Chapter Twenty-Five Emmy #2
I cross the distance in long, unrestrained strides. There’s no warning this time. No hesitation. My hands find her waist and my mouth crashes down on hers, the kiss fuelled by everything I’ve been holding back, rage, fear, possession, need.
She gasps against me, then melts into it, her hands flying to my neck, fingers tangling in my hair as she pulls me closer, refusing to give me an inch of space. The response is immediate. Feral.
I tighten my hold, tilting her head just enough to deepen the kiss, stealing her breath as thoroughly as she’s stolen mine. A sound slips from her, soft, involuntary, and it hits me straight in the chest, wrecking what little restraint I had left.
Emmy
Oh God.
This man is going to ruin me.
His kiss is raw and relentless, like something feral has been unleashed, dragging me under with a force I don’t fight. I let it take me, let myself be pulled into his gravity, knowing full well I won’t come out unchanged.
Khai walks me backward without breaking eye contact, slow and deliberate, until the door stops me cold. His hands never leave my waist, firm, unyielding, like letting go was never an option to begin with.
He pulls me flush against him, stealing the last inch of space between us before lowering his mouth back to mine.
The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s dark, consuming, a demand disguised as desire. He takes what he wants, biting down on my bottom lip before soothing the sting with a slow sweep of his tongue, the contrast sending heat racing through my veins. My breath catches, but he doesn’t slow, doesn’t soften.
His hands slide beneath the shirt, exploring with shameless confidence, one settling low before squeezing hard enough to make me gasp. The sound seems to please him.
His mouth leaves mine only to claim new territory. Lips drag along my throat, kisses turning rough, teeth grazing, tongue soothing each mark he leaves behind. There’s an edge to it, something almost angry, possessive. These aren’t just kisses.
He’s marking me.
Claiming me all over again.
Before I can think, he spins me around. My palms hit the door, breath leaving me in a rush as his body crowds mine from behind. His hand closes around my hair, tugging just enough to arch my neck, forcing my throat bare for him.
The heat of him presses close, undeniable, and a shiver runs through me.
His lips brush my ear, voice low and dangerous. “You’re mine, Little Heaven.”
The words sink deep, heavy with promise and warning alike. His teeth graze my earlobe, sending sparks down my spine as his other hand slips lower, purposeful, possessive.
Every movement is controlled, unhurried, like he’s savouring the way my body betrays me. A broken sound escapes my lips, and he exhales sharply behind me, restraint fraying.
The shift in him is immediate.
Clothes move, fabric rustles, urgency creeping into every touch. His mouth finds my neck again as tension coils tighter and tighter, until thought disappears beneath sensation. When he finally pulls me closer, the world narrows to breath and heat and the relentless presence of him.
He leans in, voice rough against my skin. “Now be a good girl,” he murmurs, dark satisfaction threading through every word. “Say my name when you fall apart.”
Then he moves.
Slow at first, deliberate, punishingly controlled, before the rhythm deepens, urgency breaking through his restraint.
Each movement pulls another sound from me, each breath rougher than the last. His grip tightens, grounding and demanding all at once, like he refuses to let me drift anywhere but toward him.
The storm builds fast. His breathing turns uneven, low sounds slipping free as control slips from his grasp. The world dissolves into heat and motion and the overwhelming certainty of him everywhere at once.
“Khai,” His name tears from me, desperate. “Don’t stop.”
A dark growl answers me, and whatever restraint he had left disappears. The pace turns relentless, consuming, until sensation crashes over me all at once and I shatter, crying his name as everything else fades away.
My body is still trembling when he stills behind me, holding me upright as the aftershocks roll through me. My breath comes in broken pulls, my forehead pressed against the door, his name still lingering on my lips.
Khai doesn’t move fast right away.
If anything, his grip tightens, one arm wrapping around my waist, anchoring me against him like he refuses to let the moment end. His breathing turns rough, uneven against my neck, control slipping further with every second he feels me come down from the edge he pushed me over.
A low sound escapes him, almost a growl, as he buries his face against my shoulder. The restraint he held onto finally fractures. His movements lose their careful control, turning desperate, driven by something darker than desire, possession, hunger, need.
“Look what you do to me,” he mutters, voice raw, almost accusing.
The words send another shiver through me.
He holds me tighter, chasing his own release with a final, relentless urgency before going still, tension leaving him all at once as he exhales hard against my skin. For a moment, the only sound in the room is our breathing, heavy, tangled together.
His forehead drops to my shoulder, damp hair brushing my cheek. The weight of him settles there, not distant, not detached, but claiming, grounding. One hand remains splayed across my stomach, thumb moving absently as though reassuring himself, I’m still there.
Time stretches strangely as we stand there, breathing hard, the air between us still charged. When he finally moves, it’s slower now, deliberate. He turns me to face him, his expression unreadable as he fixes himself, restoring the careful control he wears like armour.
Then his hands slide beneath my knees, and he lifts me with effortless strength. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, clinging to him as if my body knows something my mind is still catching up to.
He kisses me again.
Not like before.
This kiss is slower, unhurried. Possessive in a different way. It’s steady, grounding, almost careful. The contrast undoes me far more than the violence of the moments before.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests briefly against mine. His voice is low, rough with meaning.
“If you insist on testing my patience,” he murmurs, “at least remember who you belong to while you do it.”
The words hit hard, sending a tremor through me that leaves my legs weak in his arms.
He carries me to the bed and sets me down with surprising gentleness, brushing his mouth over mine once more, quick, decisive.
“I’ll be out there,” he says quietly. “Working.” Another kiss, softer still. “Come out when you’re ready.”
Then he turns and leaves the room.
The door closes behind him, the sound echoing far louder than it should.
And suddenly, the absence is unbearable.
The realization hits me like a slow, creeping panic, that I miss him already. That the thought unsettles me more than his control ever did.
Which is terrifying. Because it means whatever this is…It’s already inside me.