The sunlight streamed through the penthouse windows, casting a golden glow over the room that made Ava Cole's heart thump painfully in her chest. She sat on the edge of the bed, knees pulled close, staring blankly at the city below. Last night replayed vividly in her mind: Adrian's hands, his lips, the way he had claimed her without a word, without asking permission—and yet, she hadn't wanted him to stop.
Ava rubbed her temples, trying to summon a shred of composure. She had been rational, independent, strong. And yet here she was, tangled in sheets that smelled like him, every fiber of her being screaming that she wanted more.
The sound of movement made her stiffen. Adrian. He leaned against the doorway, hair slightly mussed, shirt partially unbuttoned, smirk tugging at his lips in that infuriatingly confident way.
"Good morning," he murmured, eyes scanning her with amusement and something darker—possessive, claiming.
"Morning," she whispered, voice tight, betraying a mixture of embarrassment and desire.
He stepped closer, circling her with a predator's precision. "You're quiet," he noted. "Contemplating how good last night was? Or plotting revenge for… letting me have my way?"
Ava swallowed, trying to steady her breath. "I'm… thinking."
"About what?" His smirk widened, voice low and teasing. "About how much you want me already? About how you can't stop thinking about me?"
Her cheeks flamed. She averted her gaze, but he tilted her chin gently, forcing her eyes back to his. "Don't lie to me, Ava. I know that fire in your eyes."
Her pulse quickened. She wanted to argue, to reclaim control, to insist she wasn't that person anymore—but all she could do was shiver under his gaze, knowing he was right.
"Adrian…" she whispered, voice barely audible.
"Yes?" he murmured, leaning closer, hand brushing a strand of hair from her face. The heat of him, the weight of his presence, the memory of every intimate touch from last night made her knees weak.
"You're infuriating," she said finally, trying to push him back.
"And yet," he countered, smirk widening, "…you're still here. Still mine. Still craving every moment."
Ava's chest heaved, breaths shallow, body trembling. She wanted to pull away, but she didn't. Not really. Not when every instinct, every nerve, every pulse was screaming to surrender to him.
Adrian smiled knowingly, closing the distance, capturing her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss that reignited the fire between them. She moaned softly, her hands twisting into his shirt, pulling him closer as if trying to fuse with him, to hold on to the heat, the connection, the undeniable bond that had always existed.
When they finally pulled back, foreheads pressed together, both breathless, Adrian's smirk softened slightly. "We're going to have a lot of fun," he murmured. "You and me. No running, no pretending. Just… this."
Ava shivered, a mix of exhilaration and fear coursing through her. She had crossed a line she thought she would never cross—and yet, she knew, deep down, she didn't want to go back. Not ever.
The rest of the morning was a delicate dance of tension and teasing:
Adrian leaving for the office first, smirking over his shoulder, promising a "day to remember."
Ava showering, trying to regain composure, yet feeling the lingering heat of their encounter everywhere.
Text messages from Adrian that were equal parts playful, possessive, and teasing—reminding her that he owned her attention now, in every moment.
By the time she arrived at the office, the game had shifted. The dynamics between them were electric:
Public interactions were now laced with hidden meaning, glances, and subtle touches.
Co-workers began noticing the new tension, whispering about the "CEO's obsession."
Ava found herself constantly aware of Adrian, heart racing, pulse pounding, torn between anger, desire, and the thrill of being claimed.
One particularly tense moment occurred during a boardroom presentation:
Adrian leaned across the table, hand brushing her back ever so lightly. A subtle touch, but enough to send her pulse skyrocketing. She caught his eye and saw the smirk—dangerous, teasing, triumphant. She bit her lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction of her reaction, but failed miserably.
"You're mine," he whispered, voice low, barely audible to anyone else.
Ava's heart hammered. She wanted to argue. She wanted to run. She wanted to deny him. But she couldn't. Not when every look, every touch, every breath from him reminded her that he already had her—body, mind, and heart.
The day ended with Adrian cornering her in the elevator, smirk wide, hands brushing her arms lightly, voice teasing: "Tomorrow, we'll see how much you can handle. Don't think this… stops here."
Ava pressed her lips together, trying to suppress a moan. She realized something terrifying—and thrilling—about herself: she wanted more. She wanted him. And no matter how much she fought, she knew this dangerous, intoxicating, infuriating game was only just beginning.