Page 125 of Haunted

“Xavier, please.” The words come out breathier than I intended. “I asked for time to think.”

He moves behind me, his chest pressing against my back as his hands settle on my hips. In the mirror, his reflection meets my gaze with an intensity that makes my knees weak.

“You’ve been thinking for a week,” he murmurs against my ear. “What conclusion have you reached?”

“That’s just it—I can’t reach any conclusions when you don’t leave me alone long enough to?—”

His mouth cuts off my protest, covering mine in a kiss that steals every coherent thought from my head.

Xavier’s hands slide under my thighs, lifting me effortlessly as my legs instinctively wrap around his waist. He carries me toward the shower, his mouth never leaving mine, turning on the water with one hand while pinning me against the cool tile wall.

Steam begins to fill the space around us as hot water cascades down, but all I can focus on is the desperate hunger in his eyes as he looks at me.

“I can’t leave you alone,” he growls against my lips. “You’re mine, Mira. Every breath, every heartbeat, every thought in that brilliant mind—it all belongs to me.”

The water soaks through what little clothing we’re wearing, making the fabric cling to our skin. Xavier’s hands are everywhere, stripping away every barrier between us.

“I’m addicted to having you,” he continues, his confession making my heart race even faster. “The way you say my name when you surrender to me.”

Before I can process his words, he slams inside me without warning, stealing my breath and making me cry out. The force of it drives me back against the tile, and I have no choice but to hold on as he fucks me with an urgency that borders on desperation.

Each thrust is punishing, possessive, designed to remind me exactly who I belong to. The hot water streams around us as he takes what he wants, his grip on my hips bruising in its intensity.

“Xavier,” I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure and pain blur together.

“That’s right,” he rasps against my ear. “Say my name. Let me hear you surrender.”

His pace is relentless, driving me higher with each powerful thrust until I’m sobbing his name. The bathroom fills with steam, and the sounds of our joining echo offthe tile walls.

“Tonight,” he pants between thrusts, his voice rough with exertion and desire, “we’re going to Purgatory. Like I promised.”

My pussy clenches around him, remembering his earlier promise about displaying me.

“We’re going to fuck on display for everyone to see,” he continues, his rhythm never faltering. “And then we’re going to watch others while I make you come again and again.”

The realization hits me painfully, cutting through the haze of pleasure and steam surrounding us. If Xavier takes me to Purgatory tonight—if he proves again that I crave being watched, being displayed, being used for others’ entertainment—there will be no pretending anymore.

If I let him parade me through that club tonight, if I respond the way we both know I will, then I’ll have to face the truth about what I’ve become. What he’s made me.

An exhibitionist. A voyeur. A woman who gets wet at the thought of strangers watching her surrender. An object to entertain him, others.

“I can see you thinking,” Xavier growls against my neck, his thrusts slowing to a torturous pace that makes me whimper. “Stop.”

But I can’t stop. Because I know—with terrifying clarity—that if he does this to me again, if he proves that my need to be watched extends beyond that maze, beyond that contract, then I’ll never find my way back to who I was before.

Thewoman who would have been horrified by the thought of public sex and called Purgatory depraved.

That woman is already dying. I’ve been dying since the moment I signed that NDA and let Xavier take me in front of fifteen hunters, telling him I belonged to him.

But tonight will be her funeral if he makes me do this.

“Xavier,” I whisper, my voice breaking around his name.

He stills inside me, his grip on my hips tighten possessively.“What is it?” His gray eyes search my face.

The words stick in my throat because saying them out loud makes them real. Makes this choice real.

“If we go tonight...” I swallow hard. “If I let you do what you want to do to me there...”