She pushed against his chest, trying to create space between them, but he didn't budge. Her resistance only seemed to spark something darker in him. His eyes narrowed, and with a growl under his breath, he leaned in again—his lips crashing onto hers, rougher this time, more desperate.
"You're mine," he muttered against her lips, his voice sharp, unforgiving. "Stop trying to push me away. You can't."
His hand slipped beneath her shirt, fingers trailing along her back. She stiffened immediately—her body betraying her with a shiver, a reaction she didn't want him to notice. But he did.
A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips. "You feel that?" he whispered, brushing his fingers lightly over her spine. "Even your body won't lie to me."
Seraphina clenched her jaw, eyes flashing. "That doesn't mean you can control me."
He paused for a second, just looking at her. "I don't need to control you, Seraphina. I just need you to stop pretending you don't feel what I do."
Her breath hitched as his hand pressed against her lower back, pulling her impossibly closer. The silk of her shirt did nothing to stop the heat between them. His eyes burned into hers—stormy, unreadable, but deeply claiming.
"You ran away," he whispered, voice low, brushing his lips along her jaw, "and you thought I wouldn't find you?"
Her heart pounded as his mouth traced the line of her throat, slow, possessive, his fingers gripping her waist tighter, as if to remind her she wasn't going anywhere.
"You think distance will change anything between us?" he murmured, his lips grazing her collarbone, sending sparks through her. "You're still mine, Seraphina. You always will be."
He pushed her gently back until her spine met the wall, his hands now sliding beneath the fabric of her shirt, palms flat against her bare skin. Her body arched into his touch before she could stop herself.
He smirked darkly. "There it is again… You say one thing, but your body—" he leaned in, kissing her deeply, fiercely "—never lies to me."
The silk slipped from her shoulder under his fingers, his lips trailing after it.
"Tell me to stop," he breathed against her skin, even though his hands had no intention of listening. "Tell me, and I'll pretend I care."
But she didn't.
Instead, her fingers curled into his shirt, and in that moment, every wall, every plan, every lie crumbled between them.
Ezrin's breathing was ragged, his gaze locked onto hers with a hunger that had long simmered beneath the surface, now unleashed. Without warning, his hands gripped her thighs, lifting her effortlessly. She let out a startled gasp, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carried her across the room.
Her back hit the mattress with a soft thud as he threw her onto the bed—not harshly, but with the force of emotion he was no longer controlling. He loomed over her, unbuttoning his shirt with slow, deliberate movements, eyes never leaving hers.
"You think you can vanish, disappear like it's that easy?" he growled, crawling over her, caging her in with his arms. "I warned you. I told you not to run."
His hands trailed down her silk-covered body, fingers dragging lightly over the fabric that barely separated her from his touch. Her skin tingled where he brushed, her breath coming faster.
He leaned down, lips grazing her ear. "You drove me mad, Seraphina. Mad enough to cross oceans… just to remind you who you belong to."
His mouth crushed against hers again—desperate, claiming. One hand tangled in her damp hair, the other sliding beneath the hem of her shorts, fingers gliding along the curve of her hip.
She tried to speak, to reason—but her words were stolen by his mouth, his touch, the way he knew exactly how to make her forget herself.
"You don't get to push me away," he murmured against her lips, his voice dark velvet. "Not tonight."
And as his body pressed against hers, every inch demanding surrender, she realized… she didn't want to.
His grip on her thigh tightened as his other hand moved to the buttons of her silk shirt, slow and deliberate—not in hesitation, but in control. Seraphina's breath caught in her throat. Her back arched slightly as he leaned closer, his forehead pressing against hers, their breaths mingling in the small space between them.
"You think you can run?" Ezrin's voice was low, gritted between clenched teeth, laced with frustration and something darker—something hungry. "Disappear. Laugh with someone else. Breathe without me watching?"
His thumb brushed over her skin just above the fabric—possessive. Gentle, yet claiming.
"You're mine, Seraphina. I let you go once. That was a mistake I won't make again."
She stared at him, lips parted, her heartbeat loud in her ears. She wanted to push him back. She wanted to scream. But her body betrayed her, sinking into the fire he ignited with every move, every word.
"You don't get to decide when I disappear," she whispered, defiant but shaken. "You don't control me."
He gave a bitter smirk, his nose brushing along her jawline, his voice now barely above a whisper. "Don't I?"
