"No one was touching this perfect little body tonight," I continue, voice dropping lower, rougher. "Or any night. Those men in there? They're nothing. Less than nothing. You're mine to protect. Mine to keep."
She trembles under my gaze, but she doesn't pull away. Doesn't try to remove her hand from where I hold it pressed against my racing heart. Instead, she leans in slightly, unconsciously seeking my heat, my strength.
“What’s your name sweetheart?”
“Clara Bennet,” she whispers.
Clara.
She's pure in a world of filth. She's innocent in ways that make me want to both protect and corrupt her. I know that from the moment I saw her, something fundamental shifted inside me—like tectonic plates rearranging my entire being.
"Come with me," I say, not a question but not quite a command either. I'm giving her a choice, even though every fiber of my being is screaming to just take her, claim her, make her mine right here against the building wall if I have to.
She hesitates, just for a heartbeat. "Where?"
"Anywhere you want." The lie slips out easily. There's only one place she's going—my penthouse, my bed, under me while I claim what's mine. But she needs this illusion of choice right now. "Dinner? Your place? My place? Just name it, little one."
I watch her consider, watch the emotions play across her expressive face. Fear. Curiosity. And something darker, needier that makes my cock throb painfully against my zipper.
"Dinner would be nice," she finally says, cheeks flushing pink. "I haven't eaten all day. I was too nervous about the auction."
Something protective and possessive surges in me. "You need to eat." My tone brooks no argument. I lead her toward the car, opening the door myself instead of waiting for my driver. I want to be the one to usher her into my world. "I know a place."
As she slides into the leather seat, her dress rides up just enough to reveal another inch of those perfect thighs. My mouth waters. I want to drop to my knees right there on the sidewalk, push that dress up to her waist, and feast on her until she's screaming my name.
I slide in beside her, closer than necessary. She doesn't move away.
As the car pulls into traffic, I realize with brutal clarity: obsession has me by the throat. This isn't just want or need or lust. This is something darker, more consuming. Something that won't be satisfied by fucking her once or twice and moving on.
I want to worship between her thighs until she cries, then fill her so full she'll feel me for days. I want to mark her, claim her, ruin her for any other man. I want to see my ring on her finger, my child in her belly. I want to lock her away where only I can see her, touch her, taste her.
I want her to be mine. Forever.
She glances up at me, those wide innocent eyes questioning what she sees in my expression. If she could read my thoughts, she'd be scrambling for the door, running as far from me as possible.
Instead, she smiles shyly, and I'm lost.
"Thank you again," she says softly. "For everything tonight. For…saving me."
Little does she know—I'm not her savior.
I'm the biggest threat she's ever faced.
Because I’m never going to let her go.
three
. . .
Clara
His car smellslike leather and money. I sink into the seat, overwhelmed by the luxury surrounding me—the soft glow of hidden lights, the purring engine I can barely hear, the miles of legroom. But most overwhelming is him. Sabien Wolfe. Taking up space beside me, his body radiating heat and power. His jacket still hangs from my shoulders, too big, smelling like him. I clutch it closer, a shield and a comfort all at once.
The driver takes us smoothly through Manhattan's nighttime streets, lights streaking past the tinted windows. I should be terrified. I should be demanding to be taken home. I'm in a car with a stranger—a dangerous, powerful stranger who just spent ten million dollars like it was pocket change. Who looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole.
Yet I'm not afraid. Not exactly.
I sneak a glance at his profile—strong jaw, straight nose, those intense eyes focused on something beyond the window. He's beautiful in a harsh, masculine way. Like something carved from stone by an artist with anger issues and exceptional talent.