YOU'RE MINE
1884 Words
THE PACT OF FIVE
CHAPTER 15: YOU'RE MINE
The bathroom in my suite is a masterpiece of black marble and gold fixtures, the kind of space that’s meant to feel like a spa but right now just feels like a *battleground.* The rain from earlier has left the air heavy with moisture, and the steam from my shower fills the room, fogging the mirrors and blurring the edges of reality. I need this. Need the heat, the water, the *escape.* Need to wash away the weight of Micah’s words, Jax’s defiance, Cole’s guilt.
*Seventeen days.*
The water cascades over me, hot and soothing, the droplets sliding down my skin like *fingers.* I close my eyes, letting the spray rinse away the tears I didn’t even realize I was crying. The scent of jasmine and vanilla from my shower gel fills the air, but it does nothing to calm the storm inside me.
I tilt my head back, letting the water run over my face, my hair plastered to my skin. The sound of the shower is loud, drowning out my thoughts, but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.
That’s when I hear it—the *click* of the bathroom door.
I freeze, my eyes flying open. The steam is thick, but I don’t need to see to *know* it’s him. I can *feel* Knox’s presence like a dark cloud, his scent—dark coffee and power and *sin*—cutting through the humidity.
I turn off the water, the sudden silence deafening. My voice is shaky. "Knox?"
He doesn’t answer. Not with words. Instead, I hear the *rustle* of fabric, the *clink* of his belt hitting the tile floor. My breath catches in my throat.
And then he’s *there.*
The shower door slides open, and Knox steps inside, his body a dark silhouette against the fogged glass. He’s *naked.* Completely, *gloriously* naked. His body is a work of art—hard muscle, dark ink, a scar across his right cheekbone that only makes him look more *dangerous.* The water cascades over him, rivulets tracing the lines of his tattoos, the hard planes of his chest.
His dark eyes *burn* into me, his voice a *growl.* "You’ve been *avoiding* me."
I take a step back, my back hitting the cold tile. The contrast between the heat of the water and the chill of the wall sends a *shiver* down my spine. "I haven’t—"
His hand lifts, his fingers brushing my cheek, his thumb *catching* a droplet of water. His touch is *possessive*, his voice a dark promise. "Liar."
I swallow hard, my voice a whisper. "Knox, *please.*"
His smirk is *dark.* "Since when do you *beg*, little shadow?"
I close my eyes, my voice breaking. "*Since I realized I’m in over my head.*"
His fingers slide to my nape, pulling me against him, his body *hard* and *hot* against mine. The water cascades over us, mixing with our body heat, turning the shower into a *sauna.* I can *feel* him—*hard* and *ready*—and my core *aches* with the need to have him *inside* me.
His lips brush my ear, his breath hot against my skin. "You’re *mine,* Lena."
My breath *hitches.* The words are a *claim*, a *promise*, a *vow.* And the way he says it—like it’s the only truth that matters, like it’s the only thing he’s ever been *sure* of—makes my *knees* weak.
I *should* push him away. Should *remind* him of the pact, of the rules, of the *consequences.* But I don’t. I just stand there, my heart *hammering,* my body *trembling* with need.
His other hand slides down my body, his fingers *teasing* my nipple, his thumb *circling* the tight bud. I *whimper,* my head falling back, my body *arching* into his touch.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, his voice rough.
I *should.* I *know* I should. But the words won’t come.
Because the truth is, I *don’t* want him to stop.
His lips crash onto mine, *hard* and *hungry,* and I *moan* into him, my hands flying to his chest, my body *melting* into his. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, *claiming* me, *owning* me, and *f**k,* it’s *everything* I’ve ever *fantasized* about and *more.*
His hands are *everywhere*—my waist, my thighs, my *breasts.* I arch into his touch, my nails digging into his shoulders, my mind *screaming* at me to stop, to *think,* to *breathe.*
But I don’t *want* to stop.
I want *him.* I want *this.*
His lips trail down my neck, his teeth grazing my skin, and I *whimper,* my body *aching* for *more.* His hand slides down my stomach, his fingers *teasing* the apex of my legs, and I *gasping,* my hips *bucking* into his touch.
And then his fingers are *inside* me, his thumb *circling* my c**t, and I *scream,* my body *shattering* around him, my mind *blanking* with pleasure.
But he doesn’t *stop.* Not even when I’m *trembling*, not even when I’m *begging* him to.
His voice is a dark growl against my ear. "*Mine.*"
And then—
*Click.*
The sound of the bathroom door *again.*
We *freeze.*
Knox doesn’t move away. Not at first. He just *watches* me, his eyes *dark* with possession, his voice a *promise.* "They can *wait.*"
I shake my head, my voice a whisper. "Knox, *please.*"
His jaw *clenches,* but he finally steps back, his body *trembling* with restraint. The water cascades over him, washing away the evidence of our *sin,* but it does nothing to dull the *hunger* in his eyes.
He turns off the water, his voice a *whip-crack.* "Get out."
I don’t move. I just stand there, my body *trembling,* my mind *racing.*
And then I hear it—the *click* of the bathroom door *closing.*
Knox’s eyes *lock* on mine, his voice a dark promise. "*You’re mine, Lena.* And when that clock hits zero, I’m going to *prove* it."
And then he’s *gone,* leaving me standing there, my body *aching,* my heart *pounding,* my mind *screaming* at me to *run.*
Because the *worst* part?
I *know* he’s right.
And I don’t know if I *want* to run.
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