Chapter Eight — Bound by Fire
576 Words
The room was too quiet.
Too still.
Yet my pulse roared in my ears, a frantic, uneven rhythm I couldn’t control.
Rhys was watching me, his sharp gaze drinking in every detail. Every breath. Every hesitation. Every unspoken thought.
I should have looked away.
I should have run.
But I didn’t.
Because I had already made my choice.
And he knew it.
He stepped forward, slow, deliberate. The predator who already had his prey cornered.
"You're trembling," he murmured, his voice deep, edged with amusement.
I lifted my chin, refusing to let him see the war inside me.
"I’m not."
Rhys smirked. Like he saw through every lie I could ever tell.
"Are you trying to convince me?" he asked. "Or yourself?"
My stomach tightened.
Because maybe, just maybe…
I didn’t know the answer anymore.
He reached out, his fingers skimming the bare skin of my arm. Barely a touch. A whisper.
But it burned.
God, it burned.
---
I should have pulled away.
Should have put space between us before it was too late.
But I stayed.
Rooted to the spot. Trapped in his gravity.
Rhys tilted his head, his smirk deepening.
"You walked into this," he reminded me, his fingers tracing higher, just beneath the strap of my dress. "You chose this."
I swallowed hard.
"I know."
He leaned in, his breath ghosting over my skin. Teasing. Torturing.
"Do you?"
His fingers slid over my collarbone, slow and deliberate.
I sucked in a sharp breath, heat curling low in my stomach.
Damn him.
Damn him for knowing exactly how to unravel me.
He was testing me. Waiting for me to break.
But I wouldn’t.
Not yet.
Not like this.
I lifted my gaze, meeting his dark, knowing stare.
"You want me to beg, don’t you?" I whispered.
Rhys chuckled, low and dangerous. The sound curled around my spine, coiling in my core.
"No," he murmured. "I want you to surrender."
---
His fingers trailed lower, slipping beneath the thin fabric of my dress.
My breath hitched.
Not from fear.
Not from hesitation.
But from the terrifying truth clawing its way through my chest.
I wanted this.
I wanted him.
And Rhys knew it.
He always knew.
"Tell me to stop." His voice was rough now, his control fraying. Like he was holding himself back.
Daring me.
Testing me.
I should have.
I should have walked away.
But I didn’t.
Because I wasn’t the girl who ran anymore.
I had walked into the fire.
And now, I was burning.
I lifted my chin, my fingers curling into his shirt.
"I won’t," I whispered.
Rhys exhaled sharply, his composure slipping for the first time.
And then—
He kissed me.
Hard. Deep.
Like he was claiming me. Like he was branding me from the inside out.
I gasped against his lips, my body arching into his. The heat between us was unbearable. Blinding.
His fingers tangled in my hair, tilting my head back, forcing me to take more. To give more.
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t soft.
It was raw. Consuming. A war neither of us wanted to win.
His hands were everywhere. Mapping. Learning. Possessing.
I moaned into his mouth, my nails raking down his back, dragging him closer.
Rhys groaned, his grip tightening.
"You have no idea," he murmured against my lips. "What you’ve just done."
My pulse pounded.
Because I did.
I had just sealed my fate.
And there was no turning back.
- Writer
