The air in the room thickened with unspoken dread as Elena stood frozen, the scant dress dangling from Vincent's outstretched hand like a taunt. "You have to wear it," he said, his voice a low rumble, his eyes glinting with a possessive hunger. "I want to see you in this." Her jaw tightened, defiance flaring in her chest.
"I won't,"
she snapped, her tone rough with resistance, a spark of courage against his will. His lips curled into a cruel smile, and he advanced, his steps deliberate, a predator closing in. She stepped back, fear flickering in her hazel eyes, her breath quickening as the wall halted her retreat, its cold surface pressing against her spine.
Vincent loomed inches away, his presence a suffocating shadow, and pinned her with a firm grip, his hands framing her shoulders. "What did you say earlier?" he murmured, his voice a velvet threat. Her heart raced, nerves unraveling her resolve.
"I… I said no,"
she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. In an instant, his lips crashed against hers, a fierce kiss that stole her breath. His teeth grazed her lips, a sharp bite followed by a slow, possessive lick, his tongue exploring with a hunger that left her dizzy.
She struggled, pushing against his chest, her hands trembling, but his strength held her captive. For twenty agonizing minutes, the kiss deepened, a battle of wills where her resistance faded into a reluctant surrender, her gasps filling the silence.
When he finally pulled back, she panted, her chest heaving as she sucked in air. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin with a deceptive gentleness.
"Wear it—and be quick, within ten minutes," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Defeat weighed on her, and she nodded, unwilling to provoke him further. She retreated to the corner, slipping out of the towel with a nervous glance, and donned the dress. The fabric was a cruel jest—barely covering her thighs, its dark threads clinging to her like a second skin, exposing more than it hid.
She crossed her arms, hands shielding her legs, and stepped before Vincent, her movements hesitant, her cheeks flushed with shame.
He stood motionless, a statue carved from desire, his eyes tracing her form with a stunned intensity. Slowly, he approached, his steps a silent promise, and swept her into his arms, carrying her to the bed with a fluid grace.
"You look like a complete feast,"
he whispered, his voice thick with longing as he began to shed his shirt, the fabric falling to the floor in a careless heap. Elena's face warmed, an unwitting shyness creeping in.
"Shut up," she muttered, her voice soft yet defiant, a rare break from her silence. For the first time, a genuine smile broke across his face, a flicker of joy at her response, softening the hard lines of his features.
She squirmed beneath him, her voice breaking.
"Please, at least tell me when you'll release me."
He bent close, his face inches from hers, his breath a warm caress against her skin.
"Never—ever," he said,
his words a final decree. In that moment, Elena's heart sank, the truth of her imprisonment sinking deep. His lips found hers again, a slow kiss that traced her mouth with a tender ferocity, while his hands roamed, brushing her neck with a possessive touch.
He moved lower, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of her throat, a shiver racing through her despite her pain. His kisses wandered to her chest, a gentle press above her heart, then down to her stomach, each touch a mix of dominance and longing that left her breathless.
Elena's mind raced, a silent plea for escape weaving through her thoughts—how to flee this gilded cage, how to reclaim her freedom. But Vincent's focus remained unrelenting. His teeth nipped her shoulder, a sudden bite that drew a gasp.
"Focus on me,"
he commanded, his voice a low growl, pulling her back to the present. Her heart ached, torn between resistance and the unwanted pull of his touch, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The room seemed to pulse with their entwined breaths, the shadows bearing witness to a dance of power and fragile desire.
As the night deepened, Vincent's gaze grew fiercer, a hunger that brooked no denial. He drew her closer, his hands firm yet deliberate, guiding her beneath him as the world outside faded into silence. His lips returned to her neck, tracing a path of heated kisses that sent tremors through her frame, each touch a claim she couldn't escape.
His fingers brushed her sides, a possessive caress that lingered, while his breath warmed her skin, a silent promise of his will. Elena's struggles weakened, her body caught in the tide of his dominance, her mind a battlefield of pain and a reluctant surrender. For hours, he had his own way with her, his movements a slow dance of control, his whispers of ownership
—"You're mine"—
mingling with the rustle of sheets. She lay still, her tears soaking the pillow, her heart heavy with the weight of her captivity, yet a faint spark of defiance flickered within, a plan to break free taking root.