DYING FOR YOUR TOUCH

Chapter 16: The Breaking Point

The glass shattered. Seraphina did not scream as the shards of the window rained down onto the marble floor of the master suite. Valerius stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his tie ripped away, and his silk shirt torn at the shoulder. He looked wild, a predator who had finally stopped pretending that he wanted her for anything other than the raw, visceral consumption of her soul.

Get away from me, Seraphina said, though her voice lacked any real conviction. She backed toward the vanity, the cold edge of the wood pressing against her spine.

Valerius did not stop. He crossed the room in two strides, his gaze locked onto her throat. Do you want to pretend this is about the contract? he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her bones. You want to pretend that every time I touch you, you are not desperate for me to lose control?

She tried to turn, to slip past him, but his hand lashed out, gripping her waist and hauling her flush against him. His touch was electric, a searing heat that bypassed her rational mind and ignited every nerve ending in her body. She gasped as his fingers dug into her skin, his thumb tracing the rapid, frantic pulse at her hip.

You are lying to yourself, "he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. His breath was hot, ragged, and smelled of the expensive scotch he had been drowning his restraint in for hours. You act as if you are a hostage, but you are the one who walked into my office. You are the one who signed your life over to me.

He spun her around, forcing her to look at him. His dark eyes were dilated, the pupils swallowed by a hunger that made her knees feel like liquid. She reached out, her hands trembling as she balled her fists in his shirt, pulling him down until their foreheads rested against one another. The air in the room felt heavy, suffocating, charged with the static of a dozen unanswered arguments.

I hate you, she breathed, the words heavy with the weight of her own desire.

Valerius let out a harsh, jagged laugh that held no humour. Good, he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly, intense register. Hate is better than the distance you keep. At least when you hate me, you are feeling something.

He didn't give her another second to think. He moved his hands to her hair, bunching the strands in his grip to tilt her head back. He kissed her with a terrifying, absolute possessiveness that forced her to open for him. It was not a request. It was a demand. Her internal monologue shattered. She forgot the contract, she forgot the ninety days, and she forgot the terrifying reality of her own failing health. All that existed was the taste of him, the strength of his arms, and the overwhelming, undeniable need to be closer than was humanly possible.

He lifted her onto the vanity, his legs stepping between her knees. Seraphina wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in as if she were drowning and he was the only source of oxygen. He kissed her down the column of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin in a way that sent a sharp, painful pleasure radiating through her lower stomach. She arched her back, her fingers digging into his broad shoulders, pulling him flush against her chest.

Every touch was a friction burn. Every kiss was a battle for dominance. She felt the heavy, pulsating rhythm of his heart against hers, matching the frantic drum of her own. She was losing her grip on reality, her world narrowing down to the scent of his skin and the feeling of his hands mapping the curves of her body. She wanted him to hurt her, to possess her, to leave marks that would never fade. She wanted to prove to him that she was not just a fragile human but a woman who could meet his intensity and survive it.

Valerius pulled back for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes searching her flushed face. He leaned down, his voice barely a whisper against her lips. Do you know what I want to do to you right now?

Tell me, she demanded, her voice barely audible, her entire body shaking with the force of her attraction.

I want to strip away every layer of this polite, contract-bound woman you pretend to be, he growled. I want to ruin you for anyone else. I want you to remember this moment every single time you look at me for the rest of your life.

He kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands sliding down her back to pull her hips firmly against his own. She felt the raw, unadulterated power he held, and for the first time, she didn't fear it. She craved it. She pulled his shirt open, the buttons popping and scattering across the marble floor like hail. She wanted to feel his skin, to map the muscles of his back, to make him lose the last shred of his composure.

He groaned as her hands touched his chest, his head falling back as he arched into her touch. He picked her up effortlessly, his arms banding under her knees, and walked toward the bed without breaking their kiss. She clung to him, her legs wrapping around his waist, her heart pounding with the certainty that they were crossing a line from which there was no return.

He laid her back against the silk sheets, his body a heavy, welcome weight above her. He didn't waste time with tenderness. He was urgent, his hands moving over her with a desperate, hungry intent that left her breathless. She matched his pace, meeting his kisses with a ferocity that surprised even herself. The room was a blur of movement, of skin against skin, of tangled limbs and heavy, jagged breaths.

She felt the sharp, frantic ache of her own heart—the one that was supposed to kill her—and she realized it was beating faster than it ever had in her life. She reached up, framing his face with her hands, looking into his eyes with a defiance that mirrored his own.

Don't you dare stop, she commanded, her voice fierce.

Valerius stared down at her, his expression a mixture of awe and absolute, dangerous obsession. He leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a way that was almost agonizingly slow after their previous violence. I am not going anywhere, he promised, his voice vibrating through her. You are mine, Seraphina. Every beat of that heart, every breath you take, it belongs to this mansion. It belongs to me.

He leaned down to kiss the hollow of her throat, his teeth grazing the skin just above her collarbone. She felt a shiver run through her entire body, a mixture of terror and overwhelming, blinding need. She knew this was a mistake. She knew that falling for him would be the final nail in her coffin, that the moment she gave him everything, she would be completely at his mercy. But as he looked up at her, the mask of the billionaire sliding away to reveal the raw, desperate man beneath, she realized she had already lost the war.

She tangled her fingers in his dark hair, pulling him back to her lips. She didn't care about the consequences. She didn't care about the board, or the inheritance, or the ninety days that were ticking away like a death sentence. She only cared about this moment, this heat, and the man who was currently holding her world together with nothing but his touch.

But as the night wore on and the storm outside intensified, a strange, chilling sensation brushed against her consciousness. She felt a sudden, sharp coldness in the air, a drop in temperature that made the hairs on her arms stand up. She pulled back slightly, her gaze flickering toward the bedroom door.

Valerius didn't notice. He was buried in the crook of her neck, his touch turning from hungry to worshipful. But she heard it—a soft, metallic click from the hallway. Someone was at the door. Someone who had a master key. Someone who didn't care that they were in the middle of the most vulnerable, private moment of their lives. The door began to creak open, and Seraphina watched in frozen horror as the shadow of a man, taller and broader than Valerius, stepped into the room. He wasn't alone. He was followed by two others, their faces obscured by high-tech tactical masks. They held silence-suppressed weapons pointed directly at the bed. Valerius finally lifted his head, his eyes flashing a dangerous, icy blue as he saw the intruders. He didn't reach for a weapon. He didn't even stand up. He simply stared at them, his face a mask of cold, lethal calm, while Seraphina felt the last of her blood turn to ice as the lead intruder leveled his weapon at her heart.