A few nights after the return to the city, the air in the penthouse felt stagnant. Sera stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, adjusting a dress that was little more than a scrap of black silk and a prayer.
"Going to a club downtown with some friends from the management program," she mentioned casually, her eyes meeting Damien's in the reflection. "Don't wait up."
Jealousy flared in Damien's chest like a doused flame hit with gasoline. It was a cold, sharp ache that tightened his throat. The thought of other men watching her move—the thought of hands that weren't his brushing against that silk—was intolerable.
"You're not going without me watching," he said, his tone dropping into a dangerous, possessive growl.
Sera smirked, her tongue darting out to wet her lower lip. "Jealous again, stepbrother? I thought we had 'rules'."
"Rules don't apply when you're looking for trouble," he snapped.
The club was a sensory assault. Red and blue strobe lights cut through the thick, hazy air, and the bass was so heavy it felt like a second heartbeat thumping in Damien's ribs. He sat in the velvet shadows of the VIP section, a glass of untouched bourbon in his hand, his eyes locked on the dance floor like a predator.
Sera knew exactly where he was. She stayed in the center of the crowd, moving provocatively to the rhythm. She began grinding against a male classmate, her hips rolling in a slow, filthy circle that caused her dress to ride up, exposing the tops of her thighs. Every few seconds, she'd glance toward the VIP tier, her eyes burning with a silent, taunting challenge.
When the guy's hands slid down to her waist, pulling her flush against him, Damien's vision went red. He didn't think. He was off the velvet sofa in a second, cutting through the crowd like a blade.
He didn't say a word to the guy. He simply grabbed Sera's wrist with a grip of iron and hauled her off the floor. He dragged her into a narrow, dimly lit hallway near the back, shoving her against the cold tile wall.
"You belong to me," he snarled, his hand framing her throat. He didn't wait for an answer before he crushed his mouth against hers, his tongue dominating, tasting the gin and the defiance on her breath.
He kicked open the door to a private, single-occupancy bathroom and locked it behind them. The bass from the main floor vibrated through the walls, making the sink and the mirror hum.
Damien bent her over the porcelain sink, his hands rough as he hiked her dress to her waist. He didn't even bother with her panties; he just tore them aside. She was already dripping, her body betrayed by the thrill of the chase.
He freed his cock and thrust into her from behind in one hard, unapologetic surge. The sound of his hips slamming against her was masked by the muffled thumping of the music.
He railed her with a focused, vengeful energy, his hand reaching back to deliver sharp, stinging spanks to her ass until the skin was a bright, angry red.
"Say it," he growled into her ear, his teeth grazing the lobe. "Tell me whose pussy this is. Tell me who's the only one allowed to fuck it."
"Only you... fuck, Damien, only you!" Sera moaned, her head hitting the mirror as her body shattered. Her internal muscles clamped around him, milking him with a violent, rhythmic desperation.
Damien let out a low, guttural sound and buried himself to the hilt, filling her deep with a thick, hot load of cum. He didn't pull out immediately; he stayed there, pulsing inside her, marking his territory while the club music vibrated through their joined bodies.
"Clean yourself up," he whispered, stepping back and watching as he leaked out of her, the white cream trailing down her inner thighs. "Then we're going home."
The drive back was silent and lethal. The moment they crossed the threshold of the penthouse, the jealousy that had been simmering turned into an all-out war. He didn't even make it to the bedroom.
He shoved her onto the living room couch, his hands finding her neck in a light, warning choke as he entered her again. This wasn't the slow, intimate sex of the cabin; this was a merciless, possessive reclamation. He fucked her until she was sobbing, reminding her with every deep, bottoming-out thrust exactly who she belonged to.
The fight had fueled the taboo to a new, dangerous peak. As they lay in the ruins of the sofa cushions afterward, the realization was clear: they weren't just addicts anymore.
They were each other's prisoners.