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Chapter Text

Jacques Dreux, the sole heir to the Dreux family, which owned an international trading company centered in Paris, France. 

He started running the company after his father's death at 19, six years ago.

Although only 25 years old, he managed the company intelligently and achieved widespread success in the company. 

Money, pedigree, wealth, appearance, he has it all. 

Light skinned, a handsome face with silver white hair and striking blue sapphire eyes.

Broad shoulders, six pack, and a height of 186cm tall. A full package of a man with a perfect body. As a young, successful bachelor, he is certainly far from undesirable.

Unfortunately, one of his bad habits includes not liking anything called 'woman'. He has no interest whatsoever in dating. 

Through his own personal experience, he deemed that dating is a waste of time, which leads to his mother involving him in various arranged dates, which always ends horribly.  

One rainy day. Jack was in the car in the back seat, phone in hand, on his way back to Paris from a business trip outside the city

As he scrolled through a submitted business proposal, the driver stopped in front of the red light waiting for the signal to turn on. 

With the pitter patter of rain, the sound of a motorcycle appeared and stopped next to the car beside him. 

He turned his eyes to the window curiously. 

There was a girl on a black motorcycle clad with an all black form-fitting riding outfit. With one leg pinned to the ground, she pushed up the shield of her matching black helmet.

Her sharp amethyst eyes were the first to catch his attention. Her eyes narrowed as she tap her manicured finger on the gas panel

Her eyes narrowed and her features harden in anger

"Fuck," She said. "That damn asshole, that's the last time I'll let him help." Jack's eyes widened and his heart beat for the first time, then he unconsciously opened the window and said

"Is everything okay?"

Startled by the sudden voice she turned to him, eyes widened, locking eyes with him before snapping out her daze

"I, uh... I'm almost out of gas"

His eyes scanned her features. Even though he could barely see half of her face, she was beautiful. He didn't know if it was the rain, the cold wind, or the look of irritation in her, but he couldn't take his eyes off her.

He watched as she turned her attention to the gas and tapped it again then she let out a frustrated sigh.

"Beating it won't do you any good," He snarked, amused. Leaning towards the window, his elbow resting on the edge. "How far are you planning to go?"

"Into the city, but I don't have enough to get there"

Jack could hear the disappointment and irritation in her tone, and it made him want to help somehow. He took a moment to think before an idea hit him. 

"I could give you a ride," He offered, surprised by his own forwardness. 

He mentally scolds himself for his impulsive offer, especially to a complete stranger. But something about this girl made him want to be reckless.

She looked at him in surprise, then looked back at her ride "But, my bike..."

She didn't look entirely convinced 

Seeing her reluctance, he tried a different approach. "Look, it's raining and from the looks of it, it'll be pouring soon enough," He said, gesturing to the darkened cloud ahead. "You're not going to get much farther on that bike anyways. And besides, I won't bite, I promise."

He gave her a reassuring smile, hoping to ease her hesitation.

After a moment, she seemed to make up her mind. "Fine," She relented, the annoyance in her voice replaced by a hint of gratefulness. "I don't have much choice, do I?"

Getting off the bike, she took off her helmet and a cascade of dark inky black hair came tumbling down her to her waist. She walked over to the other side of the car before he could catch a glimpse of her face

Jack leaned forward, tapping lightly on the partition. "David, make a call to maintenance—there's a red and black MV Agusta F4 RR at the corner of Rue Marceau and Saint-Honoré. Pick it up and bring it to my office garage."  

He turned back just as she opened the door, hesitating slightly before sliding into the plush leather seat. The water soaked through her clothes making them clung to her every curve.

Raindrops clung onto her hair like scattered stars, the damp strands of hair stick to her heart-shaped face, her small button nose twitched at the burst of warm air from inside the car and pink plump lips pressed into a thin line

"You know," He said softly, "Most people would've said thank you before questioning my intentions."

A faint smirk tugged at his lips—one she might not even notice if she wasn't looking.

Her cheeks flushed a soft pink, barely visible under the dim cabin light, but Jack noticed—how could he not? The rain-slicked city blurred outside, but she was in sharp focus.

The way her damp hair curled slightly at the ends, how her fingers curled around the helmet like she wasn't sure what to do with it—or herself.

She sighed, low and reluctant. "You're right," She said quietly. "Thank you... and..." A pause. Her voice dropped softer than the hum of tires on wet pavement. "Sorry... for questioning you."

She turned to look out her window then, as if daring the city lights to judge her for being vulnerable.

Jack chuckled—low, warm, almost to himself.

"Apology accepted," He said, not unkindly. "And for the record? You don’t have to thank me like it's a chore. Just own it."

Taking out a small dry towel from inside the small compartment in front of him, handing it out to her 

He leaned back, watching her from the corner of his eye as she dried her hair and the rain-streaked light played across her face.

"So... Veronica," He began smoothly, glancing at the nameplate on her bike's custom plate. "Why were you in the middle of this rain?"

Her eyes snapped wide, sharp amethyst locking onto him like he'd just crossed a line. "How do you know my name?" She demanded, voice cool and edged—more reflex than malice.

A smirk tugged at Jack's lips. He nodded toward her bike. "The custom plate on your bike," He explained, gesturing with a flick of his wrist. "MVA-F4. And your fuel cap? Engraved with 'Veronica's Ride - Touch & Die.'"

A beat passed.

Then another.

Her tension melted into reluctant amusement—and maybe the tiniest flicker of embarrassment.

"You've got good eyes," She murmured, folding her arms.

He tilted his head, studying her reaction with a gleam of curiosity in his eyes.

"You sound so surprised," He mused, a hint of amusement lacing his voice. "Did you think I was just picking random strangers out of the rain?"

She looked away, "...Maybe."  

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension melting from her frame as she let out a quiet breath—half laugh, half relief. She tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear and glanced at him sideways.

"I guess I didn't think you'd actually notice," She murmured, voice softening. "Most people don't."  

A soft laugh escaped him at her expression, but it was light, not mocking. "Not used to people remembering your name so easily, are you?" He wondered aloud as the car moved through the rain-soaked streets.

He shifted slightly in his seat, turning to face her better. The interior of the car suddenly seemed smaller, the air between them charged with a strange, almost electrifying tension.

"No, not really, most people usually stayed at a distance or hate my guts apparently"

Jack arched an eyebrow at that. "Hate your guts, huh? What did you do? Steal their lunch money?" He teased lightly, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

He studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering a little longer this time. Even soaked from the rain, she was beautiful

She scoffed, "As if, dealing with them for a small pocket change? Clearly not worth the effort"

He let out a chuckle, genuinely amused by her confident reply. He liked her wit.

"Good to know you have standards," He said, the smirk still playing on his lips. He leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. "And here I thought I was dealing with a bike-riding thief."

Her eyes widened like saucers, her breath catching in mock outrage. "Mind you," She snapped, voice sharp but laced with something playful beneath the surface, "That bike is my baby—don't you dare insult it."

She turned fully toward him, amethyst eyes flashing like storm-lit violet glass. Raindrops still clung to her lashes and the tips of her hair, catching the dim interior light. Her fingers curled slightly around the helmet in her lap as if protecting it.

Jack didn't flinch—he barely blinked—but his smirk deepened. He held up his hands in mock surrender, a low laugh rumbling from his chest. "Whoa. Touchy subject, I see." His sapphire eyes sparkled with amusement. 

"Apologies, Mademoiselle and her royal steed," He said with a theatrical bow of the head. "I meant no disrespect to your... beloved machine."

He glanced out the window for a beat, then back at her.

"Though I am curious—what kind of woman names her motorcycle Sylvie?"

"The kind that loves it like her own child," She huffed, lips pressing into a soft pout as she crossed her arms. Raindrops still clung to the ends of her hair, glistening under the dim cabin light like scattered pearls.

Jack's breath caught—just slightly—at the sight of her pout. Damn. He quickly masked it with a smirk.

"Ah, so it does have a name," He teased, voice smooth as velvet. "Sylvie... romantic. French. Just like you."

He leaned in an inch—close enough to catch the faint scent of rain and cinnamon on her skin.

"But tell me, Veronica," He murmured, "If Sylvie's your baby... does that make you even more dangerous when someone insults her?"

She turned to him with a wolfish grin, her face suddenly so close he could count her lashes—those dark fan-like streaks against amethyst eyes that now gleamed with mischief and something dangerously warm.

Her voice dropped to a low, teasing purr. "You bet it does," She said, lips twitching. "The last one who dared insult Sylvie? Walked around with a broken nose for weeks"

God, she was close.

His heart thudded in his chest at the proximity, his gaze locked with hers. This girl... she had fire in her veins, a fierce protectiveness that made him want to push her buttons just a tad. 

He let out a low laugh, half impressed, half aroused.

"And here I thought you were all bark and no bite," He murmured. "But it seems you have some claws, little wolf."

Jack watched her snap back to her side of the car, a small smirk tugging at his lips as she pretended to be deeply fascinated by the rain-slicked streets outside.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," She muttered, voice cool—but there was a faint flush creeping up her neck, betraying her.

Jack watched her retreat with quiet amusement, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He didn't call her out—no teasing remark, no triumphant jab. Instead, he simply leaned back and said

"Funny... for someone who doesn't know what she's talking about, you're blushing very convincingly."  

The car hummed forward through the rain, and outside, Paris glowed in soft watercolor hues—but inside?  

Something hotter burned between them now. Quiet. Unspoken.

And Jack?  

He was enjoying it.

She may have hidden her face from him but the tips of her ears were cherry red

Jack leaned back, watching her with quiet satisfaction.

"David," He said softly, "Change of plans. Take us to Le Jardin du Luxembourg."  

Veronica turned slightly, eyes narrowing. "We're going the wrong way."

He shrugged, a lazy grin spreading. "I never said I was taking you straight to the city. Besides... even lone wolves need a moment of peace now and then."  

He tilted his head toward the window. "And something tells me you'd appreciate a quiet spot with tea... maybe even a chocolate cake?"  

Her sharp violet eyes widened—just slightly.

"How do you—"

"I notice things," He said simply. "Like how your jacket's from that little patisserie near Bastille... and how you didn't argue when I mentioned tea."

A beat.

Then—he reached into the mini-fridge beside him, pulling out two warm cups and a small box tied with ribbon.

"Cinnamon bun?"

Jack watched her struggle—her expression a delightful mix of defiance, curiosity, and eventually, acceptance. Her gaze lingered on the cinnamon bun for a beat—sweet, soft, warm.

Finally, with a sigh that sounded like surrender... she reached out and took it from him. Her fingers brushed against his in the exchange, and she couldn’t deny the goosebumps that crept up her arm.

Her eyes flicked up to meet him again, her voice coming out quietly.

"I won't thank you again, you know."

Jack watched her take the bun with a quiet triumph, not in victory—but in delight. She was stubborn, proud… and utterly disarmed by kindness.

"You're not what I expected," She murmured, staring at the pastry like it might bite her.

He took a slow sip of his tea. "Neither are you."  

A pause. Then he added softly, "But I think I like it."

Outside, the rain had softened to a whisper. The garden loomed ahead—quiet, misty trees framing cobbled paths like something out of a dream.

"Eat up," He said gently. "And don't worry... your Sylvie is safe."  

That earned him a tiny eye roll—and just barely—the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

Jack smiled back.

Progress.

The garden was a dream—dotted with misty trees, ancient statues, and a silent fountain. The drizzle slowed to a whisper, leaving a hushed, almost magical quality in its place. 

They sat together atop a stone bench, the soft patter of rain on cobbled paths as a backdrop. 

Jack watched her in quiet contentment, taking in the sight of this strange, guarded girl in this secret corner of the world.  

She was eating her bun now—slowly, savoring each bite like a gift. A small drop of cream smeared against her bottom lip.

Before he could stop himself, Jack reached out—thumb brushing gently against her lip to wipe away the smudge.

The air stilled, her breath hitched. His pulse roared.

"...You had something," He murmured, voice low, thumb lingering just a second too long.

Then he pulled back slowly, as if testing whether she'd burn him for it.

A beat of silence. Raindrops hung from the trees like glass tears.  

And somewhere between the warmth of her blush and the quiet storm in her eyes?

Jack knew—he was already in too deep.

"Thanx," She mumbled

His heart skipped a beat at her soft reply.

He could feel the tension crackling between them, thick and electric. Every part of him ached to close that gap... to take this strange, prickly, beautiful girl into his arms.

Not yet, Jack, he reminded himself sternly. Not yet.

He settled back on the bench, creating a few inches of space.

"So," He began, trying to find his usual carefree tone. "You're a motorcycle-riding cafe fiend with a sweet tooth... anything else hidden beneath that fierce exterior?"

She hummed, her voice soft like distant thunder. "Nothing much, really. I don't usually have much free time."  

Her amethyst eyes drifted upward, fixed on the bruised-gray sky where clouds rolled slowly over the treetops of the Luxembourg Garden. A faint breeze lifted strands of her black hair, and for a moment, she looked almost dazed—like she wasn't just looking at the sky, but through it. Like she was somewhere far away.

"It's been a while since I took Sylvie out for a ride," 

He watched her study the sky, the play of thoughts across her features. For a moment, something vulnerable flashed in her eyes—a hint of exhaustion she quickly hid behind the veil of stubbornness.  

He felt a tug in his chest. This girl... she carried more than one burden. 

And for reasons he couldn't quite understand... he wanted to help carry them with her.

He moved his leg slightly, the distance closing just enough.  

"Rough couple weeks?" He asked quietly.

She exhaled slowly, her breath visible in the cool air. "Not exactly," She murmured, fingers curling slightly around the half-eaten cinnamon bun. Her boots tapped lightly against each other—tiny, restless movements that betrayed her calm exterior.

"It's... family business," She said at last, voice low and careful. "I suppose you could call it that."

He noted the way her shoulders tensed, her fingers clenching on her bun. 

He wanted to push—to get to the bottom of whatever was bothering that pretty head of hers.

But he knew better.  

He leaned back, keeping his voice light. "Family business, huh? You some kind of mafia princess?"

She chuckled, glancing at him with mischievous eyes, a smirk playing on her lips

"Wouldn't you like to know"

He raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. There she was—that sharp-tongued wolf he knew was lurking beneath all that ice.  

He leaned in, eyes sparking. "Oh, I absolutely would," He teased, relishing the way her eyes narrowed in challenge.

She was beautiful like this—all sparks and fire. He wanted so badly to lean in, to draw her close and feel her burn.  

Soon, he told himself sharply.  

And for now?  

They'd banter.

"Come on," He teased, nudging her lightly with an elbow. "A lone wolf with 'family business' to handle? You might as well wear a sign that says 'I break hearts' or 'trouble ahead.'"

He took a small bite of his own cinnamon roll, savoring the warm dough.

"What's next? You going to pull out a dagger and tell me you can't have friends because you have 'work' to tend to?" He added, his voice oozing with dramatic flair.

She turned to him slowly, moonlight catching the sharp amethyst glint in her eyes—playful, dangerous, like stars dipped in poison. A soft breeze lifted the ends of her long black hair as she leaned in just a fraction, close enough for her warmth to reach him.

"Careful there," She murmured, voice low and silken. "Get too close to the fire... and you'll get burned."

Her pearly white teeth gleamed as that wolfish smirk returned—half warning, half invitation.

And damn if Jack didn't know it deep in his chest, he's certainly feeling it now,

This girl isn't just a fire, she's an inferno waiting to consume him whole.  

He grinned back—slow, unshaken.

He met her gaze, unflinching, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

"Problem is," He said, voice low and smooth like velvet smoke, "I've never been afraid of fire."

His sapphire eyes locked onto hers—intense, daring.

"And something tells me... your burn would be worth it."

She just chuckled before pulling away, standing up and stretching "It's getting late, I should be heading back"

He bit back a pang of disappointment as she stood, leaving his side cool. He'd come to enjoy the banter—her sharp words, her defiant gaze.

"Already?" He feigned a sigh, rising to his feet as well.

