The Devils Obsession

Chapter 2: The Claim

I shouldn’t have gone back to that apartment. Not after last night, not after the way he looked at me—the way he claimed me without a word. But something inside me is reckless, addicted to the heat of danger, and maybe… to him.

The moment I step inside, he’s already there. His silhouette fills the doorway, broad and dark against the dim light. The air shifts, thick with tension, like the room itself is holding its breath.

“You came back,” he says, voice low, a growl under the calm. There’s no question in it—no asking for permission. Just statement. Ownership.

“I…” I falter, words useless. My chest rises and falls faster than it should. “I had to… talk to you.”

He smirks, moving closer, each step deliberate. My pulse hammers in my ears. “Talk?” His laugh is dark, seductive, dangerous. “You don’t come back here to talk. You come back because you want me.”

The truth hits like a shock. My body responds before my mind can object, betraying me completely. I can’t deny it. I do want him. Every forbidden, terrifying fiber of me aches for it.

He’s close now—so close I can feel the heat of him radiating against my skin. His hand brushes against my jaw, tilting my face up, forcing me to meet his eyes. Those eyes—black, endless, consuming—drain the air from my lungs.

“You’re mine tonight,” he says softly, almost tenderly. And then, just as suddenly, rougher, fiercer: “Do you understand?”

I nod, though my voice is lost somewhere between fear and need.

Without warning, he pulls me against him, his body pressing against mine. Every inch of me is alight with tension. His hands are everywhere—demanding, claiming. My mind screams to resist, but my body answers him without hesitation.

“You’ll learn to obey,” he murmurs against my ear, his lips grazing my skin, leaving fire in their wake. “And you’ll like it.”

I shiver at the words, torn between wanting to flee and wanting him even more.

He leans back just enough to study me, his gaze sharp, measuring. “I told you,” he says, voice low, dangerous. “I don’t tolerate lies. And I don’t tolerate anyone trying to escape me.”

I swallow hard, my throat dry. “I… I don’t want to escape.”

A shadow of a smile curves his lips. “Good,” he whispers, his hand sliding down my arm, along my waist, a deliberate claim of ownership. “Because once the devil has a taste, there’s no letting go.”

And in that moment, I realize something terrifying: I don’t want him to let go.