"Zayan—"
My voice breaks slightly and I want to die.
His hand shifts near my waist but doesn't grab.
He doesn't need to.
He has me exactly where he wants me.
"You were so confident a minute ago," he murmurs against my ear. "Talking about aiming."
His teeth catch my earlobe this time.
Not hard.
But deliberate.
A slow bite.
Fuck.
My hands fly to his chest to shove him away because this is spiraling and I need oxygen and dignity and maybe a priest.
I push.
Or I try to.
He moves faster.
His fingers wrap around my wrists mid-shove.
Firm.
Controlled.
Not hurting.
But not asking either.
And before I can process it, he lifts my hands above my head and pins them there against the mattress.
My brain blanks.
Actually blanks.
I stare up at him.
Wide-eyed.
Because this is not the same playful hovering from before.
This is different.
His arms flex slightly as he holds both my wrists in one hand.
One.
Hand.
Excuse me?
My heart starts beating so hard I can feel it in my throat.
This is not what I expected.
This is not what I signed up for.
"What are you doing, Zayan?" I whisper, and it comes out breathless and way too real. "Move."
He doesn't.
He lowers his head instead.
His mouth brushes my ear again.
And then—
He bites.
Harder this time.
Not enough to hurt.
Enough to shock.
A sharp pulse of sensation shoots down my neck and straight into my stomach.
I clamp my teeth together so hard my jaw aches.
Do not moan.
Do not.
Do not.
I try to lift my knee.
Try to kick.
But his thigh shifts slightly, trapping my leg without effort.
I freeze.
"You are heavy, you moron," I breathe out, because insulting him is safer than admitting I feel like I'm on fire.
His lips curve against my skin.
I feel the smirk.
"I'm not even putting half my weight on you," he murmurs, calm as hell.
My brain glitches.
Half?
Half???
So this is him being gentle?
I tug at my wrists.
Hard.
I twist.
I try to yank my arms free from above my head.
Nothing.
He doesn't tighten his grip aggressively.
He just… holds.
Steady.
Unmoving.
"Don't try so hard, babe," he says softly near my ear. "You can't."
The confidence in his voice makes something hot and dangerous curl low in my stomach.
"I can," I snap, trying again.
I can't.
This is humiliating.
And worse—
I think I like that he can do this.
What the hell is wrong with me.
"Let go," I demand, breath shaky despite my tone.
He leans back just enough for me to see his face.
His eyes are darker now.
Focused.
Not playful.
Not teasing.
Something else.
Controlled.
Measured.
"You were threatening me five minutes ago," he says quietly. "What happened?"
"You're insane," I whisper.
He tilts his head slightly.
That look.
That analyzing, dangerous look.
"Don't bite me, Zayan."
His brow lifts slowly.
"I can't?"
"You can't," I say, forcing steel into my voice. "You don't get to."
His gaze drops to my mouth for half a second.
Then back to my eyes.
"And who's going to stop me?" he asks softly.
My stomach flips.
My heart is pounding so loud I'm convinced he can hear it.
"I will," I say.
He studies me.
Really studies me.
Then, slowly, he lowers his mouth back to my ear.
Not biting this time.
Just breathing.
Warm.
Close.
"You can't even free your hands," he murmurs.
Heat rushes through me again.
I twist my wrists one more time.
Testing.
His grip tightens just slightly in response.
Not painful.
Just enough to remind me.
He could hold me here all day.
"Say it," he whispers near my ear.
"Say what?"
"That you want me to stop."
My brain short-circuits again.
Because that's the problem.
I don't.
Not fully.
And he knows it.
He always fucking knows it.
I swallow.
"You're annoying," I say instead.
His thumb brushes lightly over the inside of my wrist where he's holding me.
Slow.
Absent-minded.
Like he's not even thinking about it.
But I feel it everywhere.
"You're shaking," he says quietly.
"I'm not."
"You are."
I glare at him.
"Get off me."
"Convince me."
He leans closer again.
His nose brushes my jaw.
