The Hunt Begins‎

‎Morning crept into the room, pale light filtering through the heavy drapes.

‎‎Castelle stretched under the thick sheets, her body sore in places she hadn't realized could ache — memories of last night's  tension, the way Kane’s stare alone had shredded her walls.  

‎Her thighs brushed together, sensitive and betraying.

‎‎The door clicked open, and Kareen entered wordlessly, a tray of food in her hands. She set it down and left without sparing a glance.  

‎Castelle blinked after her, disoriented, wrapped tightly in his black shirt — a poor attempt at decency.

‎‎The shirt strained across her plus-sized frame.  

‎It clung to her heavy breasts, rode high over her thick thighs, stretched around her wide hips.  

‎The buttons gapped slightly when she moved too fast, flashing glimpses of soft, tempting skin.

‎‎A shirt that clearly belonged to him, powerful, lean, sharp — not for her lushness.

‎‎Then the door opened again.

‎‎Kane.

‎‎He stood there like a force of nature, stealing the air from the room.

‎‎Half-buttoned black shirt, inked tattoos crawling up from his broad chest, disappearing into the dark fabric.  

‎Leather gun holsters crisscrossed over his shoulders, the heavy black straps pressing into the muscle of his back and chest like a second skin.  

‎His sleeves were rolled, veins and corded forearms visible — a dangerous man, made of blood, bone, and violence.‎

‎His dark gaze raked over her — a slow, blatant check that left her cheeks burning and her thighs clenching.  

‎He took her in — the way the shirt barely clung to her breasts, the gap at her thighs, the flash of soft, thick flesh.

‎‎Something dangerous flickered behind his cold stare.

‎‎"You," his voice grated low, sharp, "in my office. Five minutes."

‎‎She shifted on her bare feet, tugging uselessly at the hem of the shirt.  

‎"I... I need clothes. This—" she gestured at herself, cheeks hot, "—this doesn't fit. It’s... indecent."‎

‎Kane’s lips curled into a wolfish smirk.  No words.

‎‎Only a slow, dark appraisal, like he was already stripping her bare in his mind and enjoying the state she was in

‎‎Without a word, he turned and disappeared, leaving her confused.

‎‎Not long after, a sharp knock rattled the door.

‎‎She opened it to find a woman — one of Kane’s — silent and stone-faced, thrusting a bag into Castelle’s hands before walking away without explanation.. It contained undergarments and a simple black dress. 

‎‎The dress was plain, barely mid-thigh, slightly clinging to every dip and swell of her curves.  

‎She peeled off his shirt, feeling exposed and wrong somehow, and slipped into the tight fabric.

‎‎Taking a breath, she stepped out into the cold hallways.

‎‎The place was a maze — sterile walls, paintings and artwork in general, armed guards at every turn, heavy wooden doors that seemed to stretch on endlessly.

‎‎Panic scratched at her throat.

‎‎Gathering herself, she approached one of the guards stationed nearby.

‎‎"I...I’m looking for Mr. Kane's office," she mumbled.

‎‎The man didn't blink.  

‎He just jerked his head toward the far end of the hallway.

‎‎"Black door."

‎‎She swallowed thickly and obeyed.

At the end of the hall, she hesitated in front of the massive black door, her hand trembling as she knocked.

‎A gruff, muffled voice answered —  

‎"Come in."

‎‎It wasn’t an invitation.  

‎It was a command.‎

‎She turned the handle, stepped inside, head bowed low out of instinct.

‎‎Closed the door behind her.  

‎Turned the lock with a soft click.  

‎The heavy silence settled over her.

‎‎And when she finally lifted her head —

‎‎She froze.

‎‎Her breath slammed into her lungs and stuck there.

‎‎Kane stood behind his desk, brutally fucking a woman’s mouth.‎

‎His cock was buried deep in her throat, one hand yanking her hair back cruelly, the other anchored on the desk as he pistoned into her face mercilessly.

‎‎The woman gagged, whimpered — tried to push him away — but he only grunted, punishing her with a brutal thrust deeper, forcing her to take every inch.‎

‎Castelle’s legs wobbled.  

‎Her breath shattered out of her.  

‎She couldn’t move — couldn’t look away.‎

‎His dark eyes flicked up to meet hers.  

‎Predatory. Triumphant. Smirking.

‎‎Without taking his eyes off Castelle, Kane yanked the woman off his cock.  

‎She coughed and gasped, stumbling back with tears streaking her cheeks.

‎‎"Get the fuck out," he said coldly.

‎‎The woman scrambled out, leaving Castelle alone with him — the air crackling, charged, filthy.‎

‎He tucked himself back into his pants, the thick line of his still-hard cock straining against the fabric.  

‎He hadn’t finished.

‎‎And Castelle saw it.  

‎Felt it.

‎‎Felt the heavy weight of his need settle on her now.

‎‎"Sit," he growled.

‎‎Her body obeyed before her mind could scream at her to run.  

