Get on the floor. Now."
Rafael's voice wasn't raised — but it didn't have to be. It cut through Aurora like a blade. Her thighs were still sticky from him, her heartbeat still fluttering from the orgasm he hadn't let her finish… and now, she was shaking for a different reason.
Fear.
A man stood just yards in front of the car. Dressed in black. Gun raised. His face was masked, but his stance was steady — this wasn't a bluff.
Aurora scrambled off Rafael's lap, clutching the silk robe around her half-naked body as she slid down to the floor of the backseat. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
Rafael cracked the window, just enough.
"Move or die," he said, loud enough for the man to hear.
The man didn't flinch.
The shot came fast.
Glass shattered — not from the window, but the back windshield. Aurora screamed, covering her head. Rafael ducked low, already firing back. Two sharp pops, no hesitation. The driver yanked the wheel and the car lurched to the right, tires screaming as they accelerated away.
Aurora clung to the leather seat, trembling.
"Stay down," Rafael growled, reloading with one hand, his chest rising and falling like a beast just unchained. Blood splattered his wrist, someone else's, not his. "Don't fucking move."
The car didn't slow again until they reached the steel gates of his private estate — tall black iron lined with security lights and sensors. The vehicle roared through, the gates locking shut behind them.
Safe.
Or something like it.
Rafael stepped out first. Without a word, he threw open her door and grabbed her by the wrist. No gentleness. No question. Just steel fingers and bruising heat.
She stumbled beside him barefoot and still half-naked as he led her up the marble steps of the mansion. The door slammed behind them with the weight of finality.
Inside, silence.
Then…
"What the hell was that?" she breathed, still trembling. "Who were they?"
"Dead," he answered simply, then turned. "Take off the robe."
Her eyes widened. "You—what?"
"I told you earlier. You were riding me. You didn't finish. I don't like leaving things undone."
Her heart stuttered. "You're serious? You almost just—"
"I don't fuck around, Aurora." His voice was low, sharp. "When I start something, I finish it. And you? You're the only thing keeping me from killing someone else right now."
She froze.
Something in his voice had changed.
It wasn't anger. It was hunger. A deeper, darker need. One that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with control. Possession. Rage barely leashed.
His eyes raked down her body — robe askew, nipples visible, thighs still flushed from the friction of the car. His voice dropped again.
"Strip."
Aurora's throat went dry.
She wanted to say no. But her hands betrayed her — moving slowly, undoing the tie at her waist. The robe slid from her shoulders and pooled at her feet.
Rafael stared like a man who had gone too long without food.
Then he stepped forward.
His fingers hooked under her chin, tilting her face up. His mouth crashed against hers, brutal and hot, stealing the breath from her lungs. She gasped, and he used the moment to shove his tongue past her lips, kissing her like he owned her.
When he pulled away, his voice was rough.
"Get on your knees."
She obeyed.
His belt hit the floor.
He pulled himself free — thick, hard, still aching from earlier. Her lips parted, and he guided himself in without mercy. The taste of him, the scent of him, the raw dominance behind every motion — it overwhelmed her.
He groaned low, fisting her hair. "Don't use your hands. Just your mouth."
She swallowed around him, eyes watering, breath stolen. He didn't stop. He fucked her mouth with slow, devastating thrusts until her jaw ached, her lips swollen and wet.
And just when she thought he would finish, he pulled away.
"Turn around."
He pushed her forward, her palms braced on the cold marble floor, and sank to his knees behind her. His fingers spread her wide.
Then he slid into her — thick, full, stretching her open all over again.
Aurora moaned, sharp and helpless, as he began to thrust.
Rafael wasn't gentle.
He was punishing.
Her body rocked forward with every movement, slick sounds echoing through the empty hall as he claimed her from behind. He grabbed her hips, pulling her back onto him, his voice a low snarl.
"You're mine now," he whispered. "Mine to fuck. Mine to protect. Mine to destroy."
She didn't answer — couldn't. Her orgasm slammed into her like a storm. She choked out a cry, trembling, and that was when he let go.
He groaned as he spilled into her, hips slamming hard, hands clenching her waist like she might disappear.
When it was over, he stayed still.
Then, slowly, he pulled out.
She collapsed to the floor, breathing hard, her body aching in ways she never knew it could.
He leaned down beside her.
And whispered:
"There's a price on your head, Aurora. That ambush wasn't meant for me. It was meant for you."