His breath slides down my neck.
Not biting now.
Just there.
Close enough to make every nerve ending stand up and salute.
"You can't bite me," I repeat, stubborn.
He hums.
Soft.
Thoughtful.
Then his teeth press lightly to my earlobe again.
Not biting.
Just resting there.
"Tell me to stop properly," he says.
My brain is chaos.
My body is worse.
I tug once more at my wrists, testing him.
He doesn't budge.
Not even a little.
His forearm flexes slightly.
Vein visible.
Control everywhere.
"You're impossible," I whisper.
"And you're dramatic," he replies calmly.
My heart is still racing.
But something shifts.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
Awareness.
He's holding me.
Yes.
But he's watching me.
Waiting.
Like the second I actually mean it, he'll let go.
That realization hits harder than the bite.
I meet his eyes.
Try to steady my breathing.
"You think this makes you powerful?" I ask quietly.
His lips brush near my ear again.
"No," he murmurs. "You letting me hold you does."
And that—
That does something violent to my composure.
I look at him.
Really look at him.
Pinned wrists. His body hovering. That controlled stare like he's dissecting me.
"You look like a fucking predator," I say, voice low but steady.
His head lifts slowly.
Not rushed.
Not offended.
He studies my face like he's reading small print.
"Is that a compliment?" he asks, almost bored.
The audacity.
I roll my eyes hard enough to hurt.
"No. It's a diagnosis."
He doesn't blink.
His grip doesn't loosen.
But something shifts in his expression.
A flicker.
"You act like you're experienced," I add, aiming straight for his ego. That's the weak spot. Kick there and he'll flinch.
He smirks instead.
Of course he does.
"And you talk like you've been hovered over before," he replies, voice low, controlled, too calm.
My stomach flips.
I hate that it flips.
I lift my chin.
"I was waiting for my first love."
It leaves my mouth before I can filter it.
I mean it as a challenge.
As a statement.
As armor.
His eyes change.
Not playful.
Not teasing.
Darker.
Quieter.
Possessive in a way that makes my pulse stutter.
"Yeah?" he says softly.
Too softly.
"Yeah," I repeat.
He leans closer.
Not touching yet.
Just invading space.
"I don't like the idea of you waiting for anyone," he murmurs. "Especially someone who isn't me."
There it is.
That edge.
That territorial flicker.
My brain screams danger.
My body does not listen.
"You don't get to like or dislike anything about me," I snap.
He studies me again.
Slow.
Measured.
Then his thigh presses in tighter.
My leg moves instinctively to kick him.
He's faster.
His leg shifts, trapping both of mine between his.
Not crushing.
Just sealing.
Now I can't move.
My breath catches.
He didn't even try hard.
He just… closed the space.
"You think you're scary," I mutter.
"You think you're untouchable," he counters.
"I will kill you, bastard."
I actually try to knee him.
He adjusts again.
Effortless.
His mouth drops to my shoulder.
I barely register it before his teeth sink in.
Not playful.
Not light.
Sharp enough to shock.
Heat shoots through me.
My back arches without permission.
What the hell is wrong with my spine.
My fingers curl instinctively.
His teeth sink deeper.
Not playful.
Not testing.
Deep.
His fangs press into my skin with slow, deliberate pressure, sharp enough to make my breath snap in my throat. Heat explodes outward from the point of contact, white and dizzying. My fingers fist in the sheets. My body betrays me, arching into him instead of away.
Pain.
Not clean.
Not soft.
A sharp, claiming sting that burns straight down my spine.
For a second I freeze.
For a second I let him.
And that realization hits harder than the bite.
Something feral kicks awake inside me.
No.
My arm twists hard, adrenaline flooding my veins. I jerk my wrist with everything I have, muscles straining, shoulder screaming. His grip slips just enough.
I rip my hand free.
The sudden freedom feels violent.
I shove him with both hands, hard, all the fury and heat and humiliation pouring into it. His body rocks back from the force.
And before he can steady—
My palm cracks across his face.
SMACK.