Ivana sat stiffly at the edge of the enormous bed, silk sheets sliding cool and indifferent against her bare legs. The air felt heavier than it should have, suffocating, pressing against her lungs as the memory of that phone call replayed in her head.
One week.
Seven days.
That was all the time it had taken for her life to be signed away.
Married to a man she had never met.
What kind of cruel world forced a woman into vows with a stranger? Into a bed that wasn't hers. Into a name that didn't feel like it belonged on her tongue.
Then she had seen his photograph.
Kacy Lillard.
A name spoken in boardrooms with respect and in private conversations with lowered voices. A billionaire. No. Beyond that.
Wealth that could swallow cities. Wealth that could secure her family's bloodline for generations.
And yet, staring at that picture, she had felt nothing but resistance.
Yes, he could provide everything. Security. Luxury. Status. Protection.
But none of it was love.
And love was the one thing her heart ached for.
Rumors about him were impossible to ignore. A spoiled heir. A ruthless businessman. A playboy with a smile sharp enough to draw blood.
They said he was sweet.
They also said he was deadly.
Get close to him, and you might never leave the same.
He wasn't tied to any syndicate, no mafia, no public crime empire. But somehow that made him worse. More dangerous. Power without visible chains. Influence without fingerprints.
People whispered about him like he was a beautifully wrapped toxin.
Sweet poison.
Quiet violence.
When she studied his picture again, she understood why.
Blue eyes that looked almost gentle until you stared too long and saw the danger beneath.
A sculpted jawline. Perfect symmetry. The kind of beauty that felt less like a blessing and more like a warning.
Handsome enough to ruin you.
Dangerous enough to enjoy watching it happen.
Her father had reassured her.
"He will protect you. He will fulfill his duty as a husband."
But protection wasn't what her heart longed for.
She didn't need a prince. She didn't need a billionaire savior. She didn't need a powerful man to shield her from the world.
She needed love.
Messy. Voluntary. Chosen.
The kind that wasn't negotiated in silence between men in suits.
She didn't want his money.
She didn't want his control.
She wanted to be loved .
The kind that chose her back.
This cage of silk and signatures offered nothing but chains.
The soft creak of the bedroom door cut through her thoughts.
Her lungs seized.
He stepped inside.
Tall. Broad. Controlled.
He moved with the unhurried confidence of a predator who had never once in his life been hunted. Every step deliberate. Every breath measured.
The air shifted the moment he entered.
The room seemed smaller, tighter, like the walls themselves acknowledged his dominance.
He stopped a few feet away.
His gaze found her instantly.
Calm.
Always so terrifyingly calm.
Ivana's pulse thundered in her ears.
She had imagined this moment a hundred times.
None of those versions had prepared her for the reality of him standing there...alive, breathing, dangerously real.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
The silence between them felt loaded.
Heavy. Intimate in a way that made her skin prickle.
This was her husband.
A stranger.
A man who looked like temptation carved into flesh and danger wrapped in charm.
And as he continued to watch her without blinking, without smiling, she realized something unsettling.
Whatever this marriage lacked in love…
It would not lack in intensity.
"Miss Ivana Moore."
The velvet rasp of his voice stroked down her spine like a blade wrapped in silk.
She forced steel into her words.
"Not Miss. Mrs. Ivana Lillard. Unless the vows already evaporated from your memory."
A slow, lethal smile curled his mouth.
"You think titles change anything here, pretty?"
"Jerk,"
She breathed, too low to pretend innocence.
He tilted his head, closing half the distance.
"Louder."
"No, Mr. Kacy."
"Just Kacy."
His voice dipped lower.
"No 'Mr.' Unless you want me calling you Mrs. every time I make you come."
"That's only fair if you drop the 'Mrs.' when you say my name."
He laughed, soft, dark, the sound sliding inside her like liquid heat.
Six molten drops bloomed between her thighs before she could stop them, soaking the lace of her panties in an instant betrayal.
"Fuck,"
She hissed under her breath, cheeks burning.