"And here I was, thinking we were just getting to the part where you'd tell me all your secrets."

He reached down, tossing the now-empty cups and pastry box into a nearby trash can.

She chuckled, turning back to him, "A single bun isn't enough to get my secrets" Her eyes gleamed, almost like a predator playing with it's pret

He met her gaze, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He could play this game.  

"No?" He said, feigning disappointment with a sigh. "And here I thought the cinnamon bun was the universal key to secrets and friendship."  

He leaned back against a nearby tree, folding his arms over his chest. 

"Fine," He said, voice light. "Name your price."  

He raised an eyebrow in challenge.

She huffed, grinning, "Trust me, it's not a price you'll be able to pay"

His smile widened, enjoying this playful banter more than he cared to admit.

"Is that so?" He mused, tilting his head to one side. 

He pushed off the tree, crossing the distance between them in two strides. 

He was close. So close he could smell the faint scent of cinnamon now mingled with something else—something distinctly her.

He leaned down, bringing his face to hers.  

"Try me."

She chuckled, "Cute, but best not try your luck," Her voice low—almost a tease—as she turned just enough for her long black hair to slip over one shoulder.

She didn't look back right away. Let the moment linger. The air between them, still humming with something unspoken.

Then, slowly, she lifted a hand in farewell—a small wave, fingers curled like she couldn't be bothered to fully commit to sweetness.

He watched her go—that familiar twinge of disappointment rearing its head again. 

He'd wanted to keep bantering, keep teasing, keep finding excuses to see each other. But she was already striding away, heading straight for that damn car. 

His eyes narrowed, something fierce and possessive rearing up inside him. He didn't want her getting in that car. 

He wanted to drive her. He wanted those pretty eyes looking at him, not some chauffeur.  

He moved quickly, catching up to her just before she reached the car.

He reached out, catching her wrist and gently spinning her around to face him.  

"Wait."

He didn't know where this boldness was coming from, but he didn't care. He wanted to keep her here, keep her just a moment longer. 

His eyes held hers, sapphire flames in the quiet night. He couldn't let her leave—not yet.  

His thumb brushed absentmindedly over the delicate skin of her wrist—a silent, possessive gesture.

"Don't go." 

The words slipped out before he could stop them. Shit, he sounded like a lovesick fool. But he didn't care. 

She was leaving, she was walking away, and the thought of losing this strange, defiant girl—losing this connection he could feel sparking between them—burned.

He tugged gently at her wrist, keeping her close. 

"Stay," He murmured. "A little longer."

Shee smiled softly, "Tempting, but I have an appointment to get to, afraid I can't be late"

A what now?

The word 'appointment' felt like a bucket of cold water over his head. 

"An appointment."

He repeated the word, his grip on her wrist loosening. Of course she had somewhere else to be. Of course this was fleeting, not meant to last. He was a fool for wishing otherwise. 

"Right," He said, forcing a casual tone. "Appointment. Of course."

He pushed his hands into his pockets, resisting the urge to pull her closer.

He knew he should let her go. She had someplace to be, and he had no right to keep her. 

But something in him—the same fierce, possessive part that had flared when he'd first seen her—refused. It bristled at the thought of letting her get into that car, of watching her drive off into the night. 

"Who's the appointment with?" He blurted out suddenly, before he could stop himself.   

He immediately cursed himself. Damn it, he sounded like a jealous boyfriend.

Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of amusement dancing in those sharp amethyst depths. The corner of her lips curled—slow, knowing, like she could see straight through him to the storm beneath his calm.

"Like I've said," She whispered, stepping back with a teasing sway in her voice, "You should be careful with fire... get too close," —She held his gaze as the distance grew— "And you'll get burned."

Then came that grin—pearly white teeth flashing under the dim glow of the street lamps—a predator's smile. Confidence. Untouchable.

And just like that, she turned.

The soft click of the car door closing was final. No invitation to follow. No backward glance. Just silence and Jack standing there—left in the quiet aftermath of a girl who'd ridden into his life on thunder and gasoline.

The car pulled away slowly, tires whispering over wet stone.

Jack stood rooted to the spot long after its taillights faded into Paris' misty embrace... one thought burning brighter than any warning

I'm already on fire.

He watched helplessly as she slid into the car, the smirk on her face making clear she'd won this particular battle. 

Jack clenched his fist, cursing his own impulsiveness. What the hell was he doing, acting like some possessive idiot? He didn't even know this girl. Hell, she'd probably just come to the city to attend her damn appointment and be gone by morning. 

But the thought didn't sit right. He couldn't explain it, but he didn't like imagining her riding off into the night alone. 

Damn it.

He cursed under his breath, resisting the urge to kick something preferably that damn car and settled for raking a frustrated hand through his hair. 

He should walk away. This wasn't his business. She was a stranger, and he had no right to get so bent out of shape over some girl he'd just met.

And yet...

He glanced over at the car, watching her through the tinted window. What the hell was it about her that had him this wrapped up in her?

His fingers clenched again. This wasn't like him at all.

Although his mind was in disarray, he decided to head back to his condo.

Right after a relaxing bath, well as relaxing as he could get with everything on his mind, he got an incoming call from his mother

He looked at the name flashing on his phone and sighed. Of all times for his mother to call. 

He considered ignoring it—he really wasn't in the mood to hear her fuss over the latest business venture. But experience had taught him that ignoring her just made her more persistent. 

Better just to get it over with. 

He tapped the 'answer' button and lifted the phone to his ear.

"Hello darling! You finally picked up, so, how's Paris?"

He leaned back against the couch, resigned to the inevitable conversation.

"It's fine," He replied, his voice tinged with a hint of irritation. "The weather's good, the city's alive as ever."

He paused, waiting for the inevitable follow-up. He already knew what was coming next.

"Great, great… So… I have this old acquaintance of mine whose granddaughter I want you to meet, I already arranged a date for tomorrow evening, oh and don't worry I already checked with your secretary, you're free then."

His irritation flared, but he forced himself to remain calm. His mother and this relentless matchmaking. Why was she so hell-bent on him getting married? He was only 25, for God's sake.

He took a deep breath, reigning in his annoyance. "Mother, we've been over this," He said, his tone firm. "I don't have time for blind dates."

"I know, I know, you always said that but this time is different! I'm sure you'll like her!" She insisted 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. She was always so goddamn persistent.

"Mother, please," He said, his voice strained. "I don't want to date some random girl just because you think I should. I'm busy, and—"

He stopped himself before he could say something he'd regret. Arguing with her never did any good. Instead, he took another deep breath, trying to compose himself.

"Can't you just let me focus on the company for a while?"

"Then just this once, this last one and I won't ask again for a while, pretty please?"

His shoulders sagged in resignation. Damn it, she knew how to guilt trip him. He closed his eyes, sighing heavily.

"Fine," He said, the word tasting like defeat on his tongue. 

"One date. And that's it, Mother. No more setup after this, got it?"

"Yes! Perfect! So, I've arranged for the two of you to meet at the Ladurée near the torecado at six, don't worry David knows where it is"

His jaw clenched. Ladurée. The place was practically made for forced romantic encounters—delicate macarons, soft lighting, the whole sordid affair wrapped in pastel boxes.

"Of course David knows," He muttered dryly. "Because clearly, my driver's more involved in my love life than I am."

He pinched the bridge of his nose again.

"Fine. Six o'clock. But if this turns into another disaster like last time with that opera-obsessed lawyer?" He paused, voice low and firm.

"I'm cutting you off from my schedule permanently."

"Oh come on~ don't worry she'll be amazing!" She giggled giddily, sometimes she felt like a child

He sighed, shaking his head. His mother could be so damn optimistic sometimes it was almost infuriating.

"We'll see," He muttered, skepticism lacing his voice. "But mark my words, if she's anything like the last one, I'm cancelling and deleting your number."

He couldn't help the hint of irritation that crept into his voice. The last setup had ended with him spending two hours listening to a woman drone on about the history of opera. It was a special kind of hell.

His mother just giggled and ended the call

He stared at the phone for a moment, then tossed it onto the couch with a groan.

"Of course she hangs up happy," He muttered to himself. "She's not the one getting ambushed by emotional landmines in a macaron shop."

He leaned back, rubbing his temples. One date. That was all he had to survive.

Six o'clock tomorrow. Ladurée.

The name alone made him cringe.

Then, without warning—Veronica’s smirk flashed in his mind.

Her sharp eyes. The way she'd whispered "Careful with fire." How she’d slipped away like smoke…

A slow grin tugged at his lips.

"Too bad," He murmured, voice low and dangerous with intent. "I like getting burned."

And just like that—he made up his mind.

Tomorrow’s date?  

It wouldn’t go as planned.

Chapter Text

As his morning passed in a flurry of business, his mood darkened. The bike—the key to finding her—had vanished like smoke in the air. He tried to brush aside the irritation gnawing at the back of his mind. 

What did it matter? 

She was a stranger. 

A girl he barely knew, whose only trace now seemed to be the lingering memory of her smirking face and sharp tongue.

So why, he thought with growing frustration, couldn't he get her out of his damn head?

He stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of his office, hands in his pockets, staring out over Paris. 

The city buzzed below—alive, relentless—but he felt strangely hollow.

His assistant knocked lightly at the door. "Mr. Dreux… your car is ready to leave for your date with Mademoiselle Noir."

Jack clenched his jaw.

That was right.

The date.

His mother's so-called 'last chance.'

He turned from the window slowly, a thought flickering behind his eyes—sharp and sudden.

What if... he didn't go?

Then again, the chance to finally end his mother's annoying matchmaking is too tempting to pass up

He sighed, "Let's get this over with"

The car cruised silently through the city streets, the familiar sights of Paris passing by outside the window. But inside, Jack was silent and brooding, his thoughts a tangled mess.

Ladurée.

The name echoed in his mind like a taunting mockery. Pink macarons, powdered sugar, delicate pastries.

He hated places like that. Too sweet. Too... romantic.

He ran a hand through his hair in weary resignation. This was it. A forced encounter, engineered by his mother. 

One date. How bad could it be?

The car pulled up in front of the Ladurée, the storefront a pastel-hued reminder of everything he hated about the whole affair.

He took a deep breath, trying to steel himself for the ordeal ahead. Just a few hours. A few hours of feigning interest, of making small talk, pretending to care.

He stepped out of the car, buttoning his suit jacket.

Don't look like a hostage, he told himself. At least act like you're interested.

Once he told his name, he was informed that the other party had already arrived and guided him to the elevator, up to the 10th floor, a private room

Once the doors opened, the dimmed room came into view. Vintage styled with small wall lamps spaced around the room giving the space a romantic hue

The only thing out of place was the floor-to-ceiling window right in front of the table for two, overlooking the city

A woman sat crossed legged, hand supporting her chin as she admired the view of the darkened Parisian city 

Sighing deeply, he stepped forward but the familiar scent of chocolate and cinnamon made him stop in his tracks

He froze in his tracks, a wave of disbelief and shock coursing through him.

That scent...

He knew that scent.

That sharp, defiant girl. That smirk. The way she'd slipped from his grasp like smoke.

And now, there she was—sitting at a table, in front of him, completely unaware of his presence.

For a moment, he just stood there, staring in disbelief.

It can't be, he thought, It can't be possible.

...And yet.

His mind whirled, trying to process the reality in front of him. It was her. He couldn't deny it. 

His eyes scanned her like he was seeing her for the first time.  

He stood frozen in the doorway, the soft hum of the elevator fading behind him.

And then—she turned.

His breath caught.

It was her.

Long, silken black hair cascaded over her shoulders like spilled ink, framing a delicate heart-shaped face. Her sharp amethyst eyes locked onto his with that same playful fire from yesterday. 

Thick lashes blinked slowly, as if savoring his surprise. Her button nose twitched faintly at the corner—a telltale sign she was hiding a laugh—and those pink, plump lips—now stained cherry red curled into a slow, dangerous grin.

"Oh?" She murmured, voice laced with mischief. 

"Well... this is unexpected."

Jack's pulse roared in his ears.

She looked unreal in that light—the dim glow of city dusk casting shadows across her collarbone where her shirt hung open just enough to tease

A crisp white a long-sleeved blouse with a vintage charm and three buttons undone at the top. 

Form-fitting was an understatement, the fabrics clings to her, accentuating every dips and curves

A black choker hugged her throat like forbidden silk. 

Below, trailed sheer black stockings clinging to long legs crossed elegantly beneath the table—one black stiletto tapping lightly against the floor—and above them? A dark chocolate mini skirt padded softly at her hips... teasing every ounce of restraint he thought he had.

Every detail screamed calculated chaos—the girl who mocked him by dimmed street lights now sat in front of him like royalty dressed for war in lace and sin.

And somehow…

She is his mother's match?

A thousand questions exploded inside him—but only one thought burned through

I'm not walking away from this.

The moonlight streamed in through the window, casting her features in soft shadows. His eyes lingered on her lips, remembering how they'd curled in a smirk when she'd looked at him.

He walked forward, a slow, measured step. Leaving his suit jacket on a nearby rack

"Unexpected." His voice came out as a murmur.

"That's an understatement."

Surprisingly, she heard him

She chuckled, "I thought I told you to stay away from fire" She teased

His lips quirked up into a small grin, despite his shock.  

"Shouldn't have made it so tempting," He retorted, finally reaching her.

He pulled out the seat across from her, his eyes not leaving her face.

Up close, all he could smell was that same scent—chocolate and cinnamon. The same scent that had haunted him since he'd first met her.

She huffed arms crossed "Wasn't exactly my choice"

His gaze sharpened, studying her. She wasn’t smiling now—just watching him, guarded.

"...Not your choice?" He repeated slowly.

A beat passed. The city glittered behind her like scattered diamonds.

Then it clicked.

His mother.

Granddaughter.

The pieces fell into place with a sickening thud.

He stared at her, stunned—and then, despite everything, he laughed. A low, rich sound that cut through the tension like a blade.

"So I'm guessing this is why you vanished?" He asked, voice shook with suppressed laughter

She didn't answer—just sipped her tea calmly, as if daring him to break first.  

Jack leaned forward on his elbows.  

"Let me guess," He murmured. "Veronica Noir—the mysterious granddaughter of my mother's 'old acquaintance.'" His lips twisted into a smirk that held no humor at all. 

"Funny how fate works."

"I suppose," She said, voice cool and measured, "But in that case, fate would be a meddling old man with far too much free time." She set her teacup down with precise grace, the soft clink echoing in the quiet room. 

"Just to be clear—I didn't come here for this. I really do have business to attend to in this city."

She exhaled through her nose, a flicker of irritation crossing her otherwise composed features before vanishing like smoke.

"But my grandfather—" She paused, rolling her eyes slightly "—Had something else in mind." Her amethyst eyes flicked to him briefly before returning to the skyline beyond the glass. "As if my schedule isn't already full enough."

She crossed one leg over the other with effortless elegance, fingers resting lightly on her knee—a picture of poise wrapped around quiet frustration.

"And yet," Jack murmured, leaning forward slightly, sapphire eyes locked onto hers with sudden intensity.  

"Here we are."

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms—mirroring her leg crossed elegance. He could play this game too.

"Your schedule," He echoed musingly, "Busy girl, huh?"  

His eyes flicked over her, taking in her casual elegance—the loose hair over her shoulders, the delicate way she sipped her tea.

She was a puzzle, he couldn't help but think as he studied her. A beautiful, irritating, frustrating, intriguing puzzle.

"I could say the same to you, you look like you barely came out of the office" She smirked,

Her eyes roamed him, silver hair neatly combed and pushed back, blue tie barely loosened, the long sleeves of his white dress shirt—that hugged his muscles— were barely folded up to his elbows. Not to mention his suit still hanging on the coat rack near the door.

His mouth twitched. 

She was observant, he'd give her that.

"You're right," He conceded, his voice cool yet amused. "I've been spending more time in the office lately. Running a company isn't a 9 to 5."  

He sipped his coffee—black, no cream or sugar, just the way he liked it. His eyes, bright and sharp, never left her face.

