In his Penthouse

In his Penthouse
The penthouse looked like it belonged on the front page of a luxurious home magazine. It was stunning. Too cold, too expensive, and far too quiet. 

Red lights mixed with golden ones ran along the ceiling, twinkling and unique like his eyes. This whole place resembled him. 

I hoped this wasn't his personal space. 

“When you arrive, you’ll be escorted to the main residence, and you will live on the top floor. I want you to be close enough to me for selfish reasons.”  

His voice echoed in my head as my eyes traced the staircase at the center of the room. It was curved like it had been sculpted just for the drama of it. 

My gaze moved upward to the second level, and I felt a lump in my throat when I noticed a bed up there.

No matter how curious I was, I didn’t bother going up there. 

Not tonight. Everything I needed was on this floor or nothing I needed, depending on how you looked at it.

Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one entire wall, and beyond them, the moon was shining into the ocean, turning the sky blue and violet. It was the kind of view people paid a fortune for. The kind of view you’d kill to see with someone you actually cared about.

Everything here was perfect. 

The gray couch was soft but it was freezing beneath me. 

I grabbed the eight perfectly arranged black and gray pillows and hastily scattered them into a makeshift bed. Then I collapsed onto them, hoping they’d soak up some of the cold or at least cushion the emptiness pressing into my spine.

Maybe I should go to bed? It could be warmer up there.

I craved to sleep but it didn't come. Not even after I dragged Vale’s name through every filthy word I could think of.

I sat up from my makeshift bed, irritated and burning with frustration. 

Dragging my hands down my face, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Then, instinctively, I stripped the dress off my body, tossed off my panties, and untied my long hair. 

The instant my skin touched the pile of pillows again, sleep dragged me under. It didn't come gently. It crashed over me and before I knew it, he was there.

Vale.

In the dream, I was lying on a bed made of ice. It was freezing, smooth, and it smelled of him. 

He was on top of me, a dark smirk playing on his lips as his fingers cupped my throbbing pussy. The moment his touch landed, my back arched shamelessly.

“Please,” I moaned, attempting to get up, but he pinned me down with one hand at my throat, pressing me firmly against the cold bed.

He leaned down with me, and his tongue licked my neck like he was claiming every part of me that had ever tried to resist.

“Mine,” he groaned against my throat, and his fangs drove into me.  

I didn't scream as I thought I would. It wasn't even painful. The sharp bite transformed into a compelling pleasure before I could register it in my mind.

It felt as though I could do nothing but receive the wild, raw desire wrecking my body.

Then he pushed his cock inside my wet pussy. 

“You’re mine, Nyx. You know you’re mine,” he growled before his mouth descended on my pierced neck and he slammed hard into me. 

“Yes—yes,” I gasped, my voice breaking from the force of his ruthless thrust.

He fed on my blood and pounded into me like he was trying to leave a mark on my very soul. 

Every sip, every punishing thrust rattled through my bones. 

“I am yours,” I moaned helplessly, hot tears trickling down my face. 

I was so fucking overwhelmed by how he was shoving into me like he was etching his claim deep inside me.

I couldn't get enough of how he was sliding deep and moving within me as he fed languidly on my pulse.

I could feel my blood seeping from me and Syndra replenishing it. She was too excited. 

I woke up with a gasp, my chest heaving and sweat slicking my skin. 

The cold of the room had vanished. It was replaced by a feverish burn low in my belly and an unbearable ache between my thighs. 

My legs trembled as I shifted.

Fuck.

I hissed out loud when my fingers touched my core and I realized how dripping I was.

And then I heard his voice.

“I could get used to this. Do you want to permanently move in with me, my dear guest?” 

I went completely still. But the realization hit fast—I was completely naked! 

My eyes darted around the room in a frantic search for the dress I’d flung aside.
Then I saw it… in his hands.
And just like that, he was materializing as if unfolding from the shadows. 

His red and golden eyes raked over my naked body, stretched across the now-soaked couch. 

I bit my lips when his gaze lingered on my parted thighs and he noticed the slickness.

I couldn’t help but start to breathe heavily as I resisted the urge to call out his name. 

I was aching so badly. 

Seeing him wasn't just enough for me.

His eyes darkened, sharp and hungry, and I knew that he was aware of my need.

He could clearly see how soaked I was.
Pretending I wasn’t turned on now would be pointless.

“Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll take it as consent.”

“No,” I said, my voice low after a tight swallow. I sank onto the couch, folding my arms around myself like armor.
Vale, of course, understood I was holding back. He knew I was resisting him. I could see his jaw tightening and I was damn proud of that. He needed to understand that I wouldn’t simply submit to him. No matter how badly my body betrayed me.

He didn’t move at first. He just watched me, the corner of his mouth twitching in something too smug to be called a smile. 

In an instant, he was standing in front of me.

I swallowed hard as I raised my head to meet his heated gaze. “You can rape me if you want. I am not scared of you.” I spat out and he chuckled darkly.

“What makes you think I will ever take you with you begging for it?” He murmured and his weight sank into the couch.

He was so close now that his scent, rich, spicy, and unrelentingly masculine pulled me to him like an invisible magnet.

“Oh, so now you’re claiming to be a gentleman?” I bit back, even as my own voice shook with a tremor of discomfort I hadn’t meant to show.

I didn’t even know why I wanted him to deny it. 

He leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of my ear as he whispered, “No, little killer. I’m not a nobleman. I’m the thing you were warned about. The shadow you were taught to fear.”

I should’ve pulled away.
I should’ve run.

But I sat there, consumed by the gravity of him.

His fingers didn’t touch me but they hovered, just inches from my inner thighs, like he was hesitating to touch me.

“You want to hate me,” he said softly, “because hating me is easier than admitting what you really feel.”
I clenched my jaw, but he wasn’t wrong.
And that terrified me more than anything else.