Chapter 10:

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Allison found herself pinned against the wide, cold table, the chill seeping into her skin as her vision swirled in a dizzying haze.

“You…” She barely managed to speak before her words were swallowed by the fierce pressure of Kellan’s lips. His arm snaked around her waist, his fingers brushing across her skin, sending a jolt of electricity racing up her spine. The sensation wasn’t just searing—it was unforgettable.

“Slow down,” Allison whispered, her breath shaky as her hand moved to the sharp contours of his waist, her fingers meeting the hardness beneath.

He was all fire and steel—impressive in every way—but he had no sense of tenderness.

But Kellan wasn’t listening. His body moved with primal urgency, like a predator savoring its rare catch.

Moments ago, they had weapons at each other’s vitals, yet now, they were tangled in a dangerous rhythm, one fueled by something far more consuming than hatred.

“Don’t move!”

His voice, rough and low, filled the air. His labored breaths came in short bursts, and that single command had enough intensity to make anyone’s blood run hot. But Allison wasn’t anyone. Orders never sat well with her. In one swift motion, she tightened her grip around his neck, pushing her other hand firmly against his shoulder, flipping their positions.

She wasn’t the kind to let anyone think they had control. Kellan hit the table with a solid thud, a grunt escaping his lips as his eyes opened. The coldness in his gaze had melted into something hazier—confusion.

Allison, now straddling him, brushed the loose strands of hair from her flushed face, her expression set with the kind of confidence that left no room for doubt. Her chest heaved with the exertion of the moment, but her always unyielding eyes remained locked on his.

“I’ll be in charge!”

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Her fingers danced from his throat down the length of his torso, tracing the chiseled muscles beneath her fingertips, each one hard and defined like marble.

Kellan’s face was partially obscured by the shadows, but his body was a sculptor’s dream—lean, powerful, a perfect V-shaped masterpiece!

They were both using each other, but at this moment, it didn’t feel like a loss.

She leaned in and kissed him again, her hands moving methodically to unbutton his shirt. Frustration building, she gave up on patience and tore the fabric open, her palms pressed flat against the warmth of his chest.

Kellan, always the one to take control, had never experienced someone reversing the tide like this. Yet, instead of fighting it, he let it happen. Still, his hands gripped her waist as if he could somehow make her a part of him.

Her silhouette was carved against the dim light like an artist’s muse, every movement bringing them closer to chaos with every second.

Allison bowed her head, trailing a string of delicate kisses from his neck up to his cheek, before finally resting her lips on those deep, magnetic eyes.

The rest of the night blurred into fragments in her mind. All she could recall was the sensation of being swept up in a violent storm, tossed about on crashing waves. At one point, she snapped back to reality for a fleeting second, and the only thing she could focus on was the starlight dancing in his eyes.

“What are you doing?” she heard herself ask.

“The drug hasn’t worn off yet.”

“Are you serious? What are you, some kind of animal? And stop biting me… not there, you idiot!”

The night raged on in a swirl of desire and passion.

When Allison finally woke up, she became sharply aware of something hard digging into her side. Groggily, she reached over, fingers curling around the cool, silver metal of a handgun.

It lay just inches from the dagger that had once been at her waist—danger had been their silent witness throughout the night.

She forced herself to sit up, her eyes drifting to the intricate designs on the ceiling, trying to center herself. For a moment, her thoughts spun like a broken record, unable to latch onto anything solid.

The dim room, barely illuminated by thin rays of daylight sneaking through the heavy curtains, seemed like a battlefield. The man beside her was still lost in sleep, his smooth, muscular back rising and falling with steady breaths.

Allison’s head was foggy, and her body was sore. Standing up, she sunk her toes into the plush carpet, steadying herself against the back of the sofa. Her legs were weak, trembling with the aftermath of what could only be described as a war between their bodies.

Chaos lay everywhere. A shattered vase, petals scattered across the floor, chairs knocked over in the frenzy, and discarded condoms abandoned near the bed. The trail of chaos from the floor to the windowsill marked the wild escapades of the night before. She blinked, the reality settling in like a cold splash of water. It hadn’t been a fevered dream—everything had been real.

She muttered to herself, “He’s an absolute savage!” She didn’t need a mirror to see the evidence. Bruises, love bites, and teeth marks speckled her waist in angry purples and reds, painting a picture of last night’s ferocity. Even her thighs were a mess of violent colors.

“Where on earth did he come from?” she mused aloud, her mind toying with the absurd thought of smothering him with a pillow—just to see if she could get away with it.

The man, still deep under the influence of the drug, lay unconscious with his face buried in the pillow. His back bore red scratches from her nails, a testament to their night together.

Allison poured herself a glass of water, the coolness restoring her clarity as she contemplated what to do with him.

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