6. Michael
Michael
The SUV was silent, save for the hum of tires on asphalt. The driver had raised the privacy glass without being asked. Smart man.
In the back seat, Kate sat beside me, radiating fury in a way only she could—like she wanted to throw herself at me or out the damn car. Her kisses her just as hot and frantic as mine. But she lost any upper hand and was at my mercy and she was pissed about it. I had cut off any avenue of running.
“This is kidnapping,” she muttered.
I didn’t bite. Not yet.
She twisted toward me. “I said one night.”
I turned my head slowly. “And you’re getting it.”
“At some random off-the-grid lake cabin I can’t Uber away from?” she snapped. “You think this counts as one night when I’ll need a chopper to escape in the morning?”
I grinned. “You never said anything about location. You said one night. You didn’t say I had to make leaving easy.”
“You smug son of a?—”
I caught her wrist before she could shove me. “Kate. You kissed me. You begged for tonight. I’m giving you what you asked for.”
“On your terms,” she shot back.
“Damn right.” I leaned in, voice low. “You wanted to run? You should’ve kept running. But you didn’t. You came back. And now I’m not letting you disappear without answers.”
Her jaw clenched. She tore her wrist from my grip, and sat back, arms crossed like she was keeping herself from lunging at me again.
“I said one night because it was supposed to be a goodbye. Not a trap.”
I studied her in the glow of the interior light. Her chest rose and fell, lips parted slightly, eyes wild.
“You think I’m trapping you?” I asked.
“I know you are.”
I leaned close enough for her to feel my breath on her neck. “I’m giving you exactly what you asked for. Just more of it.”
She looked away, but not before I saw it—desire, confusion, and a hint of fear. Not of me. Of herself.
We fell into silence again, but tension curled in every inch between us. Her thigh brushed mine when we hit a curve, and she didn’t pull away.
Ten more minutes. That’s all we needed.
The cabin would do the rest.
The SUV crunched to a stop at the end of the gravel path, headlights washing over the lakefront cabin like a spotlight on the stage where I planned to change everything.
Kate shifted beside me, tense as a loaded gun.
I watched her as I stepped out and opened her door. She took my hand like it was the only lifeline she had, even while her eyes screamed that she wanted to run.
This cabin wasn’t just for show. It was for claiming.
The place was tucked into a tree line, private as hell. Think Ritz-Carlton meets backwoods seclusion. Floor-to-ceiling windows, massive deck wrapped in fairy lights, and a stone chimney puffing smoke like some romantic getaway commercial. Two Adirondack chairs by the water. A damn postcard.
I brought her here on purpose. Because there was nowhere to run from here. And she knew it.
Inside, the fire crackled, casting shadows over leather, fur throws, and wide-planked floors. I had the wine ready, lights dimmed, temperature just right. I watched her take it all in, saw the doubt creep in behind her eyes.
“I meant it, you know,” she said, voice sharper than it had been in the car. “Just one night.”
“I know.”
I stepped toward her. She backed up.
“You don’t get to decide how it happens,” I told her.
Her chin lifted. Defiant. But I saw the heat in her. The memory of my mouth on her body, the sound she made when I finally kissed her.
“You ran,” I murmured, voice low as I moved behind her, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “I let you. Once.”
She shivered.
I circled her slowly, dragging my eyes over every inch of her. Her pupils were wide, lips parted, chest rising fast. She wasn’t scared. She was aroused.
I came close, stopping just shy of touching her. “Say it. Say you remember that night on the yacht. Say you remember what it felt like to be touched by me.”
She didn’t answer. Didn’t have to.
I kissed her. Not soft. Not brutal. Just right.
She melted, hands in my shirt, body leaning into mine like she’d been starved. And maybe she had. We both had.
I didn’t stop kissing her as I lifted her, carried her up the stairs like she weighed nothing, and kicked open the bedroom door.
Big stone fireplace, fur rug, king-size bed that screamed sex.
I dropped her on it. Stared down at her.
“Strip.”
She did. Fuck me, she did.
And when I dropped my clothes, I watched her eyes go wide.
Yeah, sweetheart. I’m big. And tonight, I’m yours.
I crawled over her, slow and deliberate, the heat of her body pulling me in like a damn black hole. I kissed her like I was starved—because I was. Lips, jaw, neck. Then I latched onto one perfect nipple, sucking hard enough to make her cry out. She arched into me, hands gripping my hair.
“Fuck, I missed this,” I growled, switching to the other breast, flicking her nipple with my tongue until she was whimpering.
Then I slid lower.
Her thighs parted. No hesitation. No shame. She was dripping.
My fingers found her clit, and I rubbed slow, tight circles. She gasped, hips jerking. Her moans hit the back of my skull like a drug. I dipped two fingers into her heat, spreading her open, watching her body respond. Wet. Hot. Only for me.
“Baby,” I hissed. “You’re soaking. You missed this too, didn’t you?”
She couldn’t speak. Just nodded, panting, nails clawing my shoulders. Her back arched off the bed as I licked her clit, slow and dirty, tasting everything she tried to hide. She trembled when she came, crying out my name like a prayer.
I moved up, hovering over her, chest brushing hers. She was wrecked. Breathless. Glowing.
But I wasn’t done.
I lined up, gripped my cock, and slid the thick head through her folds. The moment I felt that heat wrap around me, my biceps trembled.
“Fuck,” I choked. “You feel unreal.”
She wrapped her legs around me and I pushed in—slow, inch by thick inch, until I was buried to the hilt. Her walls clenched around me like she didn’t want to let go.
My eyes rolled back. My jaw locked.
“You were made for me,” I growled, rocking into her. “Say it.”
“Made for you,” she whispered, voice wrecked.
I kissed her again—rougher this time. Tongues colliding. Biting. Breathing each other in.
I fucked her hard, claiming every inch, dragging more moans and filthy cries from her lips. Her nails carved lines down my back. Her voice broke on every thrust.
“Mine,” I growled. “You’re mine, Kate. You’ve always been.”
“Yes,” she sobbed, clutching me tighter. “Yes. Yours.”
I flipped her over, took her from behind. Her ass arched into me perfectly, hands gripping the sheets as I slammed into her. I pulled her hair, kissed her shoulder, licked down her spine.
She came again—shaking, gasping, my name a broken plea.
I followed seconds later, burying myself deep and losing my mind. I emptied into her with a curse and a groan that shook the walls.
We collapsed, tangled in heat and sweat and breathless satisfaction.
And even then—I wanted more.
Because this? This wasn’t just lust.
This was possession.