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Before I could open my mouth to tell him to go to hell—before I could claw at him, scream, shove him away,or really do anything at all—he kissed me.

Rough. Deep. With tongue and intention.

It wasn’t romantic.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasclaiming.

His hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back just enough to let his mouth devour mine, and I gasped into it. Instinctively, I grabbed at his shirt, not sure if I was trying to pull him closer or push him away.

It didn’t matter.

He didn’t stop.

His tongue slid against mine like he owned the right to be there, like he was staking a flag and daring me to rip it down. I wanted to. I wanted to burn it all to the ground, but my knees went weak.

My body leaned into his like it remembered what he did to me only a short while ago and wanted it all over again. My mouth opened under his, and God help me, I kissed him back.

Harder.

Hotter.

Like if I could just kiss him hard enough, I could take the power back.

But that was the joke, wasn’t it? I already gave it away.

Or maybe he just took it.

When he finally pulled back, I was breathing hard, lips wet, heart hammering. He smiled, like he’d fucking won. It wasn’t smug and it wasn’t arrogant either. Just a slow, quiet curve of his mouth that told me everything I needed to know. I kissed him back, and I was standing here naked and wrecked. He owned me now, and we both knew it.

My pride screamed. My body hummed.

I barely got the chance to blink before his hand tangled in my hair again: firm, controlled,intentional. He tugged, not hard, just enough to remind me that I was going wherehewanted me now.

“Come.”

It was not a request.

He turned and walked, taking me with him, barefoot and naked and burning all over, down the long, dark hallway of his penthouse.

Andfuck, what a penthouse it was.

It was the entire top floor of the skyscraper, stretching like a glass-walled kingdom in the clouds. Black marble floors,industrial steel beams overhead. Everything in this place screamed power, the kind that didn’t need to announce itself.

He led me past walls of black glass that reflected our silhouettes: me, nude and blushing, him towering behind me, fully clothed, ruthless and relentless. We passed an open-plan kitchen with slabs of matte stone counters, a living room sunken into the floor, massive steel-framed windows that made the skyline feel close enough to touch.

He didn’t stop there, though, not until we reached the farthest room. It jutted out from the rest of the penthouse like the bow of a ship, surrounded on three sides by floor-to-ceiling glass.

He opened the door and stepped aside, gently guiding me in. The walls were soft gray, the furniture minimalist. The bed was massive, low to the floor, draped in dark gray sheets and fur throws. The windows curved around the room in a way that made me feel like I was floating over the city.

But it was the bathroom that truly made me gasp.

Glass. All of it. From the shower wall to the steam-fogged divider to the damn floor, with inset lighting that made the white tub glow like it was carved from moonlight. The bathtub sat in the corner, wrapped in glass, windows stretching above it. If I stepped into it, I’d be naked and visible to the stars—completely exposed…

He walked me to it slowly, still holding me by the hair, and when we stopped in front of it, he let go.

I didn’t move.