Her thighs clamped together on instinct. Too late.
"Don't ever laugh like that again,"
She snapped, glaring up at him.
He studied her, slow and deliberate, eyes glittering with dark amusement.
"Why? Because it's sexy?"
He stepped closer.
"Because that sound makes your cunt clench and drip for me?"
"It's Ivana,"
She bit out, pulse hammering in her throat.
"And no. It didn't turn me on."
"Mm."
A single syllable. Dangerous. Then that wicked smirk bloomed again, eyes still holding that possessive burn.
"Liar."
He crossed the remaining space in two strides, towering over her until she had to tip her head back.
"Admit it, pretty."
His voice dropped to gravel and sin.
"You liked it. That laugh slid right between your legs and made you so fucking wet. You're sitting in your own mess right now...."
Her breath hitched.
She clenched harder. Useless. Heat leaked anyway.
"…you want my cock buried so deep in that slick little cunt till it hurts,"
He continued, shameless, filthy.
"but instead it's just dripping uselessly into your panties when it could be coating and milking my tongue. My fingers. My face."
She gasped.
Speechless.
mortified.
aching.
The words were obscene. Perfect. Ruining.
He leaned in until his mouth hovered a heartbeat from hers.
"Want me to check how wet you really are?"
Her heart slammed.
"Check what? You're a fucking pervert."
A low, dark chuckle vibrated from his chest.
"Pervert?"
He tsked softly.
"That's for men who take what isn't theirs."
His hand settled on her waist, possessive, heavy.
"You are mine now."
She tried to scoot back. He caught her wrist, gentle enough not to bruise, firm enough that she wasn't going anywhere.
"Every inch."
His free hand traced the neckline of her nightgown, thumb dragging deliberately over her nipple until it peaked, hard and obvious beneath silk.
"These pretty tits. This soft belly. This greedy, dripping cunt."
His gaze dropped between her legs, blatant.
"Mine to touch. Mine to spread. Mine to ruin until you forget your own name and only remember mine."
At first the possessiveness made her flush hotter. Then it ignited something sharper.
"No one else gets near what's mine."
The words landed like a slap.
She yanked against his hold, voice trembling with sudden fury.
"I'm not yours."
She hissed it, low and venomous.
"I'm not property. I'm not some fucking acquisition you signed papers for."
He didn't flinch. Didn't blink. Just watched her, calm, intense, utterly unmoved as though her anger was a breeze against stone.
As though every furious word she flung was too small, too fragile to reach him.
His new wife, his furious, spitting little moonlight, glaring up at him like she could burn holes through his calm mask with sheer willpower.
Cute. So fucking cute when she was angry.
Her cheeks flushed, lips parted on half formed insults, chest rising and falling in sharp, wounded breaths.
Every time she opened that rude, defiant mouth, "you… I… you…" the words blurred into white noise.
He wasn't hearing sentences anymore. Just the soft, wet sound of her lips moving. Just the way her throat worked when she swallowed her rage.
God, if she knew the things flashing through his head right then.
Like..... Bending her over that vanity mirror across the room.
Yanking her nightgown up over her hips.
Spreading her thighs wide with bruising hands.
Shoving his cock so deep inside her dripping cunt until she'd forget how to form words at all, only broken sobs and his name ripping from her throat until her voice cracked and gave out.
Fucking her mindlessly, relentlessly, until her legs shook and her slick ran down his balls and the mirror fogged from her gasping breaths.
Until she was nothing but a trembling, cum soaked mess who couldn't remember why she'd ever tried to fight him.
He chuckled low in his chest, quiet, private.
Gagging that smart mouth might shut her up faster.
The thought made his dick twitch painfully against his pants.
She had no idea.
No idea she hadn't just married a man.
She'd married the devil who wore civility like expensive tailoring.
Outside: calm. Collected. Polite danger.
Inside: a storm of want so vicious it bordered on violence.
When he decided he wanted something, someone, he didn't chase. He hunted. And he never stopped until what was his was marked, claimed, ruined for anyone else.