The tension between them crackled in the air. 

He set down his cup with a quiet clink.

"I take it you don't appreciate your grandfather's meddling any more than I do," He said dryly, his gaze holding her steady. 

She met it effortlessly, her eyes cool and calculating.  

"Not particularly," She said succinctly. "I prefer to make my own choices in life... Not have them set up by a well-meaning relative."

A dry laugh rumbled from his chest. 

"Sounds like we're in the same boat," He murmured.

She lifted an eyebrow at that.

"A boat, huh?" She quipped. "Is that a metaphor for the 'arranged blind dates' our meddling elders keep throwing at us?"

He didn't smile, but something in his eyes seemed to light up at her banter.

"A metaphor," He echoed quietly. He could almost feel the crackling tension between them, a live current. "Or a warning?"  

She met his gaze, a challenge glittering in her eyes.  

"Depends on how you navigate it," She replied, her voice silky.

He felt a smile tugging at his lips. Smart, and quick-witted. 

A dangerous combination.

"And you?" He asked, his tone casual but sharp. "You seem to be handling it fairly well."

She sipped her tea, the motion making her elegant neck arch and his eyes drop to the pulse point at her throat for a dangerous, distracting moment.

"I've had practice," She said mildly.  

He raised an eyebrow, feeling a spark of genuine curiosity.  

"And here you just told me you're not fond of people meddling in your life."

He watched the way her fingers curled around the delicate cup—pale, steady, but with just a hint of restrained fire beneath the surface. The soft swirl of tea caught the dim light as she gently rocked it, like she was contemplating something far darker than mere liquid.

"I don't," She said coolly, voice low and measured. "I truly don't." Her amethyst eyes lifted slightly, meeting him through the candlelight—sharp as shattered glass. 

Then dropped again into her cup.

"But when it's family..." A pause. Faint. Deliberate.

Her lips thinned into something between resignation and quiet loyalty. "I'm willing to endure it."

Then came that shift—the temperature in her gaze dropping ten degrees.

She gave the tea one final swirl before stilling it completely.

"Others, however?" She tilted her head just slightly—a predator acknowledging prey who’d stepped too close to its den.

A slow smirk curled at one corner of her mouth.

"Let’s just say... They're fair game."

Fair game.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a slow smile at that. A woman who knew when to pick her battles, and wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty if needed.

Her words stirred something in him—an echo of his own defiant streak, a challenge flaring in his chest. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.

"Is that a threat?" He asked, his voice a low murmur. 

Her eyes lifted to meet him, unwavering.

"More of a warning," She said, the corner of her mouth curving just slightly.  

He leaned in further, their faces now inches apart.

"Funny," He murmured, his tone dry. "So was mine."

They were too close. The smell of her, the sight of her eyes so close, her lips just a breath away—it was a dangerous game. One he was enjoying way too much.

He should get up, walk away. This wasn't part of his plan.

But damn it, it wasn't every day he'd found someone who could challenge him, surprise him, keep him on his toes all in one.

"You're not like the others," He said quietly. "The girls my mother sets me up with. They're always..." Boring.

"Boring?" She echoed, her voice like velvet laced with mischief.

Jack froze—

She noticed?

Half startled, half entranced. She hadn't just guessed his thought, it was as if she'd pulled it from him like a thief in the night.

He let out a low, surprised chuckle. "You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?"

He leaned back slowly, feigning composure, though his pulse had just kicked up a notch.

"Yes," He admitted, voice rougher now. "They're always rehearsed. Polished. Talking about art collections they don't care about or charities they've never visited." He paused. "You? You're... real."

The word hung between them—honest and unexpected.

"And I hate to admit it," He added with a smirk that didn't quite hide the truth beneath, "This was not on my schedule either."

Her eyes shone in amusement and challenge, her lips stretched into a grin 

"Well then, this should be an enjoyable night" And as if on que, their first antre had arrived

He watched as the waitress placed the first course in front of them—a beautifully plated dish of seared salmon over a bed of greens

He couldn't help but smirk at the timing. A beautiful night indeed.

He lifted his fork, the light gleaming off the silver, his eyes meeting hers over the table.

"An enjoyable night," He echoed, his voice a low rumble. "Now there's a thought."

His eyes flicked down to her plate then back to her face.  

"Bon appétit," He said smoothly.

She smiled beautifully, raising her glass of wine with effortless grace. The deep red swirls caught the soft golden light like liquid rubies.

Her amethyst eyes sparkled—half curiosity, half challenging—as she tilted her head just slightly.

"So," She began, voice smooth as velvet, "What brings you to France? You don't look like you're from around here... You're too," She added with a smirk, "Intense to be a local."

A slow grin tugged at Jack's lips.

"Funny," He said, lifting his own glass to meet hers with a soft clink. "I was born here. Grew up between Marseille and Paris. Though I've spent enough time in New York and London that people usually guess wrong."

He took a slow sip, never breaking eye contact.

"But you... you're the one who doesn't belong." His tone dropped—playful but edged with truth. "That bike wasn't registered in France. And no local rides through thunderstorms just for the thrill."

He leaned forward slightly.

"So what's your story?"

She sipped her wine slowly, the rim of the glass hiding a smirk.  

"Funny," She said, voice low and lilting, "I could say the same about you." Her eyes flicked over his tailored suit, his perfectly combed hair. "Born here? Maybe. But you move like someone who's always had to fight for space—like every step is calculated." 

She tilted her head, "You don't belong to this city any more than I do."

Jack stilled—just slightly.

No one ever saw that.

And yet she did.

He exhaled through his nose, a quiet laugh escaping him. "Damn," He murmured. "You're sharp."

She arched an eyebrow in response—a silent challenge

Go on.

He set down his glass slowly.

"My father built this company from nothing," He said flatly. "When he died, I inherited it at nineteen." He paused—the truth coiled beneath every word now. "So yeah... I fight for space."

His gaze locked onto hers.

"But what about you? You don't just ride into storms looking lost—you ride like you're chasing something."

Or running away…

The thought lingered between them unspoken—but they both heard it all the same.

She swirled the wine in her glass, the deep red liquid catching the light like blood. Her smile was faint—knowing—but there was something darker beneath it.

"Chasing, huh?" She echoed, voice low and smoky. "I suppose you could say that..." She lifted her gaze to meet his amethyst eyes glinting with secrets. 

"Everyone has a few skeletons in their closet, no?"

A beat passed.

Then she leaned forward slightly—just enough for the candlelight to catch the sharp line of her jaw.

"Though mine don't just rattle," She murmured. "They bite."

Her tone held a warning wrapped in silk—a dare for him to keep digging.

And damn it all... he wanted to.

Instead, Jack reached for his glass again—not because he needed a drink, but because it gave him something to do with his hands when every instinct screamed at him to reach across the table instead.

"Good," He said simply—voice rougher now. "I've always preferred dangerous company."

The corner of her lips quirked.

"Careful," She whispered, eyes gleaming like amethyst. "Dangerous womens don't make for easy company."

She sipped her wine, gaze still fixed on his.

Something about the way she watched him—like she was weighing whether he was more fox or wolf—made his pulse skip. A sharp contrast to the women he was so used to… Glamorous, polished, easy.

Veronica was none of those things.

She was something else entirely.

He set his glass down slowly, fingers tracing the rim as he studied her—really studied her. The way the candlelight caught the sharp angles of her face, how her pulse fluttered faintly at the base of her throat when she thought he wasn't looking.

"Skeletons, huh?" He repeated, voice low and measured. "And... how long do you plan to stick around?"

It wasn't just a question about Paris.

And they both knew it.

His sapphire eyes locked onto hers—intense, probing. Not pushing. Just wanting to know.

Because for someone who rode in like a storm and vanished just as fast, she'd left a mark. And now here she was again—across from him at this absurdly romantic table—and part of him refused to believe it was just coincidence or obligation.

Maybe it was family that brought them here tonight...

But something in the way she looked at him made him wonder if fate—or whatever force twisted their paths together—wasn't done yet.

And worse?

He didn't want it to be over either way.

"It was supposed to be a short visit." She echoed softly, voice like smoke. "But I'm open for convincing."

Her amethyst eyes lifted to meet his—sharp, and amused…

She's a tease. And a dangerous one.

He chuckled at her words, the sound low and rich. 

"Open for convincing," He echoed, his voice a murmur. He leaned in slightly, meeting her gaze. 

"Careful," He said softly. "Keep taunting, and you might just get what you're asking for."

He sipped his wine, his eyes never leaving hers. The air between them crackled with tension, thick and expectant.

"Oh? What makes you so sure that wasn't what I wanted?" Her eyes narrowed, challenging him

Bold.

This girl was going to be the death of him.

He set the wine glass down slowly, his hands clasped together in front of him. His eyes were sharp and clear as he watched her across the table.

"If I didn't know better," He said slowly, "I'd assume you were... flirting."

His voice lingered over the word, teasing—tempting.

She sliced into her salmon with delicate precision, the fork lifting slowly to her lips. Her eyes stayed downcast—focused on her plate, as if he weren't even there.

"Hmm... Who knows," She murmured, voice like silk over stone. "Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not."

She let the words hang in the air as she savored each bite—her full lips parting just enough to take in the food, eyes fluttering closed for a fraction of a second like it was that good.

And still—she didn't look at him.

It was maddening.

Infuriating.

And utterly intoxicating.

Jack gripped his wineglass tighter, his pulse ticking faster under his skin. She wasn't just playing hard to get—

She was winning without even trying.

He watched her, fascinated by the way she savored each bite—like she was daring him to break first.  

His fingers tapped once against the table. Intriguing.

"You're playing a dangerous game," He murmured, voice low and warm like smoke. "Teasing without giving answers... keeping me guessing."

He leaned in slightly, his sapphire eyes sharp with amusement.

"Know what they say about games like that?"

She finally looked at him—slow, deliberate—a challenge glowing in those amethyst eyes.

"What?"  

A beat of silence.

Then he smiled—just barely.

"I always win."

She chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent something dangerous spiraling through his chest.

"Confident," She said, dabbing the corner of her lips with a napkin. "I like that."

Her eyes lifted to meet his—slow, steady—and there it was again, that look. Like she saw right through him. Like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

And worse?

She wasn't afraid of it.

"I'll believe it," She purred, "When I see it."  

Then—without breaking eye contact—she took another slow bite.

Damn her.

Jack exhaled sharply through his nose. The game had just escalated.

But fine. Two could play this game.

He leaned back, fingers steepling under his chin, a lazy smirk playing on his lips.

"Challenge accepted," He murmured.

The server cleared their plates with quiet precision, and in came dessert—a delicate chocolate cake for her, dark and rich. For him? A cinnamon bun dusted in sugar—of course they would.  

Jack raised an eyebrow at the sight. "Coincidence?"  

Veronica took one bite of her cake—slowly savoring it—and finally smiled.  

"Maybe I just know what you like."

The moment her lips closed around the spoon, something shifted.

Her sharp, guarded eyes fluttered shut. A soft, breathy moan escaped her—low and involuntary—and Jack felt it like a punch to the chest.

She leaned back slightly in her chair, one hand rising to rest against her flushed cheek, fingers brushing delicate skin as if she couldn't control the heat flooding through her. 

Her long lashes trembled with each bite. Every time the spoon dipped into that dark chocolate cake and returned to her mouth, another quiet shiver ran down her spine—a full-body reaction so raw, so unfiltered it looked almost intimate.

"Mmm..." Another moan slipped out—softer this time—and she didn’t even seem aware of it. Like she'd forgotten he was there at all.

Her pink lips glistened with ganache.

Jack's throat went dry.

What. The. Hell.

She was devouring that cake like it held secrets only she could taste—like every bite unraveled something deep inside her soul.

And he? He sat frozen across from her—not breathing—his pulse hammering in his ears like war drums as he watched Veronica Noir squirm and came completely undone... over dessert.  

A beat passed. Then another.

When she finally opened those amethyst eyes again and saw him staring—the way his jaw had tightened, how his knuckles whitened around his glass—

She smirked knowingly through parted lips still stained with chocolate.

"...See something you like?"

Holly—

One second she was that cool, composed enigma. The next? Eyes half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed as if someone had just whispered something wicked in her ear—all because of a damn spoonful of cake.

He swallowed hard.

A soft shiver ran down her spine with each bite. And those noises—soft little hums that were absolutely criminal in this setting.

His grip tightened on his fork.  

"...Is it always like this?" He managed, voice rougher than intended. "Or did I just get lucky tonight?"

She blinked slowly at him through hazy eyes—still floating on sugar and warmth—and gave a dazed little smile.

"Chocolate... is serious business."

He couldn't help it—a surprised laugh slipped out.  

"Serious business," He repeated with a smirk, watching her slowly come back to herself. "That's a lot of emotion for dessert."  

This time it was his hand resting on his chin, his eyes studying her. The way her shoulders relaxed, the tension finally leaving her body.

She looked younger. More like a... girl.

A pretty, chocolate-covered, utterly irresistible girl.

God.

Bloody hell

He shook his head, returning his attention to his now half-forgotten cinnamon bun.

He could handle this. He was Jacques Dreux, CEO of Dreux Group and master of self-control. He could handle a pretty girl with a sweet tooth and a penchant for teasing.

He would. 

Even if every fiber of him was telling him to grab her, kiss the chocolate off her lips, lift her up on that damn table and make her moan like that again—but for real this time.

He swallowed, forcing his gaze away.

Focus.

Her half-lidded eyes glared at him, pretty pink lips pursed into a pout and spoon pointing at him threateningly

"Don't you dare make fun of chocolates" Her voice is soft and breathy yet challenging at the same time

His eyes flicked back to her—all pouty lips and sharp, accusing eyes—and he chuckled. Soft. Amused.

"You gonna defend it with your life?" He shot back, raising a mocking eyebrow. "I bet you'd take someone out if they tried to steal your chocolate."

She tilted her chin up haughtily, and damn if that didn't make her even more tempting. "I might."

He had to admire that—her stubbornness, her fierce loyalty.

Even if it was over something as ridiculous as chocolate.

"You'd throw hands for hot cocoa," He continued, unable to help himself. Something about her passion—her fire—called to that same, defiant part of him. "You're like a rabid raccoon with a chocolate stash."  

Her eyes narrowed in an amused challenge.

"And you're a judgmental businessman with no understanding of the finer things in life," She retorted with a teasing twinkle in her eyes.  

He really, really liked that look.

Damn. He was in trouble.

He chuckled again, setting his fork down.  

"I understand fine dining," He replied smoothly, eyes never leaving her face. "And hot cocoa is for children's parties."

The words were out before he could stop them—that familiar, competitive part of him rearing its head. It didn't help that the pout was still there, and—Oh that pretty mouth.

Damn it. He was trying to fight this, not get more distracted.

"Children's parties?" She repeated, mock hurt in her voice. "Hot chocolate is a wintertime essential."

She set her own fork down, facing him with a grin.

"Don't tell me you're the kind of person who only eats steak and potatoes because everything else is 'too fancy.'"

He raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. 

"Steak and potatoes is a classic combo, and you will not insult it."

She chuckled. "A classic, he says. I bet you only drink black coffee too."

"And what if I do?" He retorted, crossing his arms. "Black coffee is straightforward, effective, and doesn't need sugar to be delicious."

She scoffed but continued to smile, leaning forward slightly. "You sound like a man who only listens to classical music and has never been camping."

He raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself. "And you sound like someone who owns more stuffed animals than clothes."

She leaned closer, grinning. "I don't just have stuffed animals. I have a huge collection of plushies. And they're all amazing."

He shook his head, trying not to laugh. "Of course you do. Probably a unicorn one in there too, huh?"

She put a hand over her heart dramatically. "I'll have you know I have three unicorns, thank you very much."

Jack tried to suppress a smile. 

"Of course you do," He agreed. "Probably even named them, didn't you?"

A smirk twisted at her lips. "You're damn right I did. And they all have perfectly respectable names."

