Chapter Nine — No Escape from Him
711 Words
The air between us crackled with something dark, something dangerous.
Something alive.
Rhys was still close, his breath warm against my skin.
His touch lingered, the heat of his hands seared into me. Not a fleeting ghost of sensation, but a mark. A claim.
I should have stepped back.
I should have put distance between us before I drowned in this.
But his fingers curled under my chin, tilting my face up.
And I let him.
I let him.
"You should be afraid of me," he murmured, his voice a low rasp.
I swallowed, my throat dry.
"I’m not."
He huffed a quiet laugh.
"You should be," he said again, but softer this time. Almost like a warning.
Then his thumb brushed my lower lip, slow and deliberate, like he was testing my limits.
Or maybe his own.
"Your body tells me one thing, Naomi." His voice was dark silk, sliding under my skin. "But your eyes?"
I blinked up at him, my breath unsteady.
"What about them?"
"They tell me you don’t know what you want."
A shiver traced down my spine.
Because maybe he was right.
Maybe I didn’t.
But then his fingers traced the curve of my jaw, his touch maddeningly light, and suddenly, I knew exactly what I wanted.
And it was him.
---
I moved before I could stop myself.
Fisted his shirt, pulled him closer.
His lips parted slightly, something dark and satisfied flickering in his expression.
But he didn’t move first.
He waited. He always waited.
Like he wanted me to be the one to break.
To fall.
"Say it," he murmured, his breath brushing my cheek.
I clenched my jaw.
"You want control," I whispered. "But so do I."
Rhys stilled.
Then, he laughed.
Low and rich, the sound sent a shock of heat through my veins.
"God, I like you," he muttered, before his lips crashed against mine.
I gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling, needing more.
And he gave it.
He gave me everything.
His mouth was fire and sin, wicked and consuming.
Not asking. Taking.
And I let him.
Because I wanted this war just as much as he did.
---
I barely noticed when my back hit the wall.
When his hands found my waist, dragging me up against him.
Hard muscle. Heat. Control.
He owned this moment.
But I refused to let him own me.
I bit his lip, a sharp little sting that made him hiss.
Rhys pulled back just enough to smirk.
"You like playing with fire," he murmured.
I held his gaze.
"And you like getting burned."
Something changed then.
The air thickened.
His grip on my waist tightened, the amusement in his expression darkening into something else.
Something dangerous.
Something I should have feared.
But I didn’t.
I burned for it.
I burned for him.
And Rhys?
He knew it.
He knew it the moment I leaned in again, silent, waiting—
Daring.
And he didn’t hesitate.
---
His lips crushed against mine, this time rougher, hotter, more needy.
Like I had finally crossed a line I could never go back from.
His hands explored now—no hesitation, no second-guessing.
He pressed me harder against the wall, forcing me to feel him.
My breath hitched, my fingers gripping his shoulders, nails sinking into his skin.
Rhys groaned, the sound sinful.
"You’re playing a dangerous game, Naomi," he murmured, his lips trailing down my jaw.
I tilted my head back, letting him.
"I know."
And then his teeth grazed my neck, a sharp nip that sent fire licking through me.
I gasped, my hands fisting in his shirt, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.
Because it was too much.
Too hot. Too raw. Too real.
But I didn’t stop him.
And he didn’t stop himself.
---
When he finally pulled back, I was trembling.
Rhys watched me, his breathing uneven, his pupils blown wide.
Then, slowly, too slowly, he smirked.
"Careful, Naomi," he murmured, his fingers tracing my cheek.
His touch was gentle. Almost cruel.
"You're starting to look like you belong to me."
---
I didn’t answer.
Because deep down, in the darkest part of me—
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to fight that truth anymore.
- Writer