Her glare sharpened. She could tell he wasn't listening. Not really.
Her final words sliced through the haze.
"I am not a thing. I'm not some asset you acquired. I'm a human being and I'm not yours. I'll never be."
His eyes snapped to hers.
Something dark uncurled in his gaze, slow, deliberate, predatory.
"Mmmmm…"
The sound vibrated low in his throat.
"Let's try that again."
He surged forward, fingers closing around her wrist like manacles wrapped in silk. Hard enough to make her gasp; sharp, startled, seductive.
"Say it one more time, Ivy,"
He murmured, mouth so close his breath scorched her lips.
"Tell me you're not mine again. See if I don't drag you to that mirror, bend you over, rip those soaked panties aside, and fuck you like a feral animal until your cunt's gaping, dripping my cum down your thighs, and your throat's raw from screaming my name until you can't make another sound."
Her gasp was soft. Breathy. Devastating.
His cock jerked hard at the sound, hot, thick, aching only for her.
Her cheeks blazed crimson. But the anger still simmered beneath it, remembering his earlier claim, the way he'd spoken of her like a prize he'd won. No apology. No retreat.
Instead of repeating the forbidden words, she whispered, voice trembling but defiant:
"You don't even know me. So don't play prince charming by saying I'm yours. I'm not yours."
That did it.
Something snapped behind his calm facade, not rage.
Hunger.
Possession edged with violence.
His hand released her wrist.
She scooted back instantly, sensing the shift in the air, the danger coiling tighter.
Too late.
His fingers closed around her ankle in a single, brutal motion. He yanked.
She slid across the sheets toward him with a choked cry.
He dragged her beneath him, caging her with his body, lips ghosting the frantic pulse in her neck.
"I know enough,"
He rasped against her skin.
"I know your father traded you to keep his crumbling empire from dust. I know you hate every second of this. And I know...."
His free hand slid between her thighs without warning, cupping her soaked heat through the drenched lace.
"this greedy little cunt is already weeping for me. Begging. Dripping like it's starving."
Tears spilled over her lashes.
She twisted, trying to wrench her ankle free. He let go immediately, merciful, almost tender, only for her to scramble farther up the bed, curling into herself, voice cracking.
"My dad didn't sell me… it was just… his company was bleeding money, so he…um... he made an arrangement with your family…"
The words tumbled out between sobs. Tears streamed freely now, pretty, glistening tracks down her flushed cheeks.
He laughed.
Low. Dark. Psychotic.
Not at her pain.
But at how fucking beautiful she looked crying for him.
The way her lashes clumped with tears.
The way her lips trembled.
The way her body shook even as she tried to hold herself together.
Obsession, he told himself. Not love.
Obsession.
But deep down, in the black pit where he kept things he refused to name, he knew better.
He didn't lunge. Didn't drag her back.
He simply leaned forward, slow, lethal calm, voice soft as poisoned honey.
"That's what you tell yourself, pretty. So let's clear the fog."
His gaze pinned her in place.
"Who do you think benefits more from this marriage?"
She already knew.
Her pride just wouldn't let her say it.
"Tell me, Ivy."
His voice wrapped around her like smoke and thunder, quiet, inevitable, stroking every raw nerve.
"My… parents," she whispered.
Tears gathered thicker. But she bit her lip hard, refusing to let a single moan escape, even as fresh heat pulsed between her legs at the dark command in his tone.
He smiled, slow, sadistic, satisfied.
"Good girl."
Silence stretched, thick, electric.
Then she asked the question that had festered since the moment she'd learned his name.
"Why didn't you reach out before the wedding?" Her voice shook, teary, raw. "Why didn't you come to your parents' mansion while our greedy families bartered me like livestock? You let me carry all the fear, the humiliation, the pain, alone. You didn't even look at me until tonight. And now you think you have the right to claim me? You don't, Kacy. You don't."
Her words cracked on the last syllable.
For one heartbeat, something flickered in his chest, sharp, unfamiliar. Pity? Guilt?