For a long breath, neither moved—held in the heat of tension that hovered just beneath the skin. His hands didn't roam this time—they stayed caged around her, framing her in, demanding her attention. "I've burned cities in my mind for less than what you make me feel."
Her eyes widened, the truth in his tone heavier than the room itself. And in that moment—she realized this wasn't just obsession. It wasn't just desire. It was a war. A war between control and surrender and neither of them were ready to lose.
Ezrin's fingers moved to the first button of her silk shirt, brushing against her skin with infuriating patience. Seraphina, heart pounding, grabbed his wrist instinctively—trying to stop him. But he only smirked.
That dangerous, slow smirk that curled on his lips whenever he knew he was crossing a line—and fully intended to. "You still think you can stop me?" he whispered, his voice like fire on her skin.
Before she could speak, his other hand slid from her thigh, up to her wrists, and in one swift movement, he pinned both her hands above her head against the soft sheets. Her breath hitched as her body reacted—caught between resistance and something deeper, something drawn to the raw pull of him.
He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "You left me burning, Seraphina. Now I'll make sure you feel every flame you lit." Her silk shirt parted slightly under the undone buttons, revealing the curve of her collarbone. He stared down at her, his eyes dark and consuming, devouring every inch of the vulnerability and defiance tangled together in her gaze.
"I hate you," she whispered, voice trembling—not from fear, but from how much she meant it… and didn't. "I know," he breathed, mouth grazing hers, "I hate you too."
Then he kissed her again—this time deeper, rougher, like he was trying to silence every part of her that resisted. His hand still held hers pinned. She tried to twist away, but the way her body arched into his made her betrayal too clear.
He pulled back slightly, their breaths colliding. "Keep fighting me if you want. I'll still win."
As she twisted beneath him, still trying to escape the burning dominance in his touch, Ezrin growled lowly and shifted. In one fluid, deliberate move, he slid his knee between her thighs and slid it upwards dangerously close, almost touching.
Seraphina gasped, her body freezing under the weight of sensation and panic, the heat of his presence making her lose track of everything except him. His control. His proximity. The impossible tension that wrapped around them like fire.
His hand gripped her wrists tighter, holding them firm above her head as he leaned in so close their noses brushed. "You want to run?" he murmured darkly. "Then why does your body keep betraying you?"
Her chest rose and fell with each breath. Her mind screamed at her to resist, to push him back again—but her pulse betrayed the truth. "You hate me," he repeated in a whisper, his voice like silk over blades. "But you have fire in your eyes. You knew I'd come for you."
She didn't answer. Couldn't.
The line between rage and desire blurred as he hovered over her, knee still poised, control unmistakable—but not cruel. His eyes locked on hers, studying, reading every flicker of conflict.
And for a moment, the silence between them screamed louder than words. His fingers didn't falter.
One button. Then the next. And the next—until the silk slid apart, whispering secrets to the air. His gaze lowered, hunger flickering in his eyes as the last button came undone, leaving her exposed beneath him, vulnerable yet defiant.
Seraphina's breath caught, chest rising in sharp defiance, but he didn't look away—no, his eyes traced every inch of her, not just in desire, but as if trying to memorize her soul through skin. "You always run," he murmured, voice hoarse now, more possessive than ever. "But you come undone for me."
Her cheeks burned with heat, fury and something more dangerous twisting within her. "Let go," she whispered, even though her voice lacked force. But he didn't. Instead, his free hand traced a slow, deliberate line from her collarbone down to her waist—each movement anchoring her in the storm of emotions flooding the space between them.
The tension thickened—heavy, dark, and raw. And still, beneath the weight of his touch, Seraphina didn't look away. Because even in fury, even in fear, part of her didn't want to.
In Seraphina's mind, alarm bells rang. He's crossing a line. He's crossing every line.
Her body tensed beneath him, heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to scream, to shove him off, to remind herself that this wasn't how it was supposed to go. This wasn't her.
But then his hand slid across her skin again, and everything blurred. Every boundary she had drawn began to waver under the heat of his touch. Why does it feel like this? Why does it feel like I'm burning alive… and craving it?
She tried to fight it—tried to twist away—but her hands were still pinned above her head, his grip firm, dominating. His knee pressed closer moving upward and it touched her, forcing her legs slightly apart, igniting something that curled dangerously in her stomach. And then his lips trailed down her neck, slow, consuming. Her body betrayed her with a sharp inhale, and his smirk deepened against her skin.
