CHAPTER 52

Vera’s POV

I didn’t go back to my room.

My hand still stung from the slap, but it wasn’t what hurt. What hurt was the way he looked at me after. Like I had just reminded him I was real, not just someone moving inside his rules.

I walked until my legs slowed down on their own, The estate is quieter now.

Behind me, I heard footsteps.

I didn’t turn.

“I knew you wouldn’t stay in your room,” Kael’s voice came.

Of course it was him.

I finally stopped walking, but I didn’t face him.

“You followed me,” I said.

“I’m not letting you walk off like that.”

I let out a small laugh, but there was no humor in it.

“So now you care where I go?”

Silence.

That silence alone annoyed me more than anything.

I turned slowly.

He was standing a few steps behind me. Hands in his pockets. Blood still faintly visible on his shirt. Like he didn’t even notice it.

“You didn’t have to do that in front of everyone,” he said.

“Oh,” I nodded slightly. “So that’s the issue. Not what you did. Just how I reacted.”

His jaw tightened a little.

“That’s not what I said.”

“But that’s what you meant.”

We stared at each other.

That tension again.

Sharp. Familiar.

“You don’t understand the situation,” he said finally.

I stepped closer.

“No,” I replied. “I understand perfectly. You decide. I obey. That’s how it works in your head, right?”

“It’s not about control.”

“Really? Because it feels exactly like control.”

He watched me longer this time.

“You shouldn’t have slapped me,” he said.

That made me laugh.

“Oh now we’re counting boundaries?”

His eyes darkened.

“Vera.”

I stopped laughing.

“You keep doing that,” I said.

“Doing what.”

“Making decisions alone… then acting like I’m supposed to accept it.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I don’t need protection.”

“Yes,” he said. “You do.”

“And who decided that?”

Silence again.

Then he stepped closer.

“You don’t listen when it matters.”

“I do listen.”

“No,” he said. “You react.”

That hit.

And I hated it.

“You think you know me so well? I Shouted at Him"

That did it. His hands shot up, one gripping her waist, the other tangling in her hair at the nape of her neck. He spun them, reversing their positions so fast her back hit the wall instead. The concrete was cold through her tank, his body was not.

“Shut up, Vera" he growled.

Then his mouth was on hers.

It wasn’t soft. It was months of stolen glances and deliberate misses in training, all turned vicious. His teeth caught her bottom lip, a punishment for every word she’d used to cut him. She gasped into it, and he swallowed the sound, pressing her harder into the wall. Her hands fisted in his shirt, not to push him away — to pull him closer, nails scraping the muscle of his back.

She bit him back. He groaned, low in his throat, and the hand in her hair tightened. The kiss turned hungrier, messier. Her leg hitched around his hip on instinct and his grip on her waist turned bruising. They were both breathing like they’d run a mile, like they were still fighting, just with teeth and tongues now instead of blades.

When he finally pulled back, it was barely an inch. His forehead rested against hers. Both of them were shaking.

She could taste blood — hers or his, she wasn’t sure. Her answer was to yank him back down to her.

---

The kiss was brutal. No permission, no hesitation. He took her mouth like he’d taken the advantage in the fight — decisively, thoroughly, like he owned it. Teeth, tongue, a graze that made her whimper. He swallowed the sound like it belonged to him.

She tried to buck against him, but he just pressed his hips in, trapping her completely. The friction dragged a broken moan out of her. His grip on her wrists tightened until it bordered on pain, a silent reminder: I’m in control. You don’t move unless I say.

When he bit her bottom lip hard enough to sting, she gasped. He used it, deepening the kiss until she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but feel him. His thumb stroked her throat once, almost gentle, a stark contrast to the way he was devouring her.

He pulled back an inch, just enough to watch her eyes flutter open, dazed and furious and wanting. His grip didn’t ease. If anything, he leaned in more, his breath hot on her swollen mouth.

“Problem solved,” he said, voice like gravel. “You’re quiet now.”

Her reply was a snarl, and she strained against his hold. He let her feel exactly how useless it was. Then he dipped his head and kissed her again, slower this time, but no less dominating. Like he had all night to ruin her composure and he damn well planned to.

When he finally let go of her wrists, it was only to slide his hands to her waist, holding her up because her knees had gone weak.

“Still want to pretend you don’t want this?” he said into her mouth.

She answered by biting his lip and pulling him back down.

---

His hand left her throat only to fist in her hair, yanking her head back until her neck arched, exposed. She was still pinned, wrists trapped above her head by his hand

“You’re done talking,” he said, and it wasn’t a suggestion. His mouth crashed onto hers again, rougher this time.

He kissed her like he fought — to win. Tongue forcing past her teeth, claiming every gasp she tried to hold back. He bit her lower lip and soothed it with his tongue in the same motion, and the contrast made her shudder. When she whimpered, he swallowed it like it was owed to him.

Her knees tried to buckle. He felt it. His free hand dropped from her hair to her waist, then lower, fingers digging into her hip hard enough to bruise. He hauled her up, and her legs locked around him on instinct. The new angle pressed the hard line of him against the heat between her thighs, and they both groaned.

“Feel that?” His voice was wrecked, lips dragging along her jaw to her ear. He didn’t wait for an answer. He rolled his hips once, deliberate, grinding into her until she saw stars. “That’s what you do to me every time you pick up a fight with me.”

She tried to curse him. It came out as a moan. He smirked against her skin.

“Still want to fight me, Vera?” His hand slid from her hip to her thigh, pushing her training shorts up, fingertips grazing the edge of her underwear. Not inside. Not yet. Just a promise. Just enough to make her hips twitch for more. “Or are you gonna be good and take what I give you?”

She bit his shoulder in answer. He hissed, then slammed her back into the wall again, knocking another breathless sound out of her. His grip on her wrists tightened until it hurt, until she was panting.

“Wrong answer.” He kissed her again, filthy and deep, one hand still teasing at the line of her underwear while the other kept her pinned. He could feel how wet she was through the thin fabric, and he let out a dark, satisfied sound.

He pulled back just enough to look at her — flushed, swollen-mouthed, furious, pupils blown wide with want. Completely at his mercy.

“Say it,” he ordered, thumb finally slipping under the fabric, stroking once, slow, and stopping. Making her feel the emptiness when he pulled away. “Say you want me to shut you up.”

Her pride warred with her need for about two seconds. Then she met his eyes and snapped, “Then do it.”

His smile was all teeth. “Good girl.”