‎She shuffled toward the chair opposite his desk, heart hammering so hard she thought she might faint.‎

‎She sank into the seat, kept her gaze down, hands twisted in her lap.

‎‎But she could feel him watching her.  

‎Feel his gaze crawling over her like a brand.  

‎Marking her.

‎‎Owning her.

‎‎And somewhere deep inside, beneath the shame and the confusion She wanted it.‎

‎------

‎‎The silence between them was likepin drop.

‎‎Kane sat behind his massive desk, radiating dark energy, his hand resting near the pistol strapped to his thigh.  

‎Castelle sat opposite him, small, vulnerable in the cold leather chair, her thick curves wrapped in the too-tight dress that clung to every lush inch.

‎‎His black eyes pinned her where she sat.

‎‎"You’re going to tell me what the fuck happened that night," he said, voice low, dangerous.

‎‎She froze. Her throat bobbed with a nervous swallow.

‎‎She looked down, twisting her fingers into the hem of the dress, avoiding his stare. Shame poured off her in waves, thick enough to choke.

‎‎Kane’s jaw flexed once, twice — the only outward sign of his dwindling patience.

‎‎When she still didn’t speak, he slammed both hands down onto the desk.  

‎The crack of flesh against wood echoed through the office like a gunshot.

‎‎Castelle flinched violently.

‎‎Her wide eyes jerked up to him, glassy with unshed tears.

‎‎"That wasn’t a fucking request," Kane growled, his voice deadly. ‎"It was an order."

‎‎Her shoulders shook as she tried to steady her breathing.  

‎She inhaled raggedly, held it for a second, then exhaled.

‎‎Words stumbled from her lips, broken and brittle:

‎‎"My husband... whom I ran away from years back...he came to my apartment drunk that night. He was angry that I ran away from him, he tied me up for days and hurt me over and over again. Said I was worthless... a whore..." her voice broke, but she forced herself to continue.  

‎"He hit me. Over and over. Slammed my head into the wall."

‎‎Kane’s hands curled into fist.

‎‎"He... he broke a glass lamp over me. That's how the shards got in my feet. I tried to run, but I... I couldn’t even find my shoes."

‎‎A sob shuddered through her body but she swallowed it down.

‎‎"He caught me... dragged me back inside... and... and he..."  

‎Her voice faltered, raw horror choking her.  

‎Tears streamed down her cheeks.

‎‎"He raped me, twice.. he was smiling."

‎‎The words shattered the air between them.

‎‎Kane’s world tilted red.  

‎He could hear his own heartbeat, pounding like war drums in his ears.

‎‎Someone had touched her.  

‎Marked her.  

‎Defiled what should have only ever been his.

‎‎He stood so abruptly his chair screeched back across the floor.  

‎A muscle in his jaw ticked violently as he stormed around the desk.‎

‎Without a word, he grabbed the arms of her chair, dragging her closer until her knees brushed his thighs.

‎‎Her breath hitched.

‎‎He squatted down to her level, his massive frame looming over her.  

‎He ran his rough palms along the side of her thick thighs, slowly, deliberately, feeling the tremble in her flesh.

His fingers curled under her chin, tilting her face up.‎

Her eyes were wide, glassy, wet with pain and confusion.

‎Kane stared into them — deep, raw, consuming her whole.

‎‎"What do you need from me, Castelle?"  

‎His voice was rough gravel, low enough to vibrate between them.

‎‎She blinked up at him, stunned.  

‎Her mouth opened but no sound came out.

‎‎"I know what I want from you," Kane said, darker now, his thumb stroking along her soft jaw.  

‎"And I will take it."

‎‎He leaned closer, their breaths mingling.

‎‎"But you..."  

‎His black gaze raked over her face like a blade.  

‎"What do you need — right now — to get back on track, to feel like you own your life and your body again?"

‎‎"I...I..." she stammered, struggling.

‎‎"Speak," he ordered, but the edge in his voice was softer now — a twisted kind of mercy.

‎‎Finally, gathering her courage, she whispered, "First... I need a divorce."

‎‎It was barely a sound, but Kane heard every syllable.

‎‎"And... I'll need a place of my own. I have to move my things out of my husband's house."

‎‎Kane rose to his full imposing height, his presence swallowing the room whole.  

‎He walked back to his seat behind the desk, sitting down like a king returning to his throne.

‎‎He spun the chair once, the leather creaking, then fixed her with a stare that pinned her to the spot.

‎‎"Look at me."

‎‎Castelle lifted her tear-streaked face slowly.

‎‎Kane leaned forward, elbows on the desk, voice slicing through her hesitation:

‎‎"You're mine now, Castelle."

‎‎The words hit like a whip.

‎‎"You don't leave this building without me. You don't breathe without my permission. You understand?"

‎‎She opened her mouth, a protest on her lips — but one raised eyebrow, one lethal glint in his dark gaze, and the words died in her throat.

‎‎All she could do was nod, trembling under the weight of his claim.

‎‎In that moment, Castelle understood —  

‎This man didn't just want her body.

‎‎He wanted her soul.‎

‎