm not afraid," Elara replied, but the truth was more dangerous—she was burning.
His mouth curved in something between a smirk and a growl. "Good. Fear isn't what I want from you tonight."
When his lips touched hers, the kiss was slow, deliberate… as if he was savoring the first taste. His hand slid into her hair, tilting her head back so he could deepen it, his tongue teasing hers until her knees weakened.
"You don't even know what I am," he whispered against her mouth.
"Then make me understand," she breathed.
He took it as a challenge. His hands moved to her hips, pulling her flush against him. The solid heat of his body left no doubt of his intent. He kissed her again—hungrier, rougher this time—walking her backward until her knees hit the bed.
"You're mine tonight," he said, voice low, dangerous.
She should have pushed him away. Instead, she let him strip away the silk of her blouse, his fingertips grazing bare skin in a touch that was both gentle and claiming. Each brush of his hand sent shivers rushing through her.
He took his time—unbuttoning, unzipping, peeling away layers until her skin met the cool air. His gaze roamed over her slowly, greedily, as if she were something forbidden he'd finally stolen.
When he bent to press his mouth to the hollow of her throat, she gasped, her fingers gripping his shoulders. His lips and teeth trailed down, leaving heat in their wake.
The first time he pushed her down into the sheets, he didn't hurry. He explored—hands mapping the shape of her, mouth worshipping every inch he uncovered. Her breaths came faster, her body arching toward his, until restraint became impossible.
Then, when he entered her, it was not with softness—it was deep, demanding, as though every thrust was a brand marking her as his. She clung to him, nails scraping his skin, the air thick with the sound of their breaths and the low growl rumbling from his chest.
He didn't let her go when it was over. He pulled her against him, tangled in the sheets, his lips brushing the crown of her head.
"You'll sleep now," he murmured. "Tomorrow, the world can come for us. Tonight… you belong to me."
And for the first time since her life had been torn apart, Elara let herself believe him.