Something darker and more forbidden he refused to name.
He leaned in. Not touching, Not yet.
Just close enough that the heat rolling off his body licked at her skin like an open flame.
His presence alone was suffocating and intoxicating.
"I'm expensive to see, Ivy,"
He said, voice low and deliberate, each word carved from ice and velvet.
"You don't get to expect me to come running. I didn't marry you for joy. I didn't marry you for love. Don't look for sweet words or tender gestures. This is an arrangement. Nothing more."
The last fragile thread holding her together snapped.
Tears spilled hot and silent down her cheeks. She didn't bother hiding them anymore. Soft, broken sounds; half-sobs, half-whimpers, filled the space between them, raw and ruined.
He didn't move to comfort her.
He simply watched.
Blue eyes steady. Unblinking. Drinking in every tear like it was wine.
When her breathing finally steadied and she swiped roughly at her wet cheeks, she looked up at him red-eyed, trembling and the words came out like shards of glass.
"This whole thing… it's too much for me."
Her voice cracked open.
"Really? So I'm the one trapped here, forced to swallow every cold, cruel thing you say just because you're too heartless to care? Drop the mask, Kacy. Stop pretending this is anything but a transaction."
The hurt in her tone sliced deeper than she knew.
"You don't treat me like a person,"
She whispered, shaking.
"You treat me like garbage in your perfect, luxurious life. How the hell did I end up married to someone like you?"
Something flickered behind his calm mask—sharp, involuntary.
In one fluid motion he sat on the edge of the bed and hauled her onto his lap.
Her thighs were forced wide around his hips; strong hands clamped her in place, pinning her flush against the thick, iron-hard ridge of his cock straining beneath his pants.
"Never...."
He murmured, voice deadly soft.
"...call yourself garbage again."
His thumbs dug into her hips.
"And never cry again. It fucking hurts me to see it and I don't know why I care when I've barely looked at you before tonight."
She trembled violently, rage and humiliating arousal warring inside her.
His mouth brushed hers once, feather-light, almost reverent then dragged down the column of her throat.
Teeth grazed. Teased. Then he pulled back just enough to meet her glassy eyes.
"I meant this whole forced marriage,"
She tried to speak, but the words died on her tongue, her anger evaporating as if it had never existed. The fight bled out of her voice the second his lips returned to her tear-streaked cheek, kissing away the salt like it belonged to him.
He studied her, silent, predatory.
Her blush deepened. Her breathing hitched.
He felt the way her body softened against him despite everything. Felt the heat radiating from between her thighs.
He was done resisting.
He wanted to tear that flimsy nightgown off her and fuck her until the bed broke.
His head dipped again. Lips found her racing pulse.
"And lastly, Ivy…"
He whispered against her skin.
"my rules."
He pulled back.
Smirked.
That slow, innocent-seeming curve of lips that made panties drop and hearts stutter.
"First rule: You're free to do whatever the hell you want in this loveless arranged marriage,"
He continued, voice wrapping around her like smoke and steel.
"Unless you decide to make it real."
His gaze raked her scarlet face; the smile sharpened.
"I know I'm handsome. Charming. Irresistible.
"Second rule: if you ever cheat or do anything that displeases me there will be punishment."
He leaned closer.
"And I don't mean divorce. I mean something that makes you scream my name until your lungs give out and you forget how to breathe without tasting me."
"You mean… death?" she whispered, eyes wide.
A low, dark chuckle rolled from his chest at her innocence.
God, my Ivy is far too innocent, he thought.
"No, Pretty. Death's too merciful."
His voice dropped to sin.
"I'd make you beg for mercy while I remind you inch by brutal inch who owns every gasp, every tear, every thick drop of cum that leaks out of your swollen little cunt."
She swallowed hard.
Silence pulsed between them—heavy, electric.
Then he leaned closer, his voice a sinful whisper against her ear.
"Why so quiet now? Wet again?"
"Ugh! You jerk!"
She glared, heart slamming.
