Chapter Two - Bound

Isabella’s POV

The air in the club was thick with lust and heat, but nothing compared to what I felt when his hand touched mine.

Arseñio’s fingers wrapped around mine like they were made to fit. Calloused. Warm. Commanding.

“Come,” he said.

I didn’t ask where. I didn’t need to. My body obeyed before my mind could catch up.

He led me through a back corridor, through a door guarded by a man who bowed his head without question. We climbed a spiral staircase and emerged in a private suite above the dance floor. Music pulsed beneath us, but here, it was muffled — replaced by the sound of my own heartbeat.

He locked the door behind us.

When I turned to face him, he was already unbuttoning his black shirt.

Tattooed muscle flexed with every movement—his chest sculpted like carved stone, each line etched by the gods. Dark ink curled over both arms—wolves, symbols, ancient script I didn’t recognize. But it was the crystal-shaped marking on the left side of his chest that stole my breath.

It pulsed with light. Faintly glowing.

“What is that?” I whispered.

He stepped forward, voice husky. “My curse. My mark. My fate.”

His hands found my hips, thumbs pressing into skin just beneath the edge of my dress. His touch burned and soothed all at once. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“I shouldn’t want this,” I whispered.

“But you do,” he said.

I didn’t argue.

He pulled me closer, one hand sliding up my thigh, dragging the satin with it. I was bare beneath. He hissed softly when he discovered that. My breath hitched.

“I dreamed of you,” I murmured.

“Good,” he said. “Because I built you.”

His lips crushed into mine, and everything fell apart.

I melted into him—his mouth claiming, devouring, punishing. I kissed back just as hard, teeth clashing, tongues fighting. His hands were everywhere—palming my ass, gripping my waist, lifting me up like I weighed nothing.

My back hit the wall. His body pinned mine. I wrapped my legs around his hips, dress riding up around my stomach. The bulge in his pants was thick, hard, pressing exactly where I needed it.

“Tell me to stop,” he growled against my throat, teeth grazing.

“Don’t you dare,” I breathed.

He growled—a low, animalistic sound—and lifted me off the wall. My back hit the bed. He ripped the dress off with a single tug. I was naked. Spread. Exposed.

And he was staring at me like I was the only thing he’d ever craved.

“God, look at you,” he said, voice ragged.

He dropped his pants. Every muscle, every inch of him, was perfection. Thick. Massive. Throbbing. His pierced nipple glinted under the low light, and the glowing mark on his chest pulsed faster.

“You’re not real,” I whispered.

“I’m the only real thing you’ve ever felt.”

He knelt between my thighs and tasted me like a starving man—slow at first, tongue teasing, sucking, until my body arched and bucked, hands fisting his hair. I cried out. He devoured every sound. His mouth grazing over my pussy like a starved man. I threw back my head as his magic tongue delved deeper into my cunt. I couldn't form proper words. It was hard for me to do that. My eyes rolled to the back of my head, and I bit my lips so hard. He knew where to hit. He knew where his magic tongue should roll at. He knew every damn thing to do to my innocent unused pussy. He looked up to me like a finished man.

"You taste so fucking good. I could eat you forever. Fuck!"

I ended up cursing "fuck! Your tongue is magic. It feels so good over my pussy" I moaned so hard.

"Yes... right there...fuck!" I moaned out so loud that he delved deeper. He wasn't stopping anytime soon. It was like he waa doing it to punish me. I bucked my hips up still his mouth still continued to latch over my now dripping cunt. Now, I was leaking. I was leaking all over.

It was like he was going insane. After cumming three times, he still didn't let me go. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I tried pushing his head off.

"I am not done with you yet." He said.

Ten minutes later, I was already crying out of pleasure.

When he slid inside me, it was slow—agonizing. Stretching. Filling. Something broke, and I knew it was my Hymen. I was a stupid, naive virgin. Virgin at 26 felt impossible in this Genz time.

Lightning flashed outside the window.

Thunder cracked seconds later.

He thrust deep, and I gasped—eyes locked with his. I felt him everywhere. Body. Mind. Soul.

“You feel that?” he asked, voice dark.

I nodded, unable to speak.

“You were made for me.”

His pace grew brutal, unrelenting—each stroke dragging a moan from my throat. My nails clawed at his back, and he welcomed the pain, hissed into my mouth as I bit his bottom lip.

He moved like he owned me, and I gave myself over like I wanted to be claimed. My body screamed yes with every motion. Every thrust made the air crackle.

I was close—burning, wild, lost in him.

His mouth found my neck. His teeth grazed. And then—he bit.

Pain lanced through me, sharp and hot—but it only made the pleasure sharper. I cried out as he drank, my blood slipping between his lips, down his chest. The mark on his chest lit up, glowing so bright I could see it even with my eyes squeezed shut.

I should’ve been afraid.

But all I felt was power.

I came hard, screaming, body locking around him as he slammed into me, again and again. He roared—deep, inhuman—and spilled inside me with a force that made the bed shake.

Lightning flashed again. Illuminating us. Inside each other. Marked. Changed.

And then I did something I didn’t understand. I bit him. Not out of revenge. Out of instinct. My teeth sank into his shoulder. I tasted his blood.

And marked him.

His breath hitched. Our eyes locked.

And that was when I knew.

I wasn’t falling. I had already fallen. He leaned down, licked my blood from his lips, and whispered:

"From the East to West, from the South to the North…You, Isabella Young, are bound to me forever.”