RUTHLESS POSSESSION

CHAPTER 3

The heat radiating from his hands on my thighs burned straight through the cheap denim of my jeans. The study felt microscopic, squeezed down to the few inches of space separating my chest from his heavy, custom-tailored suit.

"I don't break rules, Mr. Vance," I managed to say, my breath hitching as his fingers tightened their grip, holding me anchored to the edge of the walnut desk. "I survive them."

"Killian," he corrected, his voice dropping an octave into a low, gravelly rasp that made every nerve in my spine snap to attention. "You call me Killian."

He didn't wait for my response. Before I could process the shift, he leaned down, his mouth catching mine in a kiss that wasn't a request—it was a demand. It was hard, possessive, and thick with the taste of single-malt bourbon and dark danger. I gasped in surprise, and he used the brief opening to deepen the kiss, his tongue claiming every inch of my mouth with a slow, ruthless precision.

A soft sound escaped my throat—a mix of terror and an intoxicating, treacherous pleasure that made my hands instinctively fly to his chest. My fingers knotted into the dark fabric of his jacket, not to push him away, but to keep from drowning in the sheer weight of him.

For twenty one years, I had been an inconvenience. A mistake. Something to be shoved into corners and traded like a worthless chip. But in Killian's grip, I wasn't invisible. The way his hand slid up my back, cupping the nape of my neck and tilting my head to consume me completely, made me feel consumed by a wildfire.

When he finally pulled back, he didn't go far. His forehead rested against mine, his heavy chest heaving in tandem with my own erratic breaths. His dark obsidian eyes searched my face, tracking the flushed heat on my cheeks and the bruised swollen look of my lips.

"No tears," Killian murmured, his thumb dragging across my lower lip, catching a drop of moisture. "No begging. You really are something else, Elena."

A sudden, sharp knock at the heavy oak doors shattered the silence like glass.

Killian didn't flinch, but his eyes narrowed, the fierce intensity in his gaze snapping instantly into cold, lethal focus. He didn't step away from between my legs, keeping me firmly pinned under his frame as he called out over his shoulder.

"Speak," he commanded, his voice sharp enough to slice steel.

The door opened an inch, and a tall man in a dark tactical suit stepped into the threshold, keeping his eyes strictly lowered to the floorboards. "Boss. We have a situation at the docks. Marcus’s crew crossed the perimeter. They know she’s here."

The air in the study went frigid. The atmosphere shifted from suffocating desire to pure, unadulterated danger in less than a heartbeat.

Killian slowly straightened up, finally releasing my thighs, though his fingers lingered on my knee for a fraction of a second before dropping. He turned toward the door, reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out a heavy, matte-black handgun with practiced ease. He checked the chamber with a crisp clack and tucked it into his shoulder holster.

He turned back to me, his expression transformed into a mask of stone.

"Stay in this room, Elena," Killian ordered, his voice leaving zero room for argument. "My men will be outside the door. If anyone other than me tries to open it..." He paused, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a possessive, dangerous gleam. "...they won't live long enough to regret it. You belong to me now, and I don't let anyone touch what's mine."