She tried to push off his lap. He dragged her back down, rough, possessive.
One arm banding her waist like iron.
His mouth found her neck again.
Bit soft at first.
Then harder and sucked until a bruise bloomed beneath her skin.
A gasp tore from her. Then a helpless, broken moan.
When he lifted his head, her face was scarlet, eyes glassy with unshed tears and lust.
"Last rule,"
He drawled, one brow lifting lazily.
"Don't ever curse at me. Because if you do…"
His voice turned liquid danger.
"…you won't like what happens next."
She swallowed again.
"The least you can do is kiss me,"
She whispered, half challenge, half plea; innocent and filthy all at once.
He stared. Then laughed, low, proud, predatory.
"Dare me, pretty. Then you'll see if it stays 'just a kiss.'"
"But it will start with a kiss… right?"
"No."
His voice was pure sin.
"It starts with a suck."
She turned her face away, cheeks blazing.
He caught her chin,gentle, unyielding and kissed her.
Soft at first. Then deeper. Hungrier. Tongue sliding in to claim every inch of her mouth.
Trailing down her throat in slow, wet bites.
She opened her mouth to protest.....
He gripped the neckline of her nightgown and ripped. Silk tore like wet paper from collar to hem. Cool air kissed her bare skin.
She gasped, arms flying up to cover herself.
He caught her wrists in one large hand, pinned them behind her back, arching her breasts toward him.
He winked, slow, filthy.
"Look at you,"
He rasped, eyes devouring the flush spreading across her chest, the dark wet spot staining her panties.
"Already fucking soaked. Dripping for the husband you swear you hate."
He hooked a finger in the lace and yanked it aside exposing her swollen, glistening folds.
"Fuck, Ivy. This pretty pink cunt is drenched. All for me."
Her moan was involuntary as his mouth descended.
First, her throat.... sucking a dark bruise into existence.
Then lower. Tongue flicking over one tight, aching nipple. Teeth grazing. Then sucking hard, hard enough to make her back bow off his lap.
His free hand slid between her thighs. Fingers parted her slick lips. Found her clit. Circled with slow, maddening precision.
"Ahhhh… shit… fuck… Kace… ahhhh…"
"Yeah, baby,"
He growled against her breast.
"Keep moaning my name like that."
He tore his shirt
Pants came off.
Shoved his boxers down.
His cock sprang free—long, thick, veined, dark with need, pulsing as if aching just for her.
She stared. Breath caught.
"Fuck… it's so long…"
"Rub that soaked little cunt on my bare dick,"
He ordered, voice gravel-rough.
"Feel what you do to me."
He shoved her ruined panties fully to the side, baring her completely.
The hot, rigid length of him slid along her drenched slit, coating every inch in her slick.
She rocked instinctively; slow, torturous drags that pulled a guttural groan from deep in his throat.
"That's it,"
He hissed.
"Grind that needy, dripping pussy all over my cock. Show me how desperately you want me to fill you up and fuck you maddening."
She rocked against him shamelessly now, hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles, her swollen clit grinding along the thick, veined length of his cock with every slick drag.
The friction built fast, merciless; she felt him throb beneath her, hot and heavy, right on the razor's edge of release.
Then she stopped.
Pulled back just enough.
Smiled, wicked, taunting, utterly unafraid.
"Fuck,"
He snarled, voice gravel and hunger.
"daring me, pretty?"
In a heartbeat he flipped her beneath him, rough, possessive. His palm cracked across the soft curve of her ass, sharp, stinging heat blooming instantly before his fingers dug in, squeezing the reddening flesh like he owned every inch.
He pinned her hips down with bruising strength, forcing her to keep rocking against his rigid shaft until she cried out, half-pain, half-pleasure, thighs trembling uncontrollably.
Then the panties were gone.
Torn away in one violent yank.
He hooked her legs over his broad shoulders, spreading her wide, exposing every glistening fold to his ravenous gaze.
And he dove.
Tongue plunging deep into her soaked core, lapping up every drop like a man who'd been starving for years.
