MIDNIGHT POSSESSION

Chapter 4: Bound by contract

The black SUV glided through the wet streets of Chicago . . I sat as far from him as I could with my arms wrapped around my middle. Every breath felt heavy. My body still hummed with the aftereffects of last night — the pleasant ache between my thighs, the faint bruises on my hips where his fingers had dug in, the scent of him still lingering on my skin despite the shower I took and the perfume I sprayed on my body.

I hated how aware I was of him.

He sat relaxed beside me, with one arm on the back of the seat while the other was on his phone scrolling , his tattooed fingers occasionally brushing my shoulder.

Not forceful. Just… there. A constant reminder that I was his . I stared out the window at the blurred city lights, my mind was a mess

This is the man who destroyed everything.

The thought repeated like a curse. The same hands that had pinned me against the glass and made me scream in pleasure had signed the orders that ended my family. How could my body still react to him? How could I feel this traitorous heat low in my belly just from the brush of his fingers?

“You’re thinking too loud,” Damien said, his deep voice cutting through the silence.

I didn’t look at him. “Forgive me for processing the fact that I f****d the devil last night.”

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest. “And you came so beautifully for the devil, Isabella. Multiple times.”

Shame burned through me, hot and vicious. I pressed my thighs together, hating the fresh wave of wetness his words triggered. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to scream. But more than anything, I wanted to understand why part of me — a dark, broken part — didn’t entirely regret last night.

The car entered into a private underground garage beneath one of the city’s most exclusive towers. When the elevator doors opened directly into the penthouse, I stepped into a world that felt like it belonged in a dark fairytale. Expansive. Coldly luxurious. Black marble floors, massive windows overlooking the glittering skyline, expensive artwork that probably cost more than my entire bloodline’s remaining fortune.

Damien shrugged off his jacket, the black shirt beneath stretching across his broad, tattooed chest. “Welcome home.”

“This will never be my home,” I whispered, but I sounded like someone that was not convinced of what she was uttering

He walked over to a large desk made of mahogany and picked up a thick folder.

“Read it. Then sign it.”

My hands trembled as I took the papers. The contract was clinical. Brutal. Possessive.

I would live with him. Obey his rules. Share his bed whenever he wanted. In return, he would protect me from the enemies still hunting the last Moretti. There was no end date. Only his discretion.

“You expect me to sign away my life?” I looked up at him, tears were already forming in my eyes. “To become your w***e?”

Damien stepped closer, towering over me. His presence was screaming wealth , heat and power, his masculine scent still hovering upon me . “I expect you to be mine. Last night wasn’t a mistake, Isabella. Your body already knows who it belongs to. The rest of you will catch up.”

I wanted to tear the papers apart. But the cold reality settled in my chest: if I ran now, I wouldn’t survive a week. The Voss enemies who wiped out my family were still out there. And Damien… he was offering protection wrapped in chains.

Am I really this weak? Trading my freedom for safety? For the touch of the man who ruined me?

With a shaky breath, I picked up the pen and signed. The sound of my name on paper felt like a betrayal to every dead Moretti.

Damien took the contract, satisfaction shown in his dark cold eyes. “Good girl.”

The praise sent shivers down my spine. I hated how much I liked it.

Dinner was tense and silent. I barely touched the food. Every time I looked at him, memories flooded back. Every time I looked at him across the table, memories flooded back — his mouth between my legs, the way he’d choked me while thrusting deep, the filthy praise that made me come undone. And every time, shame and arousal warred inside me until I felt like I was losing my mind.

Later that night, when he led me to the master bedroom, the tension snapped.

The door had barely closed before he had me pressed against the wall, his mouth claiming mine in a bruising, possessive kiss. I tried to push him away. I really did. My hands shoved at his chest, but my lips parted for him anyway. My body remembered. I craved.

“Stop fighting it,” he growled against my mouth, his hand sliding down to cup me through my jeans. “You’re already soaked.”

“f**k you,” I gasped, even as my hips rocked into his touch.

“You will.” He unzipped my jeans and pushed two thick fingers inside me without warning. I moaned loudly, my head falling back against the wall. The stretch, the pressure — it was exactly what my body wanted.

I hated myself for how good it felt.

Damien f****d me with his fingers while his thumb circled my c**t, his mouth at my neck, sucking marks into my skin. “You can hate me all you want, Isabella. But this p***y knows the truth. It’s mine now.”

I came hard, biting my lip until it bled to keep from screaming his name. Tears slipped down my cheeks — from pleasure, from shame, from the terrifying realization that I was already addicted.

He didn’t stop. He stripped me naked and carried me to the bed, spreading my legs wide. This time he took his time, torturing me with his tongue until I was begging, sobbing, completely broken. When he finally thrust into me, deep and bare, I arched off the bed with a broken cry.

“Look at me,” he commanded, pinning my wrists above my head.

I did. And in that moment, staring into his intense eyes while he moved inside me, something twisted painfully in my chest. This wasn’t just s*x. This was possession. He was claiming every part of me — body, mind, and maybe even my shattered soul.

I came again, harder than before, clenching around him as waves of unwanted pleasure crashed through me. Only then did he let go, spilling deep inside me with a guttural groan, holding me so tightly it felt like he’d never let go.

Afterward, as we lay tangled in the sheets, his heavy arm locked around my waist, I stared at the city lights through the rain-streaked windows.

I was trapped in every possible way.

The worst part wasn’t the contract. It wasn’t even the danger.

It was the terrifying realization that a small, dark part of me didn’t want to run anymore.

And I had no idea how to live with that.