He leaned back in his chair, an amused smile playing on his lips. "Oh, this I have to hear. Let me guess, Sparkles? Starlight? Sunshine?"

She narrowed her eyes playfully, the corner of her mouth twitching.

"Try Nyx, Lysander, and... Apollo."

Jack blinked. Then, slowly—irrepressibly—a real smile tugged at his lips.

"Apollo," He repeated. "So you give them majestic names but still sleep with them?"

She leaned forward again, eyes sharp with challenge. "What's wrong? Can't a girl enjoy power and comfort at the same time?"

He stared into those amethyst eyes for a long beat—then exhaled sharply through his nose.

"...No," He admitted quietly. "I guess she can."

And damn if that didn't make him want to know more—see more.

The grin on her face was downright triumphant. "That's right."

He leaned back again, pretending to study her carefully. "You know, I have a theory."

She raised an eyebrow, a challenge in her eyes. Oh, she is fun.

"Oh, do you now?" She asked, amusement curving her lips.

A pause.

Then he smirked.

"You," He said smugly, "Like cute things."

She lifted her chin, eyes twinkling. 

"I prefer adorable," She retorted. "But go on, Mr. Steak-and-Potatoes. I'm intrigued."

He pretended to rub his chin, playing along. "You like plushies, hot chocolate, and pretty things." He leaned forward, eyes twinkling. "You're all... soft."

Her eyes widened as a light flush spread across her cheeks, though her eyes still sparkled with challenge.

"I'm not soft," She protested, but there was no heat behind her words. 

He laughed, low and soft. "Oh, I think you are. Underneath all that sass, you're a Marshmallow."

She blinked, eyes narrowing. "Did you just call me a Marshmallow?"

He met her gaze, grinning. "I did. All sweet and fluffy."

Her cheeks flushed deeper, but she lifted her chin stubbornly.  

"I'm not fluffy," She insisted, even though her voice was just a touch too high pitched.

He grinned wider, enjoying this game of theirs too much to stop. "You're the kind of girl who squeals when you see a puppy."

She sputtered. "Wha—no, no I do not!"

He leaned back again, arms crossed. "I bet you go 'aww' when you see a kitten."

Her face was definitely a shade of pink now. "No!" She insisted. "I do not!"

But he could see her trying not to smile—and it made him smirk again. "I bet you'd even pet a bunny if you saw one hopping around."

She flushed deeper still, crossing her own arms in a defiant show of faux-irritation.

"I wouldn't," She protested, but there was no bite in her voice.

He chuckled deeply, eyes twinkling. "Ah, I bet you would. You'd pet it and feed it carrots and buy it a little bunny house."

She stared at him, cheeks flushed, mouth open. "You—" She sputtered again, at a loss for words.

He was having far too much fun with this.

"Admit it," He grinned, leaning forward once more. "You're a Marshmallow inside."

She stared at him, lips parted in a mix of indignation and flustered disbelief. But he could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"I—I—" She tried, but the words seemed to escape her. 

He chuckled darkly, enjoying her speechless moment. "Marshmallow," He repeated, emphasizing the word. "Soft. And sweet."

A soft huff of frustration escaped her, but there was a hint of begrudging acceptance there too. 

"I—" She tried again, then finally threw up her hands.

"Oh, fine!" She exclaimed, cheeks bright pink. "I might have a soft spot for animals. And cute things. And chocolate." She lifted her chin stubbornly. "But that doesn't make me a Marshmallow!"

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying her admission. "No, it makes you adorable."

She flushed to the roots of her hair, clearly caught in a battle between irritation and embarrassment.

"I'm not adorable," She protested, even though the argument had already been lost.

He only chuckled, enjoying this all a little too much.

"Oh, but you are," He teased, voice low and smooth. "A cute, fluffy Marshmallow of a girl."

She scoffed, but her protests were getting weaker. He could see her fighting a smile.

"Stopppp," She whined. "You're doing this on purpose!"

He feigned innocence, leaning back in his chair with that damn smirk on his lips.

"Doing what?" He echoed, voice laced with mock ignorance. "I'm just pointing out the obvious."

She glared at him, cheeks flushed, but there was a hint of amusement in her eyes too.

"You're impossible," She huffed.

He chuckled again, eyes sparkling with mischief. "And you're adorable when you're flustered."

Her cheeks deepened to a shade of scarlet, but she crossed her arms again, still determined to argue.

"I am not flustered!" She insisted, even as her heart thumped in her chest.

He grinned, enjoying this more than he should.

"Oh, come on," He teased. "Admit it. You're all pink and embarrassed.”

She tried for a withering glare. "I—I—"

He leaned forward again, voice low and warm.

"Admit it. You're sweet as a Marshmallow."

She let out a frustrated huff, throwing her hands up.

"Fine!" She snapped, voice high and flustered. "Maybe I am soft! Maybe I do think puppies are cute and my plushies are my emotional support system!"

Jack’s grin widened.

"And?" He prompted, enjoying every second of her unraveling.

She crossed her arms, cheeks flaming red now.

"And... okay, maybe I like cute things. And chocolate. And... and maybe I'd feed a stray cat if I saw it."

He raised an eyebrow, smirking wider than ever.

"And?" He repeated, just to taunt her.

She shot him a glare, then sighed, her shoulders slumping.

"And… I'm a Marshmallow," She muttered, voice low. "Happy now?"

He chuckled, thoroughly enjoying the sight of her all flustered and cute.

"A blushing, soft-as-a-Marshmallow Marshmallow," He corrected.

She rolled her eyes, but her annoyance was tempered by her blush. 

"You're loving this, aren't you?" She grumbled.

His eyes sparkled.

"Absolutely," He admitted, clearly teasing. "It's too cute seeing the fierce, sassy girl flustered and calling herself a Marshmallow."

"What a weird kink" She scoffed

He chuckled, unashamed. "I never said I had good taste."

Her eyes narrowed.

"I thought the 'steak-and-potatoes man' would find anything too sweet to stomach," She teased back.

He raised an eyebrow, smirking.

"Maybe I have a secret weakness," He admitted. "In the form of a cute, Marshmallow girl."

She tried for a haughty shrug, but it was hard with her cheeks still flushed.

"Oh, so a steak-and-potatoes guy secretly has a sweet tooth," She said dryly. "How cliché."

He shrugged unapologetically.

"What can I say? I'm full of surprises." He leaned back. "And speaking of surprises... there's something I've been wondering about."

She raised an eyebrow, curious despite herself.

"Oh?" She prompted, still a bit sulky.

He leaned forward again, eyes sparking.

"Why do you like cute things? The plushies, the hot chocolate, all that?" He asked curiously. "It's not exactly the thing you'd expect from a fierce, independent woman like you."

She blinked, momentarily taken aback.

Then, to his surprise, she smirked.

"Are you saying I can't like cute things because I'm an independent woman?" She countered, voice laced with challenge.

He held his hands up, chuckling.

"Not at all," He clarified. "But you're fiercely independent, confident, and determined. It just surprises me a little, is all"

She crossed her arms.

"Being independent has nothing to do with liking cute things," She retorted. "Besides, cute things are just... reassuring. They make you feel..." She paused, searching for the right word.

His eyebrows rose, intrigued.

"Reassured?" He prompted, leaning closer.

She met his gaze, a small half-smile playing at her lips.

"Yes," She finally said, voice softer now. "They make you feel safe, like... like a comfort blanket."

He blinked, taken aback. He'd been expecting her to give a sassy retort, not a heartfelt answer.

He leaned back, considering her words.

"A comfort blanket," He repeated, the words almost rolling off his tongue. "Cute things... make you feel safe."

She blinked, then flushed faintly.

"That makes it sound even more cliché," She muttered.

He chuckled, eyes sparkling.

"Maybe," He admitted. "But I find it..."

He paused, weighing his next words.

"Endearing," He settled on.

Her eyes widened ever-so-slightly, clearly caught off guard by the word.

"Endearing," She repeated, as if testing the word.

He nodded, still grinning.

"Exactly. A strong, smart, independent woman..." He paused. "With a soft spot for cute things. It's endearing."

She crossed her arms, but her cheeks tinted pink.

"You're enjoying this too much," She muttered.

He chuckled, unable to deny it.

"Maybe I enjoy teasing you out of your confident, snarky shell," He admitted, enjoying the sight of her blushing.

She shot him a wry look.

"You think you're quite charming, don't you?" She said dryly.

"Oh, I know I am," He retorted, smirking.

She rolled her eyes.

"Cocky," She muttered.

"Confident," He corrected.

The corner of her mouth twitched up.

"Arrogant," She teased.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Assured," He retaliated.

She tried, and failed, to hold her straight face.

"Egotistical," She countered.

He leaned forward, eyes sparkling.

"Self-assured," He replied, voice dripping with amusement.

Her cheeks flushed faintly, but she kept her chin raised.

"Overconfident," He shot back, eyes glinting.

He chuckled, enjoying the banter.

"Secure," He countered, leaning closer.

She tried not to smile, and failed.

"Presumptuous," She muttered.

His eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Confident," He repeated, leaning even closer now.

She tried to maintain her expression, but a slight grin was creeping in.

"Big-headed," She whispered.

He chuckled, so close now that he could have reached out and touched her if he wanted to.

"Assured," He countered again, voice dropping a notch.

She bit the inside of her cheek, obviously struggling to suppress her smile.

"Self-important," She muttered, trying to keep her voice cold.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning in so close that he could count her eyelashes.

"Satisfied," He murmured back, eyes locked on hers. "You're almost smiling, you know that, right?"

She blinked, then flushed, realizing he was right.

"Am not," She protested half-heartedly.

He smirked, loving every second of her unraveling.

"Your eyes are," He said softly. "They're always the first to give you away."

She tried to look away, but there was no real escape—especially not from his gaze.

"And your lips," He added, voice low and teasing. "They twitch like they're dying to break into a smile."

She tried to keep a stubborn look, but it was getting harder now.

"You're imagining things," She muttered, even though they both knew he was right.

He hummed, enjoying her obvious struggle.

"Am I?" He countered, voice low and smooth. "Or maybe you're just trying to fight it... and losing."

She flushed now, unable to deny the words.

"Shut up," She muttered, looking away.

He chuckled, the sound warm and teasing.  

"Make me," He whispered.  

She turned back to him sharply—eyes wide with challenge.  

And for a heartbeat, the world stopped.

The city glittered behind her, soft lights dancing in her hair like stars caught in midnight silk.

Then—slowly—she smiled.

Chapter Text

Not a smirk. Not a tease.

A real one.

Jack's breath caught in his throat.  

Damn. God, she's beautiful. The words echoed in his mind, unbidden.

Her smile was small and soft, but it lit up her entire face. Her eyes shone like amethysts in the moonlight, and her cheeks—her cheeks were dusted pink.

For a moment, he couldn't find the words. He just stared at her, entranced.  

Then—when he found his voice again—he managed to croak out, "You're..."

She arched an eyebrow, a smile still playing on her lips.  

"I'm...?" She prompted softly.

Beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous.

A hundred adjectives rushed to his mind, but for some reason, the one that slipped out was, "Pretty."

The minute he said it, he wanted to kick himself.

Pretty? Pretty? That's the best he could come up with?  

She, of course, noticed the word. Her smile widened just a touch.

"Pretty?" She echoed, as if testing the word.

He cleared his throat, flushing faintly.

"I mean—"

He cursed internally.

What was happening to him? He was always smooth, always in suave control.

But now, with her—he couldn't even seem to find his own words.  

She tilted her head, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"You can speak in full sentences, right?" She teased.

He shot her a mock glare.

"Shut up," He muttered.

She smirked, clearly enjoying his floundering.

"You just said I was a Marshmallow and now pretty. Should I be worried about your ability to form words?"

He was a smooth-talking CEO, for god's sake. He met powerful people every day without so much as a blink.

Yet here he was, stumbling over his own words like a damn teenager.  

He cleared his throat again, trying to salvage some sort of composure.

"You..." He started, then stopped.

God damn it, form a sentence!

The corner of her mouth lifted, clearly having the time of her life watching him struggle.

She leaned forward slightly, clearly enjoying his struggle.  

"You know, I'm starting to enjoy this," She teased. "You, the suave, composed CEO, can't seem to finish a sentence."

He shot her a mock glare.

"Keep teasing me and you might never hear the end of that sentence," He retorted, trying for a bit of that usual confidence.  

She just chuckled.

"And miss seeing you all flustered?" She countered. "Not a chance."

Damn. She was enjoying this way too much.

He tried for a nonchalant shrug.

"I'm perfectly un-flustered," He lied.

Her eyes sparkled, clearly not buying it.

"Of course you are," She agreed, voice dripping with sarcasm. "That's why you keep flushing and stuttering."

He gave her a half-hearted glare.

"I do not stutter," He protested.

"You just did," She pointed out, smirking.

He opened his mouth to object, then closed it.

Damn it. She was right.

He crossed his arms, mock-pouting.

"You're annoying," He muttered.

She grinned, clearly loving every second of this.

"You love it," She countered, leaning back in her chair.

He scowled at her, but there was no real heat behind it.

"You're insufferable," He grumbled.

She just smirked. "And yet you're still here."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's because dessert wasn't free."

She laughed—soft, rich, and utterly intoxicating.

"And here I thought it was because you were enjoying yourself," She teased.

He leaned forward, voice low and smooth. "Maybe I am."

Her teasing smile faltered—just slightly.  

The air between them shifted.

No more games.

Just... this.

His gaze held hers, steady and sure now.  

"Though," He added, softer this time, "I think you're the one who's still here for a reason too."

She tried to keep her smile, but it faltered.  

For the first time all evening, she looked... nervous. Her eyes darted away, then back.

His smirk tugged up again.

"Flustered, are we?" He teased, leaning closer.  

She flushed faintly, trying to cover it with a half-glare.

"Shut up," She muttered.

He just laughed, enjoying the sight of her flustered.

"Admit it," He continued, voice smooth and teasing. "You're still here because you're enjoying yourself."

She crossed her arms, pouting.

"That's not... the only reason," She muttered defensively.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?" He prompted, voice low and teasing. "Then what's the other reason?"

She tried to maintain her defiant expression, but he could see the uncertainty flickering in her eyes.  

"I just..." She started, then stopped, flushing faintly.

He leaned closer, eyes sparkling.

"You just...?" He coaxed, voice a low murmur.

Her cheeks flushed pink now, betraying her nerves. "I..."

He just raised an eyebrow, still smirking.  

She sighed, exasperated, and mumbled something so quietly he could barely hear it.

"Sorry, what was that?" He teased, feigning ignorance.

She shot him a half-scowl, but it was too late.  

He'd heard it.

Her soft admission—almost a whisper—still echoed in his ears like a song.

She said...

"I'm having fun."

And just like that, something shifted.

He leaned closer, the cocky teasing in his eyes replaced with something softer, almost... tender.  

Her words were so honest, so earnest, that the thought of teasing her further suddenly seemed... wrong.  

His voice, when he spoke again, was low and soft.

"Well," He murmured, meeting her eyes. "For what it's worth... I'm having fun too."

Her breath caught in her throat, shocked by the sudden vulnerability in his eyes.  

For just a split second, he looked...

Different. Softer, without that cocky edge.

She swallowed, feeling suddenly off-balance.  

"You... you are?" She finally managed, voice quieter than she'd intended.

His eyes softened even more, and for a brief moment, he just looked... genuine.

Then—the cocky smirk was back.

"Of course," He said breezily. "I always enjoy myself. Especially with pretty Marshmallow girls."

She rolled her eyes, groaning, but the warmth in her cheeks didn't fade.

"Back to that already?" She muttered. "One second you're being all sincere, and the next—Marshmallow again?"

He grinned, unapologetic. "I like seeing you flustered."

She shook her head, trying—and failing—to hide a smile.

"You're impossible," She whispered.

And somehow… that only made him want to tease her more.

The smug smirk was back on his lips.

"You keep saying that," He murmured, leaning closer. "But I think you secretly like it."