"I can feel it," he whispered against her collarbone. "You hate how much you like this." She closed her eyes tight, biting back the gasp that tried to escape her lips. Yes, she hated it.
And yet, there she was—under him, powerless not because he held her down, but because her own will was giving in. She was at his mercy now. And for the first time… she didn't stop him.
Before she could even catch her breath, Ezrin's hand moved from her pinned wrists to her throat—firm, commanding, not choking but holding just enough control to make her heart spike. He pulled her up with that grip, their faces inches apart, his breath brushing her lips.
Her silk shirt slipped off her shoulders under his other hand, slowly, deliberately, until it hit the bed. Now she sat beneath him in only her shorts and bra, exposed to the heat in his eyes.
A low growl rumbled from his throat as his eyes darkened. "How dare you," he seethed, his grip on her tightening just slightly, "speak so casually… laugh so freely… with another man."
Seraphina opened her mouth to speak, but he was already moving—pressing her back against the pillows, hovering over her like a storm about to break. Her breath hitched when his fingers ran down her waist, possessive and bold.
"You're mine," he growled again, more to himself than her—but loud enough to echo in her ears, shake in her chest. "And I won't let you forget that."
Her body trembled beneath him, torn between protest and surrender. But she couldn't deny how her skin burned under his touch, how her heart betrayed her with every thudding beat.
His eyes locked with hers—stormy, dark, filled with fire that made her breath catch. Seraphina's fingers curled into the sheets beneath her, trying to suppress the tremble in her limbs. She wanted to speak, to push him back, to tell him to stop…
But she didn't.
His hand slid down her side, and in one swift, merciless motion, the delicate silk of her shorts tore apart—ripped from her body like paper. Her breath hitched sharply, her thighs instinctively closing, trying to hide the vulnerable heat he had exposed. She was now only in her underwear beneath him.
"Ezrin—" she breathed, voice soft, caught between fear and need.
His lips hovered just above hers, smirking at her hesitation. "Don't lie to yourself, Seraphina," he whispered, his voice rough, his hand tracing her bare hip possessively. "You want this."
Her hands came up again to push him away, but the moment her palms touched his chest, her body betrayed her—she didn't push. Instead, her fingers clung to him.
"I… shouldn't," she whispered, even as her body arched into his touch, craving it.
"But you do," he murmured, pressing a kiss along her jaw, his hand now resting firmly on her thigh again—his thumb brushing maddening circles near the edge of her underwear. "Say it. Say you want me to stop, and I will."
Silence. Her lips parted, trembling, but no words came. And that was all the permission he needed.
Ezrin's lips found her neck, moving with a hunger that had long since been caged. His hand trailed along her side, memorizing every inch of her skin, as if he was claiming what he believed was always his. Seraphina shivered under his touch, her body betraying the voice in her head telling her to pull away.
But it was too late for that. "You drive me insane," he whispered against her skin. "You run, you lie, you push me away—and still… you're mine."
His grip remained firm, his hold possessive, yet there was something fragile in the way he looked at her now. Like he feared she would vanish, slip through his fingers again. That fear masked itself in dominance, in the way he kissed her again—this time slower, deeper, filled with the chaos of everything they had refused to acknowledge.
Seraphina's hands, once tense, now gripped his shoulders. She hated that she wanted him like this. Hated how her heart raced when he touched her. Hated how safe and lost she felt—both at once.
And in that moment, there were no lies. No manipulations. Just raw, consuming truth between them.
He kissed her again, fiercer this time—like a man starved for something he'd long denied himself. His hands moved with a rough urgency, tracing the outline of her body like he was memorizing every inch, every curve, every breath she took. She gasped under the pressure of his lips, and her fingers instinctively tightened around his arm—but she didn't stop him.
Her breath hitched when his hand settled firmly against her side, dragging her closer, grounding her under his weight. She tried to speak, to protest, but the moment dissolved as her body betrayed her. A low sound escaped her lips—not quite a word, not quite a plea—and he paused only for a heartbeat, smirking darkly against her mouth.
"You moaned," he whispered, voice husky, possessive. "Don't pretend you don't want this."
