LOGIN⚠️WARNING: For mature readers 18+ only. Themes: Body worship, dominance, primal play, and MFM/threesome content. "Stop fighting it, Sloane," he growls, his fist knotted in my hair. He yanks my head back until my throat arches, exposing my frantic pulse. His thumb shoves past my lips, pressing down on my tongue with bruising force, marking me before he even tastes me. I choke on a gasp, thighs trembling against the wall. "We can’t." "Shut the fuck up," he snarls, his teeth grazing the sensitive cord of my neck. "I’ve spent years tracking every prim step you took. I’ve fantasized about the moment I finally cornered my prey." He sinks his teeth into the junction of my shoulder, a sharp, possessive bite that will leave a jagged purple brand by morning. "Now, you’re locked in this cage with us. I’m going to leave my mark on every inch of your skin." Behind him, his twin looms. A silent, lethal predator. I’m caged between them, the air thick with the scent of woodsmoke and ruin. For four years, I was the invisible shield for the Sterling empire. To me, they were liabilities. To them, I was the hunt. Zurich changed everything. The boy I once scheduled is now a man who pins me down, whispering filth while his brother watches, his eyes dark with the same starving intent. I was paid to guard the Sterling legacy. Now, I’m the prize. I want them to hunt me. I want them to worship me. I want them to break me until there is nothing left but surrender.
View More(Sloane's POV)Day seven.One hundred and sixty-eight hours of living in Leon's orbit, and the air in the apartment had become a conductor for a current neither of us knew how to switch off. Ever since that night at the Speakeasy, since Greta's voice had dismantled our boundaries and Leon's hands had rewritten the map of my skin, everything was different.We didn't talk about it. We practiced the art of the Great Omission. We focused on the debate. We focused on the data. We focused on anything that wasn't the way my pulse jumped when his shadow crossed mine in the kitchen.But the charge was there. It was in the way he handed me a coffee mug, his fingers careful not to graze mine. It was in the way I caught him staring at my mouth when I cited a statistic, his eyes darkening for a fraction of a second before he looked back at his laptop.By the time the sun dipped low enough to paint the sky a bruised, cinematic orange
(Sloane’s POV)The sunlight today was different. It was sharper, colder, slicing through the gaps in the blinds like a reminder that the world hadn't stopped turning just because mine had fractured.I didn't linger in bed. I couldn't. The sheets felt abrasive against my skin, every movement bringing back a phantom sensation of a velvet chair and the salt-slicked heat of the back room. I moved like I was made of glass.In the bathroom, steam began to fog the mirror. I didn't over-analyze what had happened. I didn't have the stomach for it. The flashbacks came anyway, jagged and strobe-lit. Leon's eyes blown wide and dark. The rhythmic thud of the table against the wall. The way the air had tasted of sweat and expensive gin.Then, I saw it.I tilted my chin up, pushing my hair back. A small, dark smudge sat just above my collarbone. A bruise. It was from where his hand had anchored me, fingers digging in while he u
(Sloane's POV) Leon approached with a heavy, deliberate gait, as if the very air in the room were shrinking to accommodate him. His chest rose and fell in violent, uneven surges. His ribs strained against sweat-slicked skin. His eyes had gone almost black. His pupils were blown wide, unrecognizable, feral. No tenderness remained. There was only hunger, rage, and something fundamentally broken. I tilted my head back against the chair to expose my throat, my lips already parted. No words were needed. No hesitation remained. There was just the raw, animal need pulsing between us, thick enough to swallow. He stopped inches away. The heat rolling off him hit me first: a cocktail of salt, musk, and the sharp metallic edge of adrenaline. He hovered close, still glistening from the others. His length was thick and flushed dark with blood, veins standing rigid under the skin. It twitched once when my breath ghosted over the head.
(Sloane’s POV)The air in the private back room was thick. It smelled of old wood, expensive spirits, and the looming threat Greta had just leveled. It was a small, velvet-lined space tucked away from the main lounge. A heavy curtain shielded it and muffled the city noise outside.Leon stood in the center of the room. His shadow cast long and jagged against the wall. He looked like a man standing on a gallows. His eyes were fixed on me. He searched for a sign of hesitation, a plea for him to stop. I gave him nothing. I sat on a low, high-backed chair. My legs were crossed. My fingers still trembled slightly from what Greta had done to me in the bathroom."Sloane, you don't have to do this," Leon said. His voice was a low, warning growl."The contract, Leon," Greta interrupted. Her voice was smooth as silk. She was already unzipping the side of her red gown. She let the fabric pool around her waist.Anna,






Welcome to GoodNovel world of fiction. If you like this novel, or you are an idealist hoping to explore a perfect world, and also want to become an original novel author online to increase income, you can join our family to read or create various types of books, such as romance novel, epic reading, werewolf novel, fantasy novel, history novel and so on. If you are a reader, high quality novels can be selected here. If you are an author, you can obtain more inspiration from others to create more brilliant works, what's more, your works on our platform will catch more attention and win more admiration from readers.