She tried to scowl, to maintain her usual tough act, but it was hard when her chest felt weirdly fluttery and her cheeks felt warm.

"I most certainly do not," She protested, voice just a touch too high pitched to be convincing.

Another chuckle rumbled in his chest, making that fluttery feeling worse.

His eyes gleamed with mischief.

"You know what it looks like when you lie?" He murmured, studying her face.

She flushed, both at his words and the closeness of his face.  

"You... you're imagining things—" She stammered, trying to act nonchalant despite her racing heart.

He smiled—a slow, cocky grin that made her stomach flip.  

"You've got adorable little tells," He whispered. "Your eyes. Your cheeks. It's too easy to tell when you're flustered."

Her face grew hotter with every word.  

God damn him. How was he so good at this? At seeing right through her facade?  

She tried to glare, but it came out as more of a pout.

"Stop pointing it out," She muttered, flushing hotter still. "It's—it's not my fault."

He chuckled, clearly enjoying getting under her skin.

"What isn't your fault?" He teased, eyes sparkling. "That you're lying, or that you're flushed all to hell?"

Damn him. Damn those eyes. They were way too intense.

She tried to come up with a witty retort, but it was hard when her brain was all fuzzy like this.

"Both—neither—I—" She sputtered, then gave up, crossing her arms.

He laughed outright now, clearly enjoying her flustered state.

"You're really cute when you're tongue-tied," He teased, voice low and smooth. "Makes me want to keep talking, just to see how much more flustered I can make you."

"You're like a smug little bastard, you know that?" She grumbled, flushing even hotter.

He just grinned, thoroughly unrepentant.

"A smug little bastard you can't stop blushing for," He corrected, eyes still sparkling.

She opened her mouth, then closed it, at a loss for words.

Because damn it, he was right.  

She was blushing like a little schoolgirl.

She huffed—partly in frustration but mainly in embarrassment.  

It was so unfair. This was supposed to be the other way around. She was supposed to be the unflustered one, unfazed.

But here he was, making her flushed and stammering like an idiot.  

"It's—it's not my fault you're..." She started, then trailed off.

He raised an eyebrow, smirking.

"I'm...?" He prompted, clearly enjoying watching her struggling.

God damn him. That smirk. That infuriating, smug-ass smirk.  

It was making her face feel even hotter as she tried—and failed—to find the right words.

"You... you're all smug and cocky," She bit out, voice sounding more like a pout. "And irritating, and arrogant, and..."  

He leaned closer, the smirk widening.

"And...?" He repeated, voice a low murmur. "What else, Marshmallow? Keep going."

Damn him again. He wasn't supposed to sound so damn attractive when he was being a cocky little bastard.  

She swallowed, feeling oddly hot everywhere.

"And... and..." She tried to protest, voice faltering. "And you drive me insane."

He raised an eyebrow, eyes sparkling.  

"I drive you insane?" He murmured, still leaning way too close. "Sounds like a compliment."

Goddamn it, he was going to kill her. 

The way he said things in that low, smooth voice was not helping her already-riling heat.  

She tried to regain her composure, crossing her arms defiantly.

"It wasn't meant as a compliment," She insisted, cheeks flushed. "It was an insult. Because you're all smug and irritating and—"  

He just chuckled—damn him, that sexy chuckle—and leaned even closer.

"Keep going," He murmured. "You're very cute when you insult me."

Her whole face burst into an even deeper shade of red, her hands flying up in exasperation.  

"What is up with you and your weird kinks?!" She hissed, voice flustered and a little breathless. 

He burst out laughing—low, rich, and utterly unrepentant.

"Me?" He said between chuckles. "I'm not the one turning red every time I call you cute."

She gaped at him, flustered beyond belief.

"I don't—I don’t turn red because of that!" She sputtered.

"Then why do you?" He asked, voice suddenly softer. Teasing still there—but now laced with something warmer. Something real.  

Her breath hitched.

And for once... she had no answer.

She tried to form the words, but they stuck in her throat. That voice. 

When he used that voice—all low and soft and genuine—it was like he was seeing straight through her defiant facade. Like he could see the real her, the one hiding underneath all that bluster.

Dammit, she shouldn't be feeling this way.  

She had always been the tough one, the one who always knew what to say.

But now... she was at a complete loss.

So... she just glared at him.

His eyes sparkled.

"Not gonna answer, Marshmallow?" He teased, though his voice was still soft.  

She flushed—partly at the nickname, but also because she was supposed to be tough. Tough women didn't blush when a cocky bastard called them a Marshmallow.

She opened her mouth, trying to come up with something—ANYTHING—to regain the upper hand

Only to come up empty, again

Damn him

"Because... your ***** is too damn ****" 

Wait what?

His cocky, smug smirk faltered, eyes widening in shock.

Did he just hear—

He stared at her, trying to gauge if he'd actually heard right.  

She was still flushed, cheeks bright pink, but her eyes—her eyes—were locked on his. 

And damn, if they didn't look pretty like this. So pretty, he forgot to speak for a moment.

Until...

He smirked

He hadn't been expecting that blunt honesty, and it hit him like a punch to the gut.  

For a split second, his cocky facade faltered, eyes widening.  

He'd been expecting snark or another protest, but not... that.  

He tried to recover, that cocky grin coming back on his lips.  

But his heart was beating too fast in his chest.

"Say that again."

Mortified, she covered her mouth with both hands, shaking her head fiercely. Face as red as tomatoes. 

She didn't think he'd heard her

"You think my voice is sexy?" He teased.

Oh, he definitely heard

He'd heard her whispered words loud and clear, and damn if they hadn't made his heart skip a beat.  

But seeing her now—hands over her mouth and face the color of a tomato—he had to hold back a laugh.

She looked so damn cute when she was flustered. 

He reached out, tugging gently at her wrists.

"No hiding," He chided lightly. "Come on. Say it again."

He couldn't stop the smirk now.

He'd definitely heard her. And—for once—it was his turn to take the teasing too far.

He leaned closer, voice a low murmur.

"Come on, Marshmallow," He teased. "You can't just say something like that and then take it back. I wanna hear it again."

Her breath hitched as his fingers brushed hers, pulling her hands gently away.

She didn't resist—not fully. Couldn't, really. Not with him so close, eyes locked on hers, that smug yet somehow soft look in his gaze.

And then—his eyes dropped to her lips.

Her heart stopped.

"Say it again," He murmured, voice rougher now. "Or I'll just assume you meant it."  

The air between them crackled—charged with something hot and sweet and dangerous.  

And damn if she didn't want to say it again...

A moment of silence, only the sound of her ragged breathing echoing.

He was too close. His eyes, too intense, his voice too low and smooth.

She shouldn't. 

Dammit, she knew she shouldn't.

But the way he was looking at her...

The way he had her pinned...

Goddamn it, she wanted to.

"It's..." She managed to whisper, voice betraying with a slight shake. "Your... voice is just... too... sexy."

And there it was.

Fuck!

He'd expected teasing, pouting, stubbornness—at best, maybe an eye roll or two.

Not...this.

Not her—voice all quiet and shaking as she whispered those goddamn words.

Not her—eyes locked with his, cheeks flushed, like she was confessing a secret too sacred to say aloud.

He'd expected the tough Marshmallow, the snarky smartass, the girl who didn't back down.  

Not this... soft, flushed, vulnerable version.

He'd definitely not been prepared.

The world stopped.

In one heartbeat, they were inches apart—lips nearly touching, breaths tangled together in the charged air.

In the next—his hands cupped her face, fingers sliding into her long black hair, and he closed the distance.

His lips met hers—soft at first. Hesitant. Like he wasn't sure she'd let him stay.

But she didn't pull away.

No—she leaned in.

Her mouth opened slightly under his, a small gasp lost between their kisses. Warm. Sweet. Alive.

He deepened it slowly—one hand still cradling her jaw, thumb brushing her cheekbone as their breaths mingled and hearts raced beneath skin too hot to ignore.

And damn...

She tasted like cinnamon and chocolate—and God help him...

He never wanted to stop.

And holy hell.

She was soft—so soft, her lips felt like silk as they moved against his.

He deepened the kiss, leaning in—pulling her closer, closer—feeling that fire from before flare up again. Goddammit—she tasted just as good as she looked.

Briefly breaking the kiss, he hurriedly stood up and maneuvered around the table towards her

She gasped as he lifted her—strong arms sliding under her thighs like she weighed nothing.  

And then she was on his lap, trapped between him and the chair, heart slamming against her ribs.

His mouth crashed into hers again—hot, demanding, possessive. No more teasing. No more games.

Just heat.

She melted into it despite herself—lips parting under his, hands fisting in his shirt.

Damn, he kissed like a man who knew exactly what he wanted.  

And right now?

He wanted her.

And she wanted him.  

His hands slid down her sides—hungry, demanding, needing.  

She arched into it as they found her hips, his grip tight—almost bruising.

God, she felt good. So soft, so responsive, so goddamn... perfect.

He couldn't get enough.  

Every place he touched felt like it was burning—but he didn't care. She was making little sounds in her throat—tiny gasps and whimpers that were driving him insane.

Shit.

Those little sounds she was making.

He wanted more—needed to hear more.  

He deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping between her lips, tasting her—claiming her. He slid one hand up her thigh—slow, teasing, the feel of her soft skin making him ache.

"Goddammit," He whispered against her lips, voice hoarse. "You feel too good, Marshmallow."

She couldn't even form a response. Couldn't do anything except gasping into his mouth as he explored her with his tongue.

His hands were everywhere—tracing a line up her thighs, across her hips... damn, she was so soft, her body fitting against his like she was made for him.

The realization drove him wild—made him tighten his grip on her waist, pressing her harder against him.  

She was like... like honey. Sweet, warm, and damn near irresistible.

And he'd never been good at denying himself.  

His mouth moved to her neck—leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses as he found that pulse point, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin.

He'd wanted to tease her, make her flustered again.  

But now?

He wanted to own her—make her body his.  

Her skin was hot against his mouth—her pulse racing as he marked her. 

His voice was rough as he whispered against her ear, nipping at her earlobe.  

"You're goddamn perfect, Marshmallow."

Those words. 

God, that rough, hungry edge to his voice made her shiver.  

He was teasing her now — sucking, biting, marking her skin as his.

She couldn't think—couldn't do anything except arch against him, hands fisting in his shirt. 

"You—you—" She gasped, trying to form words.  

His tongue flicked along her lobe, nipping at the sensitive skin there.  

She could feel the smirk in his voice.

"Me?" He murmured, heated breaths sending a thrill down her spine.

Damn, he loved it when she was like this.  

Flushed, breathless, soft.  

He could feel her trembling in his arms, feel her body arching against his—so damn responsive.

He couldn't get enough.  

He wanted more—needed more.  

While one hand still held her by the back of her neck, the other swung back, scattering everything on the table, including the table cloth to the floor with a loud crash

She gasped as he lifted her, pulling her onto her back on the table, settling between her thighs. Hell, she looked good like this—her cheeks flushed, lips swollen from his kiss, hair a mess from his hands. She looked... his.

His hands skimmed up her legs—slow, possessive, as they found the hem of her skirt.  

She gasped again, her legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer.  

"Sweet mother of—" He muttered, voice low and rough.  

He was getting addicted to her—to her sounds, her scent, the way she felt against him.  

She was a damn Marshmallow, all right—warm, soft... and absolutely delectable.

His hands skimmed higher under her skirt, feeling the softness of her thighs—so damn perfect.

His fingers traced circles, teasing the sensitive skin there, making her gasp again.  

He leaned down, mouth by her ear, voice all rough and low. 

"You're driving me goddamn insane, Marshmallow."  

His hands skimmed higher still—so close, so damn teasing—and she squirmed beneath him, arching up, desperate for his touch.

He chuckled—low and dark—feeling her squirm against him.  

"Tell me what you want," He murmured, his voice a sinful whisper. "Tell me... or I'll keep teasing."  

His fingers hovered just at the edge, so close, but not quite touching where she needed it most.  

Her breath hitched—shaky and desperate—and damn if that didn't make him harder.  

"Say it," He coaxed, nipping gently at her earlobe. "Say my name... and tell me what you need."

Damn it.  

The feel of him—the sound of him—had her breath all shaky and her mind a fuzzy mess.  

She could feel him right there, so damn close to where she needed him, but still... just out of reach.  

His fingers skimmed, teased—damn, he was a tease—making her body ache.   

She could feel him right there, so damn close to where she needed him, but still... just out of reach.  

His fingers skimmed, teased—damn, he was a tease—making her body ache.   

She gasped again, arching against him as he nipped her earlobe.   

"Please," She whispered, fingers fisted in his shirt. Fuck, she sounded desperate.

There it was—the sweet, desperate sound of her pleading.  

The sound of her begging him.  

He could feel her aching for it, her body arching against his, her legs wrapping around his hips.  

He wanted her so bad.  

He could tease and taunt and pull her taut for hours.  

But right now, all he wanted was to take her. 

"Please what, Marshmallow?" He murmured, hands still maddeningly close. "Use that pretty voice and tell me..."

Bastard

His voice—that damn low, rough tone—was enough to make her body ache.  

She wanted him—needed him, needed him now—but he just kept teasing her, his hands so close, his mouth so damn close.  

His teeth grazed her throat, making her gasp again.  

She couldn't think, couldn't speak, but the words slipped out anyway.  

"Please... touch me," She whispered, whined, voice all shaky and desperate. "Please... please, I—"

Shit

He'd never wanted anyone so goddamn much in his life. 

Her voice—broken, pleading, beautiful—was like a shot of adrenaline straight to his system.  

And when she finally begged to be touched, something primal flared in him, hot and possessive.  

Goddam it, he was going to ruin her. 

He moved then—quick, sure—his hands sliding up higher under her skirt, finding that perfect spot.

And there—his fingers finally made contact through the thin layers of cloth, slow and maddeningly gentle at first.  

She arched off the chair with a sharp gasp, her body trembling under his touch.  

"Shh," He murmured against her ear, voice dark and rough with need. "I've got you."  

His thumb circled her engorged clit just once—slow, teasing—and she whimpered, fingers clawing at his shoulders.  

He smirked into her neck.  

"Look at you," He whispered. "So damn eager for me."

Words were beyond her now—no more sassy, teasing remarks.  

No sharp, snarky responses.  

Just gasps and whimpers as he teased her—fingers dancing over her, spreading her, rubbing her, driving her insane.  

She could feel him everywhere—lips tracing a line down her throat around her choker, teeth grazing her skin. It was like he was trying to devour her.

"So damn gorgeous like this..." He murmured, voice rough. 

His lips found hers again, lapping, biting, sucking her tongue, swallowing her moans as his fingers worked her higher and higher. 

He was being torturously slow, taking his damn time. He was like a man on a mission—a mission to drive her crazy

"You getting close, Marshmallow?" He whispered, knowing damn well that she was. 

She whimpered, back arching, body taut and trembling with need. “Yes,” She gasped, voice broken. “Please, more, please...”

Shit

The sound of her voice, all broken and desperate, almost did him in.  

Almost.  

He took a breath, trying to rein in his own aching need.  

He wanted—needed—to savor this.  

"Shhh," He murmured, hands still moving over her, still slow and steady. "Not yet. I want to see you fall apart for me, Love, Beg."  

She gasped, back arching. "Please, please, I—"

"Look at me," He commanded, voice low and rough—almost a growl.  

She obeyed, forcing her eyes open, tears welding in the corner of her eyes  

Her gaze met his—dark, intense, possessive.

At that moment, she knew.

He was going to ruin her. 

He didn’t look away as his fingers pressed harder—finally giving her what she needed—and she shattered with a cry caught between a sob and a moan.

His name tumbled from her lips on a breathless gasp.

"Jack..."

And Holly, hearing his name on her lips like that... 

It was almost enough to send him over the edge.  

His eyes darkened, something feral flaring in them as her breathless cry echoed through him.  

"Mine."

He'd never been a possessive man.  

But when it came to this woman…  

He wanted to claim every damn inch of her.

