Deniz's fingers trace slow, deliberate patterns on my thigh. My body trembles under his touch, a live wire of sensation.
His lips continue their journey along my neck—kissing, tasting, claiming—and I'm drowning in the warmth of it.
Then he pulls back. Just enough to look at me.
I open my eyes slowly, meeting his gaze. My cheeks are burning, a fire I can't control.
But something is wrong.
The eyes looking back at me aren't Deniz's. Not the Deniz I know. These eyes are dark—darker than I've ever seen them—and they hold something I don't recognize.
Possession. Hunger. A quiet, terrifying claim that rakes over my body, tracing every curve, every shiver.
He takes my hand.
Gentle.
Reverent.
He lifts it to his lips and presses a kiss to my skin—slow, deliberate, a brand more than a caress.
Then his gaze returns to mine. Held captive.
