Chapter 3 – Midnight Claim
1066 Words
Amara’s pulse pounded like war drums in her chest as she climbed the narrow fire escape to the rooftop. The city below glittered with artificial life, unaware of the storm that was about to crash above it. Her hands trembled, her breath came in shallow bursts, and every instinct screamed at her to run, hide, disappear.
But she couldn’t. She couldn’t ignore the text that had arrived earlier that evening:
“Meet me. Midnight. The rooftop of your dorm. Alone.”
Her fingers had hovered over the delete button for minutes, but she hadn’t. She wanted to hate him. She wanted to fight. But a deeper, darker part of her—the part that had tasted him and burned for him—had whispered, Go. Go now.
When she reached the top, the wind caught her hair, tangling it across her face, but she barely noticed. He was there. Dante Moretti. Leaning against the rooftop railing, tall, impossibly controlled, exuding danger. His silver-gold eyes caught hers instantly, piercing her as if he could see every secret thought, every desperate fear, every reckless desire inside her.
“You came,” he said, voice low, dangerous, carrying the same claim he had whispered in her ear that night: You belong to me.
“I—” Her voice caught in her throat. She wanted to protest, to step back, to flee, but he was already moving, closing the distance in long, powerful strides. Before she could react, his hands gripped her upper arms, firm and unyielding.
“You don’t get to run,” he murmured, brushing her hair from her face, letting his thumb trace her jawline. “Not from me. Not after what happened. You’re mine, Amara. And I don’t let go.”
Her knees threatened to buckle. Desire and terror tangled inside her, an unholy mix that made her ache in places she hadn’t even admitted existed.
“I… I don’t belong to anyone,” she whispered, trembling.
“You do. You already do,” he said, stepping closer until the heat of his body pressed against hers. His lips grazed her ear, voice rough with need and command. “I can feel it in you, in every glance, every heartbeat. Don’t fight it. You belong to me. You always have.”
Amara’s breath hitched. She tried to push him, but his hands were iron. And then… she stopped resisting.
Something inside her had broken that night at the club—the part of her that had feared, hesitated, withheld. And now it was back, hungry and unrelenting.
Before she knew it, Dante’s mouth captured hers, devouring, claiming, demanding. She moaned into him, hands tangling in his dark hair as his body pressed against hers. The cold rooftop wind did nothing to chill the fire that blazed between them.
“You’ve wanted this,” he growled against her lips, “even if you didn’t know it. I can feel it. You crave me, Amara. Every part of you does.”
She gasped, trembling, lost in the wave of sensation, her inhibitions gone. She kissed him back with desperate need, pushing, pulling, trying to match the intensity of his grip. His hands roamed with perfect authority, claiming her skin as if it were already marked with his ownership.
Clothes became a memory. Her hoodie and jeans fell to the concrete, the cold metal railing scraping her thighs, sending shivers up her spine that had nothing to do with the wind. Dante’s shirt peeled away, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the strength in his arms. Every touch was precise, urgent, commanding.
“You’re mine,” he murmured again, voice rough with need. “Say it.”
Her body shuddered against him. “Y-Yes… I… I’m yours.”
And he believed it. Every muscle in his body tensed as he kissed her again, deeper, harder, until the world around them disappeared entirely. The city, the night, the rooftop—all irrelevant. There was only him, only her, only the electric heat of possession and desire.
Their passion escalated quickly, urgent and raw. His hands gripped her waist, lifting her against the railing, pulling her impossibly close. Her moans echoed in the empty night, mingling with the sound of distant traffic below. She could feel his need, his obsession, and it terrified her even as it thrilled her.
“Amara,” he groaned, “you will never escape me. You don’t get to. You belong to me.”
Every word, every touch, every rough whisper drove her closer to madness, to pleasure, to the overwhelming ache that only he could bring. She gave herself fully, recklessly, with the knowledge that she had already crossed the line that one night at the club—and now she was addicted, hopelessly, helplessly, utterly his.
By the time the night ended, the city was silent again. She lay against him, breathing heavily, her body trembling with exhaustion and desire. He pressed a single, possessive kiss to her forehead.
“You’re mine, Amara,” he said again, the words heavy and final. “And I will never let you go.”
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The next morning, reality hit her like a tidal wave. She pulled on her clothes, heart racing, cheeks flushed. She tried to ignore the storm raging inside her: the obsessive pull she felt toward him, the danger she had just courted, and the thrill she couldn’t forget.
And then, at breakfast, she noticed it. Her stomach felt… different. Subtle, almost dismissible, but undeniably there. Her hand instinctively went to her lower abdomen. A cold wave of panic swept over her.
No… it can’t be… she whispered, heart hammering.
Her mind raced through the impossible possibilities, and a terrifying realization started to form: the reckless night, the intensity, the passion… it might have consequences she hadn’t imagined.
And one month after that night, when her period failed to arrive, she couldn’t ignore it any longer.
The fear, desire, and obsession tangled into something unstoppable: Dante had claimed her body, her mind… and now, perhaps, her future.
Amara sank against the kitchen counter, hands pressed to her face, heart thundering. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. She wanted to vanish into nothing.
But she knew—deep down, in the marrow of her bones—that Dante Moretti would never let her go.
And she was already powerless to resist.
- Writer