He was looking at her like he was starving, his eyes so damn dark and intense.  

Like he wanted to devour her.  

She should've felt flustered or embarrassed, should've looked away.  

But instead... she found herself staring right back.  

And the heat in his gaze just... intensified

For a moment, they just looked at each other, both breathing hard.  

She'd just come undone in his hands, and it was like a damn spell had been broken.  

He broke the silence.  

"You..." He rasped, voice raw

"... Are going to be the damn death of me," He finished, voice rough.  

He'd seen some beautiful things in his life.  

But nothing—nothing—compared to her.  

Disheveled hair falling in her face, cheeks flushed, chest heaving. 

The sight of her—all flushed and messy and disheveled—was a damn masterpiece, and it was all for him.

He wanted to mark up that pretty neck, wanted to make damn sure everyone knew...  

She was his.

She had no witty response for that.  

She could barely form a coherent thought, much less find words.  

She was flushed and breathless and sated—and he was the one who'd put her in that state.  

And the way he was looking at her—dark, hungry, possessive... 

She'd always hated feeling like someone's property.  

But the look in his eyes made her want to bare her neck and let him claim her.

He moved then, shifting—and before she realized it, he was lifting her up, pulling her flushed against him.  

One hand on her hip, the other wrapping around her waist, holding her in place.  

She could feel him against her—hard and hot, Fuck. He wanted her.  

She could see it in the way he looked at her, in the possessive grip of his hand.  

"You are way too damn perfect," He murmured, voice rough. "It's going to drive me out of my goddamn mind."

She gasped as he moved, sitting down on his chair. Suddenly finding herself on top of him, her thighs straddling his hips.  

She could feel him—hot and hard and everywhere, right there, right between her—  

And as she settled against him, she had to bite back a moan.  

The sound went straight through him, and he let out a ragged breath, his fingers squeezing her hip.  

"Goddam it," He groaned. "You have no idea what you do to me, Marshmallow."

She shifted again, hips rolling against him—unintentionally, just a little—and his grip on her hip tightened even more.  

"Damn you," He muttered, voice hoarse. "If you do that again—"  

He couldn't finish the thought. She was too goddamn perfect like this—sitting on his lap like she was made for it, flushed and messy and beautiful.  

And the feel of her against him, everywhere, was driving him insane.

She could feel the hard ridges of his abs under his shirt, the muscles in his thighs twitching as she shifted against him.   

She felt... good.  

Powerful.  

Sitting in his lap like that, feeling him hard and throbbing under her...  

She suddenly had an idea.

He could see that spark in her eyes, that flash of mischief.  

He knew that look.  

That look meant trouble.  

He opened his mouth, trying to come up with a protest—to warn her not to do whatever the hell she was planning—but before he could say anything, she shifted again.  

This time, it wasn't unintentional.

Goddamn.  

His words died in his throat, his breath catching as she moved against him.  

Her eyes were locked on his, that little gleam in her eye unmistakable.  

She was doing it on purpose.  

He growled in warning, fingers digging into her hips. "Don't you dare—"

Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she shifted again, this time more deliberately than before.  

She couldn't help it.  

She loved teasing him.  

She loved seeing him frustrated and flushed, loved seeing him coming undone underneath her. 

And right now, right here, she was feeling extra bold—and a little wicked.  

She leaned closer, her voice low and teasing. "Or what?"

She was trying to damn kill him.  

He could see the challenge in her eyes—that little gleam telling him that she was up to something.  

He felt himself twitch under her, his hips bucking up against their own volition.  

He tightened his grip on her hips, holding her in place. "I'm warning you, Marshmallow—"

The sound of her nickname on his lips made her shiver.  

God, she loved it when he called her that.  

But right now, she was too busy staring him straight in the eye—her hips still rocking against him, slow and tantalizing.  

She could see the tension in his jaw, the sharp gleam in his eyes.  

He was hanging on by a thread.  

"Or what?" She purred again, a little smirk on her lips. "You gonna punish me?"

His breath caught.

There it was—that look. That damn purr, that little smirk, the way her body moved like she already owned him.

He growled, deep and primal—and in one swift motion, he flipped her onto her back, back on the table

He loomed over her, eyes dark with fire and hunger. His grip tightened on both of her wrists as he pinned them above her head.  

"Punishment?" He murmured, voice low and rough as sin. "Oh no... I'm not going to punish you."

His lips hovered near hers—hot breath brushing over skin.

"I'm going to make you beg."

Her breath hitched, heart slamming against her ribs.  

He had her pinned—completely at his mercy, completely his.  

And damn if the thought didn’t make her pulse spike all over again.  

He leaned down slowly—lips brushing hers just enough to tease—a whisper of contact before he pulled back.  

"Tell me," He murmured, voice dark and smooth as velvet. "Do you want it rough? Or do you want me to take my time... and ruin you?"

Her head was spinning. 

Her wrists were still pinned under one hand, the other resting by her face.  

He was so damn close, his body still pressed to hers, that damn look in his eyes. 

All he had to do was lean down and claim her—and he'd have her.  

She knew it, and he knew it.  

But instead of giving her what she wanted, he was still there, holding back—teasing her. 

She whimpered—a desperate little sound. "Ruin... please."

Shit.  

He almost lost it right then, the pleading tone in her voice driving him insane.  

He couldn't deny that he was close to his breaking point too—the feel of her, the sound of her gasping that soft 'please'—but he'd be damned if he gave in that easily.  

He was going to take his goddamn time, was gonna make her unravel in his arms, over and over again. He leaned down again, lips brushing her ear.  

"Ruin you?" He murmured. "With pleasure."

She writhed beneath him, body arching against his—needing more, needing more.

And he was still holding back, teasing, taunting.  

Goddammit, he was killing her, and he damned well knew it. 

She whimpered again, hands twisting against his grip.  

"Please—" She begged, voice ragged and needy. "Please, I—I need—"

He was struggling to hold on, to keep himself from just giving in and taking her right here, right now.  

Her voice—all broken and pleading. It was driving him insane, making his body ache with the need to be closer, to be inside her.  

But he forced himself to stay in control, his body still pinning hers effortlessly, still keeping her at a distance.  

"Need what, Marshmallow?" He murmured, voice hot and rough. "Use those pretty lips and tell me exactly what you need."

She was losing her damn mind.  

He had her pinned, completely at his mercy—and he was still teasing, still making her beg. 

"You," She gasped, voice ragged and desperate. "I need you—please, I need you now."  

She struggled against his grip, her body arching up, pressing against him.  

He was so goddamn close, only a few layers of clothing separating them.  

She could feel him against her, hard and throbbing—and it was driving her insane.

"Need me?" He echoed, his voice roughened by desire.  

The way she was writhing and arching against him, her body pleading for him—he was hanging by a damn thread, one touch away from losing control.  

His fingers tightened around her wrists, pinning her even tighter.  

"You want me, Marshmallow?" He murmured, voice like gravel. "You want me to take you? Right here, right now?"

She whined, her body arching again, straining against his grip.  

She was practically grinding against him now, desperate and needy.  

"Yes—" She gasped, panting. "Yes, please—gods, I need you now."  

He was so close.  

He could feel her heat, even through his clothes.  

"Please," She begged again, the word ragged and desperate. "Please, please, please—"

And that pleading voice...

Fuck

He was going to lose it. 

He could only do so much—take so much of her whimpering and begging and pleading.  

Goddamn it, he was only human.  

He'd barely finished the thought when he gave in.  

His mouth crashed against hers, lips capturing hers in a hungry, desperate kiss. His hand released her wrists, fingers winding in her hair as he kissed her hard, almost frantically.

Chapter Text

She gasped against his mouth, a helpless sound of relief and satisfaction and desire as he finally gave in.  

His hand was in her hair, the other gripping her hip in a bruising grip. He was kissing her like he was drowning and she was oxygen, devouring her with a desperate hunger.  

She was drowning too.  

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, her nails digging into his back. His body was pressed against hers, everywhere—hard and hot and everywhere.

He was losing himself in her, all rational thought obliterated by the feel of her against him, her mouth under his, her hands in his hair.  

His fingers tightened in her hair, angling her head back for better access. His tongue delved deep, tasting her, devouring her.  

He was lost in her, completely and absolutely lost.

She felt like she was on fire.  

His tongue was hot against hers, his hands roaming over her body, leaving trails of heat wherever they touched.  

She felt him everywhere, his body pressed against hers, his weight holding her down. It was almost too much, this feeling of submission, of letting go, of giving into his complete dominance.  

But, it was also so good.

And he could feel it—every shift, every breath, every little tremble under him.  

She was yielding to him.  

No more sharp edges, no more walls—just her softness and warmth melting into his touch.  

He broke the kiss slowly, pulling back just enough to look at her face—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, hair all wild from his hands.  

So damn beautiful.

He brushed a stray strand behind her ear before whispering against her lips,

"Say my name again."

She was a mess.  

Her breath ragged, her heart racing.  

And the way he was looking at her, his voice so low and rough...

She let out a shuddering breath, voice thick with need. "Jack," She breathed.  

He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the sound of his name on her lips.  

Then his eyes opened again, fixing on hers with intensity. 

"Again," He ordered. "Say it again."

Her pulse jumped almost painfully as he repeated the order.  

That voice—Fuck, the way he said it.  

She took a breath, her voice trembling as she repeated his name. "Jack."  

His eyes darkened at the sound, his grip on her hip tightening. He could hear the desire in her voice, the need that matched his own.  

"Fuck."

She could feel the tension in his body, tight and coiled—and it only fueled her desire.  

His fingers dug harder into her hip, anchoring her.  

Her heart was slamming in her chest, her body burning with need.  

The look in his eyes, the sound of his voice—God, she could feel the tension coiled so tight within him.  

He was still in control, but just barely.  

She knew what he wanted—what he needed—and right now, she was more than happy to give it to him.  

She let out a soft moan, her voice louder this time. "Jack..."

He growled in response, the sound deep and feral.  

His other hand fisted in her hair again, tilting her head back—baring her neck to him. In his haze of heat, the black necklace looked like a collar on her  

He could feel the heat rising within him, the primal urge to claim, to take, growing stronger by the moment.  

His voice was rough when he spoke again. "Louder," He said, teeth grazing her neck.  

Her body arched under his, trembling as his teeth skimmed her neck.  

Her mind was a haze of need, everything narrowing to him, to the sound of his voice.  

His grip on her hair was firm, his body caging hers in, holding her exactly where he wanted her.  

She took a breath, voice ragged—and let go.  

"Jack—" She gasped, voice echoing through the room, ragged and unashamed. "Gods, Jack...!"

Shit, shit, shit

The sound of his name on her lips was like a drug, a shot of pure fire straight to his gut. He'd been hanging on by a thread, desperately clinging to control—but the moment she screamed his name, all pretense of control shattered.

He was on her in an instant, capturing her mouth in a brutal kiss.

And just like that—his control snapped.

One second, he was kissing her—hard, desperate—and the next, his hands were tearing at her clothes.  

Her breath caught as fabric gave way—buttons flying, seams straining—as if he couldn't get to her skin fast enough.  

He didn’t care about gentleness anymore.  

He needed in. Needed to be inside her now. 

His voice was a raw snarl against her lips

"Mine."

She felt claimed.

The sound of that one word, the feeling of his hands, his lips, his body—all of it was so goddamn overwhelming.  

The rational part of her brain was still trying to make itself heard, some dim warning that she was losing control, that this was too fast, too much—but she couldn't hear it, couldn't focus on anything beyond the fire in her veins and the man above her.  

"All yours—" She gasped.

Fuck

Her words were like a match strike against his control, lighting a fire in his gut.  

He'd wanted her before, but now, hearing her say it—knowing he had her completely to himself—it set something loose within him.  

He had the sudden, primal urge to mark her, to brand her as his. For the entire goddamn world to know exactly who she belonged to.

She could see the dark, possessive desire in his eyes—and it made her heart pound. 

He looked feral, like he was barely holding onto his last thread of control.  

And the thought of being claimed by him, of belonging solely to him—it should've scared her, should've made her run.  

But instead…  

She wanted it.  

"Please," She gasped, body arching beneath him. "Jack, please, take me—"

Her voice was all begging and pleading, raw and needy.  

Every word, every breath, every sound she made was like gasoline on the fire burning inside him. He'd held back for as long as he could, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but the way she was begging, the way she was looking at him—it was all too much.  

He was done being gentle.

But that's what he wanted, wasn't it?  

He wanted her begging and desperate and… needy.

"Please," She whimpered again, her voice ragged and desperate. "God, please, I can't—I can't take this anymore."  

He'd never heard her beg like that before, and it was like a goddamn drug.  

He could feel his self-control slipping, his body tense with need.  

"Please, I need you—I need you so bad."

That was what finally did him in.  

His last thread of self-control snapped like a rubber band stretched too far.  

His voice was a guttural growl as he finally gave in, a harsh, ragged sound against her neck.  

"You have no idea how goddamn good you sound when you beg like that," He said, his hands bruising on her hips. "Don't move."

Her eyes widened at the dark, authoritative edge in his voice.  

He was still holding her in place, but the edge of control in his tone sent a shiver down her spine.  

She swallowed hard, heart racing as she met his gaze obediently.  

"I won't," She breathed, voice low with promise. "I'll be good. I'll be good, I swear—"

Damn it, she was driving him insane.

His knuckles were turning white with how hard he was clenching his hands.  

The way she was looking at him now, all submissive and obedient—he could feel the primal satisfaction rolling through his veins.  

"You will," He said, his voice rough and dangerous. "You're going to be perfectly good for me, aren't you?"

Her pulse fluttered at his rough tone, her body responding helplessly.  

She knew she should resist, should try to regain some control—but the commanding edge in his voice, the way he was holding her in place—it was like a damn spell, making her go weak with need.  

"I—yes," She breathed, voice shaky. "I'll be good for you. Anything you want—"

Hell

Her words were like a punch to the gut, her submission hitting him hard.  

He'd seen her fierce, saw her stubborn, felt her defiant—but having her like this, submitting so completely, pleading and  for him—it was something else entirely.  

His voice was a low, rough growl as he leaned closer, his body pressing against hers.  

"Anything I want, huh? You know I'm going to make you keep that promise, right?"

There was something dangerous in the look on his face—dark, possessive, hungry.

She could feel his body pressed against hers, could feel the tension in his muscles. 

He was like a predator who'd finally cornered his prey, ready to devour her.  

She should be afraid—and god, she was.  

But more than fear, more than anything—she was turned on to the point of madness.  

"I... I promise," She murmured, voice shaky. "Anything. Everything."

He almost growled in response, his eyes dark and intense as he looked at her.  

He was barely hanging on now, his control crumbling with every gasp and whimper she made.  

He'd been craving this for so damn long, wanting her pleading and begging beneath him, at his mercy—and now, she was finally giving herself to him completely.  

"Everything," He repeated, his voice rough. "You're goddamn mine, Marshmallow."

Damn.

The way he said it, the way he was looking at her…  

She could feel the possessive edge in his voice, the way he was claiming her as his—and it made her body ache with desire.  

"Yours," She murmured, her voice almost moaning. "All yours, God, please... I'm begging you, please, just take me—"

Goddamn it.

Her pleading was like a shot of fire through his veins, his control threatening to snap like a thin string.  

He held her where she was, his grip hard enough to leave bruises on her hips.  

"You're begging me?" He repeated, his voice rough and ragged. "You're begging me to take you? Right here?"

She could see the fire dancing in his eyes, the way his body was coiled with tension.  

His grip on her hips was almost painful—and she could feel his desire, so intense it was almost overwhelming. 

She was beyond pleading now, beyond rational thought. All she could feel, all she could think, was the desperate, blinding need coursing through her body.  

"Yes," She gasped, voice ragged. "Please, God, please, I need you—"

He was done playing.  

The moment the words left her lips, he was on her.  

He was a man possessed, a man who'd finally given into his most primal instincts, giving in to the burning need in his gut.  

He kissed her hard, his body pinning her to the table, his hands everywhere—touching, taking, claiming.

