Chapter Five - Claimed

Elara’s hand trembled so violently she nearly dropped the phone.

Damian Locke’s voice slithered through the speaker, smooth and poisonous.

“I can be at your hotel in fifteen minutes, Miss Monroe. Or we can do this the hard way. Your choice.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her body was still humming from Cassian’s touch, her lips swollen, her thighs aching in the most delicious way. And now this.

“I… I need time,” she managed.

“You don’t have time,” Damian said, almost kindly. “Cassian Vale is on his way to you right now. And when he discovers what that key actually opens, sweetheart, he will not be gentle. I, however, can still be reasonable. Fifteen minutes.”

The line went dead.

She stood frozen in the middle of the suite, wrapped only in Cassian’s discarded white dress shirt, the scent of him still clinging to the fabric. Her pulse roared in her ears. She had exactly two options: wait for Cassian and whatever storm he was bringing, or run.

She chose the third.

She threw on jeans, a soft cashmere sweater, and sneakers. Grabbed her purse, the brass key, the black card. She was at the door when the private elevator chimed.

Too late.

The doors slid open and Cassian stepped out, coat swirling around his ankles like dark wings. His hair was slightly disheveled, as if he had been dragging his hands through it. His eyes were wild, gray storms ready to break.

“Going somewhere?” His voice was deceptively calm.

She backed up instinctively. “Damian Locke just called. He knows about the key. He’s coming here.”

Cassian’s expression did not change, but something lethal flashed behind his eyes. He stepped into the suite, letting the elevator doors close behind him.

“Let him come,” he said quietly. “He won’t get within twenty feet of this floor.”

He shrugged out of his coat, tossed it over a chair, and stalked toward her with single-minded focus. She retreated until her back met the window, cold glass against her spine, the city sprawling thirty stories below.

“Cassian.”

“Tell me you trust me,” he said, stopping just short of touching her. “Right now. Say the words.”

She swallowed. “I want to. But you knew who I was the night of the gala. You knew about my mother. You’ve been watching me.”

“Yes,” he admitted without hesitation. “I have been watching you for months. Waiting for you to come back to this city. Planning every possible way to destroy the last Monroe.” His voice dropped. “Then I touched you on that dance floor and every plan turned to ash.”

He lifted one hand, slowly, giving her time to pull away. She didn’t. His knuckles brushed her cheek, then slid down her throat, stopping at the open collar of his own shirt on her body.

“I should walk away,” he said, voice rough. “I should let you hate me. But I can’t. I physically cannot.”

His thumb traced the hollow at the base of her throat. “Tell me to leave, Elara. Tell me and I’ll go. I’ll handle Locke. I’ll keep you safe from everything, including myself.”

The air between them crackled.

She rose on tiptoe and kissed him instead.

The sound he made was half growl, half prayer. He lifted her off the ground in one motion, hands gripping her thighs, and carried her to the nearest wall. Her back hit it with exactly enough force to steal her breath. His mouth claimed hers, hot and demanding, teeth nipping at her lower lip until she opened for him completely.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, felt the hard length of him pressing exactly where she needed, and moaned into his mouth. He swallowed the sound, grinding against her slowly, deliberately, until her head fell back against the wall.

“Still wearing my shirt,” he rasped against her neck. “Fuck, you have no idea what that does to me.”

He carried her to the bedroom without breaking the kiss, laid her on the bed like something precious, then followed her down. His weight pinned her, perfect and overwhelming. She arched up, desperate for more skin.

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “I need to taste you again. All of you. Say yes.”

“Yes,” she breathed. “God, yes.”

He stripped her slowly, reverently, kissing every inch he exposed. When the shirt finally fell away, he paused, gaze raking over her like he was memorizing her.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” he said, voice raw.

Then his mouth was on her, worshiping her breasts, her stomach, the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. When his tongue finally found her center, she cried out, fingers twisting in his hair. He did not rush. He took his time, licking, sucking, teasing until she was writhing, begging, tears pricking her eyes from the intensity.

When she came the first time, it was with his name on her lips and his hands holding her hips so she could not escape the pleasure.

He rose over her, shedding the rest of his clothes with impatient efficiency. She reached for him, tracing the hard lines of his chest, the ridges of his abs, lower. He groaned when her fingers closed around him, head dropping to her shoulder.

“Elara,” he warned, voice strained.

“I want all of you,” she whispered. “Now.”

He entered her in one slow, perfect thrust that made them both gasp. For a moment they stayed perfectly still, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in.

Then he moved.

Slow at first, deep, measured strokes that had her clutching his shoulders, nails scoring his back. He watched her face like it was the only thing in the world that mattered, adjusting every angle until she was sobbing with pleasure.

“Look at me,” he commanded when she got close again.

She forced her eyes open. His gaze locked on hers, fierce and tender and completely unguarded.

“I’m yours,” he said, voice breaking. “All of me. Only yours.”

The words shattered her. She came hard, clenching around him, and he followed seconds later, burying his face in her neck, her name a broken prayer against her skin.

They stayed tangled together, hearts racing in tandem. He kissed her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth, like he could not stop.

Eventually he rolled them so she was draped across his chest, fingers tracing lazy circles on her back.

“I meant it,” he said quietly. “Every word.”

She pressed a kiss over his heart. “I know.”

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He ignored it.

It buzzed again. Then again.

He cursed softly and reached for it.

The message made his entire body go rigid.

Unknown: She’s more valuable alive than dead.

Unknown: For now.

Unknown: Tick-tock, Vale.

He deleted it instantly, but not before she saw.

“Cassian.”

“It’s nothing,” he lied, smoothing her hair back. “Locke trying to rattle me.”

She sat up, pulling the sheet with her. “Don’t lie to me. Not after this.”

He exhaled, jaw tight. “There are things about your mother’s past I haven’t told you. Dangerous things. People who still want what she took from my family.”

“And you?” she asked, voice small. “Do you still want it?”

He cupped her face, eyes fierce. “I want you safe. I want you happy. I want you in my bed every night and waking up beside me every morning. That is all I want now.”

She searched his face and found only truth.

“Then we face it together,” she said.

He kissed her, slow and deep and full of promise.

“Together,” he agreed.

His phone buzzed again. This time he answered, putting it on speaker.

“Locke,” he said, voice ice.

Damian’s laugh slithered through the line. “Enjoying my leftovers, Vale? Careful. Some fruit is poisoned.”

Cassian’s arm tightened around her. “Touch her and you die slowly.”

“Oh, I won’t need to touch her,” Damian said pleasantly. “She’ll come to me when she learns what her mother really did. And what you plan to do about it.”

The line went dead.

Elara looked at Cassian, heart pounding for an entirely new reason.

“Tell me everything,” she said.

He pulled her close, lips brushing her temple.

“I will,” he promised. “But first, I’m going to remind you exactly who you belong to.”

And for the next hour, the only sounds in the suite were her cries of pleasure and his name on her lips, over and over, until the outside world ceased to exist.

Whatever came next, they would face it together.

But right now, she was his.

And he was hers.

Completely.

Irrevocably.