He sucked her clit hard, relentless, drawing it between his lips, flicking, circling, devouring until her hips bucked wildly off the mattress.
She screamed his name, fingers knotting painfully in his hair, thighs quaking as a gush of slick heat flooded his mouth.
He drank her down greedily, groaning into her pussy like the taste was salvation.
"You're so fucking sweet…"
He rasped against her folds, voice muffled and filthy.
"Like roses… like goddamn lavender… like sin wrapped in honey… oh fuck, you're perfect… made to be eaten alive…"
The praise vibrated straight through her clit.
She flushed hotter, dripped harder, body betraying every attempt at resistance.
"Ahhhh… fuck, Kacy… fuck… it hurts… too much…"
She screamed again, squirted violently against his tongue, begged him to stop, to mercy, to anything.
He ignored her. Kept devouring until her legs were limp, shaking, useless.
Only then did he release her trembling thighs.
He rose over her like a storm, clouds lining the thick, glistening head of his cock against her entrance.
Thrust in slow.
Inch by brutal inch.
Stretching her open until she sobbed, full, aching, overwhelmed.
Soft, broken moans spilled from her lips at the careful invasion… then he snapped.
Faster. Harder. Deeper.
Hips slamming home with punishing force.
Balls slapping wetly against her tight cunt.
"Take it,"
He growled, voice eerily calm even as he fucked her senseless.
"Every thick fucking inch. You're mine now, Ivy. Say it."
"I'm yours.....ahhhhh... Kace...."
She screamed. Cried. Yelled his name until her throat burned.
She bit back curses remembering his rule but one slipped anyway, sharp and desperate.
He punished her beautifully.
Fingers curling inside her alongside his pounding cock hitting that spot that made stars explode behind her eyes while his mouth returned to her clit, sucking hard, tongue relentless.
He drove deeper, faster, forcing another shattering orgasm that ripped through her like lightning. Then another. And another.
He took her in every filthy position he wanted, on her knees, face pressed to the sheets; against the headboard, legs wrapped around his waist; flat on her back with her ankles by her ears, relentless, possessive, claiming every gasp, every tear, every pulse of her cunt around him.
Until finally, growling low in his throat he pulled out slow.
Thick ropes of cum leaked from her swollen, abused pussy, dripping down her thighs in obscene white trails.
Spent, trembling, she barely registered him scooping her up.
He carried her into the shower like she weighed nothing.
Hot water cascaded over them both.
He washed her gently, hands reverent now, thumbs brushing away the tears that still clung to her lashes. He tilted her chin up, blue eyes steady, unreadable.
"You disobeyed tonight. Broke rules. And like I said it starts with a suck, but it ends with tears and screams and with you crying my name until your voice gives out. I mean it."
He kissed her then slow, almost tender, tongue tracing the seam of her lips like a promise and leaned away.
"But something could still grow here, Ivy. Maybe love."
His thumb stroked her cheek.
"Because you're exactly my type; especially like this. Outside this bed you're rude, bold, infuriating. Inside it? You're fucking perfect. Soft. Needy. Blushing. Mine.
Your moans are addictive; cute one second, filthy the next.
Your lips are hot; tempting sin.
Your tits; sweet, succulent, begging to be marked.
Your thighs; thick, soft, made to wrap around me.
And this cunt…"
His hand slid down, cupping her tenderly between her legs.
"…sweetest, softest, pinkest little thing I've ever tasted. Gets so wet, so fast, just for me.
Even now, after all that, you're blushing red and pink.
You fight, but that flush betrays you every time.
You're different.
And stupidly, dangerously mine."
She stared up at him through the steam, heart slamming against her ribs, torn between the rage still simmering in her chest and the dark, addictive gravity pulling her under.
Something terrifying sparked in the silence.
Surrender.
And beneath the hot spray, with his hands still gentle on her skin, she wondered:
Could love claw its way out of forced vows and ruthless possession?
Or would it only consume them both; slowly, beautifully, until nothing was left but ashes and obsession?