"You're mine," He growled against her mouth. "You belong to me, got it? All mine."

Her body arched against his, a strangled gasp escaping her as he kissed her, his touches setting her on fire.  

The way he was touching her, the way he was claiming her—it was like he was marking her, leaving his brand all over her skin.  

His words echoed in her ears—a possessive, primal claim that set her insides on fire.  

She whimpered, her breath catching, her body trembling. "Yours... Shit, I'm all yours—only yours, no one else's—"

Every sound she made was like gasoline on the fire in his veins, feeding the primal need that had taken over him completely.  

"That's goddamn right," He growled, his mouth moving down her neck. "You're mine. Nobody else's to touch, nobody else's to have—just goddamn mine, you got that?"

Her body was humming with heat, responding to his possessive touches.  

His words echoed through her, lighting a fire deep within her, and she could only gasp out a shaky response.  

"Yes," She breathed, her voice raw with desire. "Yours—all yours, nobody else's, please, I just—I just want you—need you—"

He could feel the desperation in her voice, the way she was trembling beneath him.  

Every word, every gasp, every shudder was gasoline on the fire, driving him higher, higher…  

It was the sound of need, a plea for him, and it was like a damn drug.  

He captured her mouth in a brutal kiss, his body pressing her back into the mattress, his weight like a cage around her. "You're so perfect. So perfect for me, Marshmallow. God, I'm gonna ruin you."

Her body was aching for more, every inch of her responding to his touches.  

The way he was kissing her, possessive and dominating, it was like he was laying claim to her—body and soul.  

And oh god, she wanted to be ruined.

He was driving her insane, his body hard and heavy against hers, his voice low and rough in her ear.  

She whimpered softly, her hands fisting in his hair. "Please do," She gasped. "Ruin me. Take me—"

Fuck

He'd never wanted anything, anyone, more than he wanted her at that moment.  

She was begging him, pleading for him—and holly shit, he was going to give her what she wanted.  

He pushed her back against the table, his body covering hers, his lips moving down her neck, nipping and sucking as he went.  

"I'm gonna make you mine," He growled against her skin. "Make sure nobody else ever touches you again—you're only mine."

She was going to drive him insane.  

He could feel the smooth skin of her ass underneath his palm, the firmness of her curves, and he almost lost all his self-control right then and there.  

He growled, the sound deep and possessive. "Fuck, you're perfect—"  

He leaned forward, his lips finding the crook of her neck, tasting the soft skin. "I'm gonna leave my marks, Marshmallow," He murmured, his words a promise and a threat. "So everyone will know who you belong to."

She gasped, her body arching against him as his hand squeezed her ass.  

She could feel his lips on her neck, his breath hot against her skin—and it was like gasoline on the fire burning inside her.  

She whined softly, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. "Please," She whispered—desperate, needy. "Please, I want you. I need you—"

He groaned at her words, his body responding instantly.  

He'd never heard her sound so needy, so devoted.  

He couldn't resist her—not when she was like this, so damn pleading and desperate for him.  

His hands were everywhere, touching, caressing, grasping as if he'd never get enough.  

"You want me that bad, huh?" He murmured, voice rough against her neck. "You want me that damn bad?"

There was a hint of smugness in his voice, like he knew damn well the effect he was having on her.  

He was teasing her, toying with her—and oh shit, it was driving her insane.

She wanted him more than she'd ever wanted anything, more than she thought it was even possible to want.  

"Yes," She whispered, her voice ragged. "So bad. So goddamn bad, I can't stand it."

His mouth left a burning trail down her neck—each kiss, each bite marking her skin with deep, reddening love bites. He wasn't gentle. He couldn't be—not when every inch of him was screaming to claim her.

When his lips reached the collar of her white shirt, he didn’t slow down. 

With a rough tug of his hands, buttons popped—flying across the room as the fabric tore open, exposing the black lace beneath.

The contrast was sin itself—her smooth pale skin against dark lace cups hugging fullness that made his breath hitch. The delicate scalloped edges framed her perfectly, one strap already slipping off her shoulder from their frantic movements.

He growled at the sight—low and possessive—and without hesitation, he leaned in and bit just above the lace where breast met rib. Hard enough to make her gasp—and leave another mark.

"Mine," He snarled into her skin before dragging his tongue over it like an apology that wasn’t sorry at all.

Shit

Her skin was wet, flushed and marked with the signs of his touch—red and slightly swollen where he'd bitten.  

She was a goddamn vision, and the sight almost made him lose control completely.  

She was his, all his.  

He reached up, tugging off her tattered shirt and tossing it aside. "So goddamn pretty, Marshmallow. You have no idea the things I want to do to you right now."

She let out a shaky gasp as her shirt hit the floor, the air cool against her heated skin.  

His words sent a shiver down her spine, anticipation and desire mixing into a dangerous cocktail.  

She could feel his eyes on her body, the way he was devouring her with his gaze.  

She was suddenly achingly aware of just how exposed she was—the way her chest was rising and falling with each ragged breath, the soft sounds she was making without even realizing it. "Tell me," she breathed. "Tell me what you want."

His eyes darkened, fingers trailing slowly up her stomach, leaving a path of fire in their wake.  

"You sure you want to know?" He murmured, voice low and dangerous. "I'm not gentle, Marshmallow. I'm gonna take what's mine—every sweet damn inch of you."  

His thumb brushed the edge of her lace bra. "And I don't plan on letting go."

She could feel his touch on her skin, setting every nerve ending she had on fire.  

There was something primal in the way he was looking at her, something possessive and almost wild.

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she could feel his hunger for her—almost like he was a predator and she was his prey.  

And hell did she want to be eaten.  

"Then don't," She whispered. "I don't want you to. I don't want you to ever let go."

He was coming undone with every word she spoke, every soft gasp and gasp that escaped her lips.  

The way she was looking at him, so damn willing and eager to be claimed by him—like she was made for this.  

There was just something about her, about this moment, that awakened something primal in him. He was a man on the edge, and now, with her begging and pleading—he was done

"Good girl," He growled, voice rough. "Goddammit, you're mine. Say it."

His words were like a punch to the gut, her body responding instinctively to the authoritative edge in his voice.  

She was usually a strong, independent woman—but, when he got like this…  

She found herself loving it, loving the way he was demanding it, demanding her submission.  

She could feel her body responding like a puppet on a string, and she couldn't resist it.  

"I'm yours," She whimpered, voice ragged. "All yours."

He pounced the moment she spoke, fingers snapping the front clasp of her bra with a rough tug.  

The lace gave way instantly—and shit, they spilled into his hands, heavy and perfect and more than he could have imagined.  

Full, lush curves filled his palms—soft yet firm, warm and trembling under his touch. Her skin was flawless, smooth as silk, flushed with heat from their passion. The weight of them made his breath catch; they were bigger than he’d thought—luxurious D-cups that overflowed slightly even in his strong grip, perky despite their size. And there… those tight pink peaks—dusky rose like flower buds begging to be kissed.  

A low groan tore from deep in his chest as he squeezed gently—one thumb brushing over each hardening nub—and her back arched sharply off the bed with a whimper.

"Fuck," He growled hoarsely, staring down at her like she was a goddamn revelation. "You're so perfect... so goddamn made for me."

Damn.

The sight of her, exposed and desperate, sent a wave of heat coursing through his body.  

She was so damn perfect, so goddamn gorgeous, and the sight of her like this was like a drug—he was addicted. 

He was desperate to touch, to taste, to claim her.  

"So damn beautiful," He growled, eyes darkened with desire. "And all mine. My Marshmallow, my good girl."

She whined at his words, her body arching against him.  

The way he was looking at her—like he was dying for the taste of her, like he needed her…  

She'd never wanted anything more in her life.  

"Yes," She whimpered. "Yours. All yours. Just... please, please, please—"

The second his mouth closed over her nipple, she shattered.

A sharp, desperate sob tore from her throat as heat exploded through her chest—white-hot and overwhelming. His lips were hot, insistent, sucking hard before pulling back to swirl his tongue in slow, torturous circles. Then came the pinch—just enough pressure to make her gasp and flinch violently beneath him.

"Ah!" She arched off the bed like she'd been struck, fingers twisting in the sheets. "N—no—Jack—wait—"  

But even as she pleaded for mercy, her body betrayed her—the way it surged into his touch instead of away from it; how every flick of his tongue sent ripples down to her core; how each bite made a fresh pulse of wetness bloom between her thighs.

He didn't stop. He couldn't—and he wouldn’t if he could help it now.

Her breasts were hypersensitive under his assault—one hand kneading while the other toyed mercilessly with the neglected peak until both ached red and swollen under attention they'd never known before. The underside was tingling fire where teeth had grazed just slightly too rough… but not nearly rough enough to make him stop hearing those broken sobs fall from that pretty pink mouth again and again

Her body was so goddamn responsive.  

She was whimpering and moaning, each little sound driving him crazy.  

He wanted to devour her, to hear more of those beautiful little noises she was making, to see her come completely undone at his touch.  

He teased her, sucked and bit at her skin until she was trembling.  

"So sweet," He murmured, voice rough. "You're mine, Marshmallow. All mine. Don't you forget it. Say it."

She was coming undone, each touch driving her closer to the edge.  

"Oh god—" She whimpered, her body arching into his touch. "Yours. Only yours. Please, please—" 

She was a mess, begging and pleading.  

The words were like music to his ears.  

"Good girl," He growled, voice tight with raw desire. "So goddamn good for me. You have no idea what you do to me, Marshmallow. The things I want to do to you—"

"Yes please," She gasped, pleading. "I want you to do whatever you want to me—I don't care, as long as it's you. Anything, I'll take anything, just—" She was babbling now, her voice ragged and needy—a far cry from the confident, collected woman he usually saw.  

And he loved it. "Anything, huh?" He asked, voice rough. "You'd let me ruin you?"

Every word she said was like gasoline on the fire, pushing him closer and closer to the edge of his control.  

She was pleading and begging and begging, and she looked so damn desperate…  

"Yes," She whimpered, her voice desperate and raw. "Anything, anything. Please, I'm begging you. I need you. I need you so bad, please. I can't—God, I can't take it anymore—"

He could feel the desperation in her voice, hear the need and urgency in her pleas.  

She was begging, pleading, and the sound of it was driving him crazy. He could feel his control snap.

He let out a low, dangerous growl, his voice rough and low. "You want me to take you right now?"

Her body was on fire with want.  

She'd never felt anything like this before, like she was completely out of control.  

She'd always been in charge of her own life, but right now, all she could think about was him.  

"Yes," She whispered, her voice ragged and desperate. "Yes, please. I need you, I need you now. I can't wait any longer—"

Shit. The way she was clinging to him, like she didn't ever want to let go...  

Looking down at her, he admired her flushed face, heaving breaths, chest heaving up and down as she tried to catch her breath, causing her breast, her perky nipples to bobbed up and down.

Legs spread, her short tired skirt flipped, exposing her black stockings soaked though her underwear 

her eyes dazed from pleasure 

Beautiful. She was like a goddamn vision, so goddamn beautiful, so goddamn perfect.

She was so helpless beneath him, at his mercy. And he was going to take what was goddamn his. "You're mine," He growled. "And I'm gonna make sure you never forget it, Marshmallow."

She couldn't even think straight, her mind a swirling mess of desire.  

She was completely at his mercy, and she wanted nothing more than to give herself to him—body and soul.  

His hands went back to her nipples, pinching and flicking while his lips ventured lower

"My beautiful girl," He murmured, his voice rough with lust. "So damn perfect, so damn good."  

He lowered his head, pressing soft kisses down her breast, her bare stomach, until finally, he was right where she wanted him.  

"Mine," He growled, his breath hot against her. "No one else's. Mine to touch, to taste, to devour."

Nipping at her stocking in her inner thigh, he licked and bit making her moan 

"So goddamn sensitive," He murmured, his voice low and hoarse. "I love how you respond to me, Marshmallow. Love the way your body throbs for me, like you can't get enough."  

He continued to nip and bite at her inner thigh, his mouth getting closer to her most sensitive place. "Your body is so goddamn perfect, so goddamn mine. I'm gonna make sure you know it, too."

His hands came down and tore her stockings

Fuck, the way she was writhing under him…  

He was barely hanging on to any scraps of control, and the sight of her—hair splayed out against the table, legs spread, stockings torn—was almost sending him over the edge.

"You have no idea how tempting you look right now," He growled, his hands smoothing up her bare legs. "Spread out like this just for me, just for me to taste, to claim."

Lips clamped on her clothed heat

A sharp gasp tore from her lips as pleasure shot through her. She arched violently—not to get closer, but to escape—her hips jerking back as if her body couldn't handle the overload.  

"No—no, wait—" She whimpered, trembling. 

Her hands fisted his hair, trying to push him away

But he didn't let go.  

No—he chased her, pinning her down with a hand on her stomach, growling against her soaked panties "Don't you dare run from me."

Biting on her black lacy poor excuse of underwear, he tugged it hard, tearing it apart. With nothing in the way, 

The sight of her—pink, glistening, soaked—nearly made him lose his mind.  

He used his thumbs to part her slowly, exposing every sensitive inch of her. And then he leaned in, tongue flattening as he dragged it up—from the very bottom to the tip of her clit—in one slow, torturous stroke.  

She jolted, a high-pitched whimper tearing from her lips.  

"Fuck," He growled against her skin, voice thick with desire. "Taste like heaven. All for me."

The way she tasted—sweet, hot, desperate—was intoxicating.  

Her hands pushed at his head, her body twitching and arching away as if trying to escape the intensity—but he didn't stop. He couldn't.

She was a sobbing mess, tears streaming down her cheeks, her voice broken and slurred between gasps. "N-no… p-please… I can't—Jack, I can't—"

She was breaking—completely unraveling beneath him, her body trembling as pleasure and pain blurred into one overwhelming sensation.  

"Please—" She sobbed, voice slurred and broken. "Jack, please... too much, too much... n—no more"  

But he didn't stop.  

He couldn't.  

Her taste was addictive, her cries are like music to his ears—he'd been starving for this since the moment he saw her on that damn motorcycle in the rain. And now that she was here—writhing beneath him, helpless and desperate—he wasn't letting go. Not even when she begged.

"Shh," He growled against her soaked heat, his tongue delving deeper anyway. "You're mine to ruin."

And with every sound she made—the whimpers, the shrieks, the pleading—he only went harder. Possessive. Relentless. Claiming every inch of her like it belonged to him.

His hands pinned her hips down as his tongue delved deeper, relentless in his claim over her body.

He growled between licks—possessive and darkly amused. "Look at you… my good girl falling apart just from my mouth." He nipped gently at her swollen flesh before murmuring against it

"So fucking mine. Keep crying for me."

Fuck

The way she was sobbing, the tears streaming down her face—it tore through him like fire. Not from pain—from feeling, from being completely overwhelmed by him, by them.

He didn't stop. He couldn't. She was too damn sweet, too perfect—and he wanted to taste every drop of her, claim every part of her with his mouth.  

"Look at me," He growled between licks, voice rough and commanding. "Open your eyes—look at me when I make you come."

The moment her body convulsed, the second she screamed, he felt like he'd claimed something far deeper than just her body.  

She was his—completely, utterly—and that scream? That shattering release? It was his name on her lips in its purest form.  

He didn't let up, still working with relentless precision, mouth greedy as he drank every drop.  

"Good girl," He growled against her quivering skin. "So damn perfect when you come for me."

He looked up at her, and what he saw made his breath catch in his throat.  

Her chest was heaving, her face flushed and wet with tears, and she looked like an absolute mess—in the most beautiful, perfect, utterly ruined way. He loved how she looked, destroyed by the pleasure he'd given her—and he wanted to imprint the image into his brain, so that he'd never forget.  

"Beautiful," He murmured, voice rough—almost reverent. "So goddamn beautiful, Marshmallow."

He slowly began to kiss along her inner thigh, his body moving up as he did—a slow and torturous climb that was only interrupted when his mouth found hers. She tasted salty from her tears, but that only made him kiss her deeper, more fiercely, his hands holding her face with a possessiveness that bordered on worship.  