Then he leaned in again, his touch more demanding now, guided by a mixture of frustration, longing, and something far deeper—something dangerous. And in that moment, her resistance faded, melting beneath the storm that was Ezrin Holloway.
Her fingers tangled in the sheets beneath her as he hovered above her, his breathing heavy, eyes dark with something between obsession and desire. Every part of him screamed control, yet in this moment, he was losing it—only for her.
"Do you know," he said lowly, his voice a growl against her neck, "how long I've waited to have you like this? How many nights I've held back?"
His hands roamed again, slower now, claiming her as if to remind her she was his—only his. She turned her face, trying to gather her thoughts, trying to stop herself from falling completely—but the warmth of his touch, the hunger in his gaze, the raw intensity between them made her thoughts blur into heat.
"I tried to let you go," he muttered, brushing his lips just above her collarbone, "but you don't get to run from me."
She looked up at him then, breathless and trembling—not just from what he was doing, but from what she was feeling. He was chaos and safety all at once. Her silence spoke louder than any words, and that was all he needed.
He leaned in again, locking her in a kiss that stole her breath, stealing more than just resistance—it took the last bit of distance she had left.
Ezrin's breath was ragged as he hovered just above her, his body pressed close, almost shaking from restraint. His grip on her wrists was tight, but not painful—just enough to remind her she wasn't going anywhere.
His voice dropped, dangerously low and husky against her ear.
"Do you even know…" he whispered, his lips brushing her skin, "…how much I'm controlling myself right now?"
She could feel the tension in him—coiled, trembling, desperate to snap.
"One more word. One more look…" he growled, his nose brushing her cheek, "…and I swear, Seraphina, you'll be left on this bed, unable to walk after what I'll do to you."
A sharp shiver ran down her spine, her breath hitched. She should've pushed him again, should've said something—anything—but her body betrayed her, arching slightly, drawn to the danger in his voice and the fire in his touch.
He watched her reaction closely, eyes narrowing, lips curving into a dark, knowing smirk.
"You want me to stop?" he asked, but his tone said he already knew the answer.
She didn't respond. And that silence? That was everything. Ezrin didn't wait any longer.
He crashed his lips against hers—hungry, demanding, claiming every breath she tried to take. His kiss was rough, unrelenting, but laced with something deeper—something raw and desperate. As if he'd been holding back this storm for far too long.
Then his mouth trailed lower. To her jaw. To her neck—where he lingered, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. A reminder. A warning.
She gasped, her fingers tightening instinctively around the sheets, but he didn't stop. His lips moved down, brushing over her collarbone, her chest, then lower still.
When his mouth reached her bare stomach, he kissed it slowly, then bit gently, leaving another mark before pulling back just enough to look at her—his eyes wild, voice rough.
"No one touches what's mine." And with each kiss, each mark, he made sure she remembered that. Her body betrayed her mind.
Each time Ezrin's lips found her skin—her neck, her collarbone, her stomach—she shivered, her breath hitching in her throat. The heat of his mouth left trails of fire, and though her mind screamed to stop, to regain control, her body leaned in, reacting to every touch, every kiss.
Her hands trembled against his chest. She bit her lip to suppress the sound rising in her throat—a moan, a surrender. She wasn't supposed to feel this way. She wasn't supposed to want this.
But when his lips grazed the curve of her stomach, her fingers clutched the sheets, knuckles turning white. Her mind spun in chaos—anger, confusion, desire. And in that whirlwind, one truth echoed louder than the rest: she liked it. Every second of it.
Ezrin didn't need to be told. He felt it in the way she arched ever so slightly toward his touch. He heard it in her ragged breaths. He smirked against her skin, his voice low and possessive:
"You can pretend you don't want this, Seraphina... but your body has already confessed."
And then, in the quiet aftermath of the storm, Ezrin's touches softened.
He lay beside her, the heat of their closeness still lingering in the air. One hand rested possessively on her bare waist, fingers splayed like a claim, while the other slid between her thighs—not to stir, but to hold. To remind her that she was his.
He pulled her in without a word, until her body collapsed against his, her head resting on his chest, her breath syncing with the steady rhythm of his heart. There was no space left between them. Just skin, warmth, and silence.
And in that silence, they didn't speak. No apologies. No promises. Just the unspoken bond of tension, surrender, and something deeper neither dared to name.
Eventually, sleep took them—tangled together, breath for breath.