RUTHLESS POSSESSION

CHAPTER 2

His calloused hand held my neck with a firm, possessive weight that made it impossible to look away. Every nerve ending in my body flared to life—a terrifying, electrifying heat that pooled deep in my stomach.

"You don't look like a boss," I whispered, the defiance slipping out before my brain could filter it. "You look like a executioner."

Killian’s dark eyes flashed, a low rumble echoing in his chest. His thumb pressed against the pulse point fluttering at my jawline, feeling every frantic beat of my heart. "In my world, Elena, there is no difference."

He didn't release me. Instead, he pulled me closer until my front was completely pinned against his suit-jacketed chest. I could feel the hard, broad expanse of his muscles underneath, the steady, unbothered rhythm of his heart contrast against my erratic breathing.

With his free hand, he reached into his inner jacket pocket. I tensed, expecting a blade or a gun. Instead, he pulled out a small silver key and dropped it onto the glass desk behind us with a sharp clink.

"That unlocks the terrace doors upstairs," Killian said, his voice dipping lower, rough and commanding against my ear. "Beyond that terrace is a drop into the black waters of the bay. You have three choices tonight, little mouse."

He leaned back just enough to look down into my eyes, his grip tightening imperceptibly in my dark hair.

"One: you take that key, run to the edge, and jump. Two: you try to fight me, in which case I will break you until you learn where you belong. Or three..." His thumb swept slowly over my lower lip again, parting it slightly as his gaze darkened with something predatory and raw. "...you accept that your old life is dead, and you let me give you everything your mother denied you."

"At what price?" I asked, my voice barely a thread, yet holding his stare head-on.

"Your absolute loyalty," he murmured, his face inching closer until his lips brushed the sensitive skin just below my ear, sending an involuntary shiver straight down my spine. "And complete submission."

The memory of my mother's cold, disgusted face flashed in my mind—the woman who had traded my life for a stack of poker chips and a temporary reprieve. Fear was a familiar companion, but the strange, burning sensation Killian kindled inside me was entirely new. He wasn't offering me safety out of kindness; he was claiming me as his property.

And for the first time in twenty one years, being claimed felt a hell of a lot better than being discarded.

"I'm not jumping," I said, my breath catching as his fingers dragged slowly down the column of my throat, tracing the delicate bone of my collarbone before resting heavily over my ribcage.

Killian’s lips curved into a dark, satisfied smirk against my skin. "Good girl."

Before I could process the words, he slid his hand down to the small of my back, lifting me seamlessly off my feet and setting me onto the edge of the heavy walnut desk. Papers scattered, but neither of us cared. He stepped between my knees, his large frame towering over me, closing off every avenue of escape.

"Let’s establish the rules of your new home," he said, his hands coming up to grip my thighs, his touch burning straight through the fabric of my dress. "Rule number one: you do not touch what isn't yours. Rule number two: you do not lie to me."

He leaned in, his heavy chest pressing against mine as his dark eyes locked onto my lips.

"And rule number three?" I asked, my lungs fighting for air under the sudden, suffocating intimacy.

"Rule number three," Killian growled, his hand sliding up my thigh, "is that you never, ever forget who owns you."