And that’s the problem here.
She hasn’t fullyseenme yet.
I close the distance between us in two strides. She backs up instinctively, one step, then another, until she runs out of room. Her back hits the door with a soft thud.
I reach down, grabbing her under her knees, and hike her up against the door. My hips pin her lower body, my erection pressed against her core through the thin barrier of her underwear. Forced to grab me by the shoulders to steady herself, her breath catches, eyes widening with the first real flicker of fear.
I lean in close, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You have no idea what you’ve just agreed to.” She shivers against me.
Her hands brace against my shoulders, neither pushing me away nor pulling me closer. Suspended in indecision.
“You’re mine now. As long as you’re here, you’re mine.” I press harder against her, making sure she feels every inch of what she’s provoked. “You will do everything I say. And it all starts now.”
I pull back just enough to see her face. “Look at me.”
She swallows hard, fear evident in the rapid pulse at her throat. But she lifts her gaze to mine, steady and unwavering. Taking my challenge head-on.
“Miss Take,” I whisper, close enough to feel her breath on my lips. “Only when this is all over will you realize just how big of a mistake you’re making right now.”
Emmaleen is breathing so hard, she’s almost panting. Her breasts heave against the thin white cotton, each inhale pushing her nipples against my chest. She’s still staring, still defiant—like a woman who thinks she has options.
I lower my voice to a precision cut. “You’ll be the only woman with clothes on. The rest will be naked or might as well be.” I grind against her, making sure she feels every inch ofwhat she’s provoking. “Every man out there will be looking at you, wondering what’s underneath. Wanting to rip this shirt off. Wanting to see what I’m keeping for myself.”
Her pulse hammers at her throat—visible, quantifiable fear. Yet her eyes remain locked on mine. Fascinating. Infuriating.
“You’re a lamb in the wolf’s den, Emmaleen.” I trace one finger down her jaw, cataloging the minute tremors in her muscles. “You’re nothing but a meal.”
Rico collects weaknesses like trophies. He’ll spot hers in seconds. The vulnerability. The desperation. The pride she wears like armor over paper-thin defenses.
She shakes her head no. A small, tight movement.
Something snaps inside me—the last thread of control I’ve been clinging to since seeing Rico in my father’s driveway.
“Speak!” The word explodes from me, loud enough to make her flinch.
Good. She should be afraid. She should run while she still can. I don’t want to win this little game anymore. I’ve already won. The second she followed me into my restaurant, I won.
I want her to get out before she can’t. To walk away from this life before it swallows her the way it swallowed me. The way it’s been consuming me since I was born.
I never had a choice. This life was my inheritance. My birthright. My prison sentence.
But she does. She still has time to choose differently.
Tears well in her eyes, but she remains silent. Stubborn. Stupid.
“Last. Chance.” I growl the words between clenched teeth.
She shakes her head again. Defiant to the end. Like she’s proving something to herself.
“Fucking speak!” The words tear from my throat, raw and unfiltered. I never lose control like this. Never. “Say something or get the fuck out!”
“I’m yours,” she whispers, each word precise and deliberate, hanging in the charged air between us like a confession. Her voice trembles slightly, but her eyes remain steady, locked on mine with a determination that burns through her fear. “I will do everything you say, whatever you want, whenever you want it. I’m making this choice—me. Right here, right now.”
The words land like physical blows against my chest. There’s a surrender in them, yes, but also a strange power—as if by choosing submission, she’s found some kind of freedom I can’t comprehend.
Like there’s power in her surrender. A twisted kind of strength radiating from her willingness to bend rather than break. As if by offering herself up, she’s somehow claiming control over her own fate—redefining the very nature of submission into something almost... dignified.
She’s wrong. Completely, utterly wrong.