CHAPTER THREE

Avery’s POV

When I woke, the room was still dark. The curtains were heavy, the air cool, the only sound the steady rhythm of Rafa’s breathing against the back of my neck. His arm was slung around me, heavy and possessive, pinning me in place like I belonged there.

And his cock was still inside me.

Semi-hard. Thick. Warm.

I shifted without thinking, just trying to ease the ache in my thighs, but the slight movement made him press right against my prostate. A sharp moan escaped before I could bite it back. My hips twitched, pushing back softly, testing.

Behind me, Rafa groaned, low and gravelly, and his grip tightened on my waist. He moved just once, slow, deep and the sound that slipped from my lips betrayed me completely.

That was all it took.

He began thrusting, not rough, not fast just slow, deliberate rolls of his hips that made my toes curl. The kind of pace that wasn’t about chasing release, but about drawing out every spark of pleasure, savoring the intimacy of it.

I matched him, pushing back into each stroke, my body pliant and eager. His breath fanned over my ear, his chest pressed against my back, the warmth of him wrapping me up. It was different from the frenzy of last night less about hunger, more about connection.

Soft. Sensual. Dangerous in its own way.

Every moan he coaxed from me seemed to deepen his own groans. His lips brushed the curve of my shoulder, open-mouthed kisses dragging across my skin as if he couldn’t resist tasting. My fingers curled into the sheets, my body trembling as he kept the pace steady, slow, grounding.

When we came, it wasn’t explosive. It was shuddering, drawn-out, almost tender. I spilled against the sheets with a muffled cry, and he followed with a groan, filling me again as his forehead dropped against the back of my neck.

And then he held me.

Silent. Heavy. Warm.

I drifted back to sleep in his arms, lulled by the steady beat of his heart against my back.

The second time I woke, the room was bright. Sunlight filtered through a gap in the curtains, striping across the floor. Rafa was still asleep beside me, one hand curled loosely against the pillow, his face softened in rest.

For a moment, I just stared.

He looked… different like this. Not the dangerous heir with blood on his knuckles. Not the predator with eyes like shadows. Just a man. My chest squeezed unexpectedly, and I tore my gaze away before I could think too hard about it.

I slipped out of bed carefully, wincing when my legs almost gave out beneath me. My thighs burned with every step, my body marked with the evidence of him. I steadied myself on the nightstand, biting back a laugh. God, I could still feel him inside me.

Quickly, I dressed moving silently, efficiently. My heart pounded in my chest, not from fear, but from something else. Something sharper.

At the door, my hand paused on the knob.

A thought struck me.

Why not take a souvenir. Something to remind me of this night. Of him.

My gaze swept the room until it landed on the nightstand. His watch.

Sleek. Heavy. Expensive. Exactly the kind of thing a man like him would own.

Perfect.

I hesitated only a second before slipping it into my pocket. The weight of it sent a thrill racing through me. It wasn’t just a reminder it was proof. Proof that I’d been here, that I’d had him, that I wasn’t just a shadow chasing a fantasy.

I looked back one last time. He shifted in his sleep, brow furrowing slightly, and my breath caught. But he didn’t wake.

Lucky me.

I slipped out the door and didn’t look back.

Rafa’s POV

When I woke, the bed beside me was already cold.

My little siren was gone.

I stretched, rolling onto my back, my muscles still pleasantly sore from the night before. For a moment, I allowed myself to replay it the way he’d moaned my name, the way his body had yielded, the way he’d begged me to go harder, deeper, slower.

Fuck. He’d been perfect.

I reached for my phone and barked an order, my voice rough with sleep. Within seconds, one of my men stepped into the room, head bowed.

“Where is he?” I asked, my tone more command than question.

“S-sir, I don’t know.”

My eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I was standing guard, sir. I didn’t see anyone leave.”

“Did you step away?” My voice was sharp, a blade cutting through the air.

He swallowed hard. “I… went to the bathroom, sir.”

“Fuck.” The curse ripped from me as I dragged a hand down my face. I dismissed him with a wave, already irritated.

That little sneaky boy. Clever enough to slip past my guards, bold enough to leave without a word.

But he wouldn’t get far. Not from me. When I catch him again I’ll make sure he understands. He’s mine. He doesn’t get to run.

My phone rang then, dragging me out of my thoughts. Business. I answered, gave a clipped response, and stood to dress.

That’s when I noticed it.

The nightstand was empty. My watch gone.

A slow smirk spread across my lips. Pretty poison had teeth. Bold, daring, reckless. He thought he could play games with me.

I almost laughed.

As I pulled on my shirt, my gaze drifted to the floor and there it was. A scrap of lace, delicate and sinful. His panties.

I bent down, picked them up, and slipped them into my pocket.

“Fine,” I muttered, amused. “He took something of mine… and I took something of his.”

The thought of him walking out of here, my watch heavy in his pocket, made my chest tighten with something sharp and possessive. Let him think he got away with it. Let him feel clever.

Because souvenirs go both ways.

And soon enough, I’d collect him again.

For good.