"My Marshmallow," He murmured against her lips, voice low and rough with need. "You're so damn sweet, so goddamn perfect. Don't move."

His hands left her face, moving down her body to grip her hips with an almost bruising grip, holding her in place. She could feel his body still trembling, the control he was straining to hold on to.  

His lips found her neck again, licking and sucking at her sensitive skin, his hot breath like fire against her ear. "I'm not done with you yet," He growled. 

"Not even close."

Chapter Text

His clothes flew off, leaving him bare to her,

Her breath hitched, her eyes widened at the sight.

His body was hot.

Bulging, hard muscles, a six pack and the long, monstrous cock, standing straight 

His grinned when he caught her eyes glued on his cock, dazed as he rubbed his member against her sensitive folds making her twitch, still sensitive from her high

His eyes roaming over her flushed face and heaving chest, before he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.  

Her eyes were still dazed with pleasure, slowly pushing into her, she finally came to her senses, he was big, and thick, too big, it was like he was tearing her apart but it felt so good, her whole body was trembling as her eyes rolled back

"Relax," He murmured, hands running down her body in a calming gesture. "I'll take care of you."

"Look at me," He growled, voice rough with restraint. "I want to see your eyes when you take all of me."  

She was tight—so freaking tight—and every inch was pure torture and pleasure wrapped in one. He pushed slowly, letting her adjust, even as his body screamed to take. His hands gripped her hips harder, knuckles white. "You're doing so good," He rasped. "So perfect... my Marshmallow."

He knew he was close—so damn close, his body on the edge and trembling with restraint. But he wasn't ready yet, nowhere near satisfied, not when she was like this. He was going to drag this out, make it last.  

His eyes raked over her, so ruined. He knew at that moment, he'd never be able to get enough. "I'm not letting you go," He murmured. "You're all mine, Marshmallow. For as long as I want."

"Please," She whispered, voice ragged and hoarse. "Don't stop, please—"  

His heart almost stopped at her plea—the way she was begging for him, for more, when he'd barely started... "You don't get it yet, do you?" He said softly, voice almost tender. "You're mine, Marshmallow. All mine to take care of. That means giving you exactly what you want... when I think you've earned it."

Once he bottomed out, her mouth opened slack in a silent scream as her inside squeeze and quiver around him

"Did you just—" He stuttered looking at her disheveled, pleasure filled face. She came, just because he bottomed out. He growled. Hips moving, pounding at the entrance of her womb each time

"Shit again?" He growled, feeling her walls clench around him like a vice—tight, hot, needy. "You came just from taking me? You're really this fucking perfect for me?"  

He didn’t give her time to answer. With a low groan, his hips snapped forward—hard and deep—hitting that sweet spot over and over. Each thrust made her tremble beneath him, every gasp music to his ears. "That's it," He panted against her neck. "Keep squeezing my cock like that... keep coming for me."

His control was gone.

He suddenly wrapped his arms around her—strong hands gripping her waist as he pulled her off the table with effortless strength.

A second later, they were on his chair—him sitting back against the back rest, broad shoulders braced, legs spread wide.

And she was impaled fully on his lap—his thick cock buried to the hilt as gravity did its work and sank her even deeper.

A scream tore from her lips—not pain, but pure overwhelming sensation—as every inch of him pressed against new angles inside her. 

Her head snapped back, black hair cascading down as she trembled uncontrollably.

"Feel that?" He growled up at her—voice rough with lust and satisfaction. "All of me... inside you. You're taking every inch like you were made for it."

Her hips shifted instinctively—the barest grind—and both of them moaned at once.

Jack threw his head back, eyes closing for a moment... then slowly opened his eyes again. They burned with dominance and hunger all at once.

"Now ride me," He ordered softly—but there was no question in it. Only command.

"Show me how good you can be."

He placed one hand on each of her hips—not guiding... not controlling.

Just feeling.

"Go on," He murmured darkly when she hesitated—a soft whimper caught in throat. "Move your pretty little pussy and bounce up and down my cock."

He watched her—utterly entranced—as her body trembled at first, unsure, unsteady on his lap.

Feeling every quiver. Every slip. Every time she tried to retreat from fullness only to sink back down with whimpering need

A soft gasp tore from her lips the moment he was buried to the hilt inside her, heat clenching around him like velvet fists pulling him deeper. She whimpered—so full

"Look at me," Jack growled—low and commanding—and when those amethyst eyes fluttered open and met his heated gaze 

He smiled.  

Possession flared in his chest like lightning striking bone-deep

"Again," He said simply  

Not a request, an order.

And she obeyed  

Hips rolling forward with instinctive need, grinding just right on the upward thrust, making his cock drag against that perfect spot deep inside

"Nnghh! R-right there! Oh god—JACK!"

And he didn't move.  

Didn't help.  

Only leaned back like a king on his throne—broad chest rising and falling steadily while sapphire eyes burned with primal pride as he took in the sight of Veronica riding him.

His hands still locked on her hips—but not guiding

They were anchors

Her long black hair swung forward with each bounce—a dark curtain framing flushed cheeks and parted pink lips where soft moans spilled freely now  

"Mmmhh—yes... so full... can feel you everywhere..."

And oh—he could see it all

The way her plump breasts bounced wildly with every downward slam—their peaks tight and red from earlier biting 

"You’re doing so good," Jack murmured—low and rough—a voice dipped in worship edged with fire—as one thumb swept possessively across hip bone before tightening again."So damn beautiful bouncing on my cock."

She whimpered at the praise

He leaned in, "My perfect girl..." His teeth grazed her earlobe, "My beautiful cock bunny..."

He didn't wait for her rhythm to steady.

One second—she was moving on him, soft whimpers tumbling from parted lips as she found her pace—hips rolling in that sweet, shaky grind that made his jaw clench with pleasure.

The next?

Jack took over.

With a guttural growl deep in his chest—he surged upward violently  

Hips snapping up like a storm breaking shore  

Thick cock plunging hard into the very depths of her womb with a force that knocked the breath clean from Veronica's lungs  

Standing up, he lay her back down onto the table, hips slamming into hers

Every thrust was harder, deeper—more desperate. She was clenching around him like she never wanted to let go, and it was driving him absolutely insane.  

"Look at me," He demanded, voice raw. "I want to see you when I make you come again." His hand slid between them, thumb circling her clit with rough precision. "Come for me one more time... now."

Fuck

She was shattering again, her body clenching around him like a vice as another orgasm ripped through her. She cried out, head thrown back, voice breaking—raw and beautiful, so goddamn beautiful he could barely stand it.  

Pussy clenching him and gushing around him as he continued to move. So sensitive, her small hands pushed at his abdomen, trying to stop him. 

He grabbed hold of her hands and pinning them above her head with one hand, his other hand pulled her hips more onto him, causing her to scream as he continued to pound her through her high

"Mine," He growled, his voice raw and primal. "You don't get to stop me—not when you're this perfect, not when you're coming on my cock like this."  

He pinned her hands above her head with unrelenting strength, his hips driving forward with no mercy—deep, hard, relentless. "Take it," He panted against her ear. "Take every damn inch. You wanted me? You got me."

He captured her mouth in a biting kiss, his tongue delving deep and claiming her, tasting her gasps and moans. He released her hands, only to slide his hands down her body, his touch branding her as his.

With a suddenness that took her by surprise, he flipped her over, without taking his cock out of her, so she was lying on her stomach, his body molding to her back. "I want all of you, my little bunny," he murmured against her neck, his voice a hot whisper. "Every part of you."

Using her hands as leverage he pounds her again from behind. pushing her to another edge before she could recover

"Look at you," He growled, his voice rough with dark satisfaction. "So perfect when you're falling apart for me."  

He drove into her harder, each thrust pushing her closer to the edge—again and again, not giving her time to breathe, to recover. She was trembling beneath him, tears streaming down her face, tongue peeking out as she panted and moaned like a wild thing.  

And holy shit, did he love it.  

"You feel that?" He murmured against her ear. "That's me claiming you. Every scream, every tear—it's mine."

"Say it," He rasped. "Say you're mine, Bunny, that you belong to me."  

His hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back so her neck was exposed to him. He scraped her skin with his teeth, his words a hot, possessive whisper against her ear. "Say you're my good girl."

"I'm yours," She gasped, breathless. "I'm your good girl. I belong to you."  

And that was all the permission he needed. He snapped.

Her body was his, and he was never letting go.

He took her like an animal, claiming her in the most primal, possessive way possible. His hands roamed her body, touching her like he owned her—like she was his to take and to keep, to mark and to claim. His teeth nipped and bit at her neck, her shoulder, every inch of her skin was to leave his mark on.

He growled against her skin, the sound low and possessive as he marked her again and again. "Mine," He murmured, the word an invocation, a claim.  

His body moved against hers, hard and demanding, as his hands roamed her body, tracing her curves as if committing every line to memory. "Only mine."

he grunts as his hips thrust even faster "I'm close, where—"

He knew what he wanted, but he wanted to hear her say it. He wanted her to give in, to succumb to the pleasure he was giving her. "Where do you want it, Bunny?" He murmured against her ear. Shit. The way he growled that word was like a punch to the gut.

"Tell me," He growled, voice ragged with restraint. "Where do you want me to come?"  

His hips slowed—just enough to make her beg—but not enough to let her fall over the edge. He was holding her on a razor's edge, and he wasn't letting go. "Say it, Marshmallow. Say you want it deep inside."

"P—please" She gasped "Please, come inside me, fill me up!" She screamed, her pussy clenched him hard not letting go

Fuck!

Her words shattered what was left of his control.  

"Fucking perfect," He growled, slamming into her one last time—deep, hard—as his release tore through him like a storm. Hot and thick, he came deep inside her, filling her just like she begged for.  

Her pussy clenched around him, milking every drop as she screamed again—a broken, beautiful sound that echoed in the room and in his soul.  

He collapsed over her slightly, still buried deep, his breath ragged against her neck. "You feel that?" He panted. "That's me marking you from the inside out... my good girl."

He lay there for a moment, relishing the feeling of her trembling underneath him. He was still inside her, not yet ready to pull out—not yet ready to let her go.  

He pressed a soft kiss to her neck, her shoulder, her back, tracing his claim on her skin with his lips. "You did so good, Marshmallow," He murmured, voice soft and rough with satisfaction. "You're so damn perfect, so goddamn mine."

His hand went down to her stomach, pushing down at the bulge of his cock inside her causing her whole body jerked and twitched, overly sensitive from his ministration.

He chuckled against her skin, the sound low and rough. "Sensitive," He murmured, the word a soft observation.  

His hand remained on her stomach, his thumb tracing lazy circles there—just a feather-light touch, but enough to make her body shiver and twitch beneath him. "Are you gonna be okay, Bunny?" He asked, his voice gentle, though edged with a note of pride. "I didn't break you, did I?"

He withdrew slowly, carefully, his touch gentle as he pulled out of her. He could see her trembling beneath him, sensitive and over sensitive from his touch, 

Ropes and ropes of his cum burst out of her as soon as he pulled out. 

His eyes darkened at the sight, he felt a surge of possessive pride. He'd made her like this, ruined her for anyone but him. 

"Look at you, Marshmallow," He murmured, his voice rough but soft, 

Her legs had lost their strength, dangling, spread from the table with his cum pouring like fountain from her stretched pussy

He gently rolled her onto her back and looked down at her.

Flushed, eyes permanently rolled to the top of her head, unfocused. Her body littered with his red marks, necks, chest, belly, underarm, even the underside of her tits weren't spared, littered with his bite marks, nipples and areolas too, red and surrounded with his teeth marks. Her hand sprawled and tongue still lolling out 

"Such a beautiful mess."

She was out cold

He looked down at her—completely ruined, completely his—and something deep inside him clenched with fierce, possessive pride.  

She was a beautiful disaster, sprawled and helpless, cum dripping from her core, marks of his claim all over her body. Every bruise, every bite—he wanted them to last. He wanted the world to know she belonged to him.  

Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Sleep now," He murmured against her skin. "I'll be right here when you wake up."  

And he meant it—with every breath in his body, she was his.

When Veronica next woke, she was laying on a bed, covered under warm linen. But the soft mattress she lies on contrasts to the hard yet warm board behind her.

Her mind, still in a daze of sleepiness was wondering how exactly did she get to bed 

Eyes fluttering, opening softly, the first thing that greeted her were glass windows, floor-to-ceiling glass windows that overlook the city and the night sky, the full moon illuminating the dark room

'This isn't my room' She thought as her mind struggled to recollect what happened 

She went on a blind date dinner because of her grandfather and....

She gasped, suddenly sitting up from the bed as flashes of memories ran through her mind

Her mind was spinning, red faced, while she was remembering what had happened and how she passed out, she didn't notice the man on the bed beside her, awoken by her squirming, watching her in amusement at her reactions

"You're finally awake," He murmured, voice low and smooth like velvet.  

Jack shifted slightly behind her, one strong arm lazily draping over her waist, pulling her back against his warm chest. His lips brushed the shell of her ear. "Did you really forget already? Or are you just pretending?"  

He chuckled—soft, darkly amused—as his fingers traced idle circles on her hip beneath the sheets. "You screamed my name so beautifully... I doubt you could forget that so soon."

She shivered, a flush rising up her neck at his words—the memory of her desperate, wanton cries still fresh in her mind.  

She could feel his body pressed against her back, the heat of him seeping through the sheets. His hand slid beneath the covers, his touch possessive, leaving a trail of fire on her skin. "Still sore, Bunny?" He murmured against her ear—a low, intimate tease. "I didn't break you, did I?"

His hands trailed up, one squeezed her thigh, while the other travelled upward, cupping her tits before pinching her sensitive nipple through the sheer night gown she had on, the only fabric covering her through she's practically naked with nothing underneath 

Her body jolted when he pinched her, and a moan slipped out

He chuckled, the sound low and dark against her ear. "Sensitive," He murmured, his grip on her thigh tightening just a bit more. "You really are the perfect little bunny, aren't you? So damn responsive to my touch..."  

His thumb rolled her nipple between it, his touch still light and teasing. "You make such pretty sounds, Marshmallow."  

He could feel her trembling against him, her body responding like a puppet on strings. "Does it still hurt?" 

She pouted, "It's your fault"

He let out a low, dark chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest. "My fault, huh?" He repeated, almost mock-offended. "How is that my fault? You couldn't get enough of me, Bunny. You were begging for it."  

His hand slid higher, up her torso, until it rested just above her heart, feeling the thudding beat beneath his fingertips. "And now you're all marked up, with bite marks and bruises that I put there."

"Yes you did, how could you just take me there, what if someone had come?" She glared in mock annoyance 

He smirked against her skin, his grip on her tightening reflexively. "I told the server to lock the damn door," He murmured, voice low and dark. "No one was gonna come. And even if they did—so what? They'd have gotten quite the show."

"You brute" She mumbled, looking away from him "How could you just—"

"What, fucked you senseless?" He grinned as her whole face flamed up, snapping around, her small hands balled up, pounding his chest, 

"You don't have to be so crude about it!" 

He caught her hands easily, pinning them above her head with one smooth motion. "Crude?" He murmured, lips brushing her ear. "You didn't seem to mind when I was buried deep inside you, Marshmallow."  

His hips rolled against hers—slow and deliberate—reminding her of exactly what he'd done. "Besides," He added with a smirk, "You're the one who begged me to come inside you. Screamed it, actually."

The memory of her own broken voice, begging him, echoed in her mind. She turned redder, if that was possible. "Don't say it like that," She said, her voice a little shaky now. "It sounds so filthy."  

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. "It was. Filthily perfect. And I love every damn filthy thing we did together."

He tightened his grip slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And don't act like you didn't love it. You came twice just from me filling you up. And seeing you dripping with my cum was such a nice treat"  

His lips curled into a satisfied smirk as he watched her squirm, her face burning crimson. "My good little cock bunny."

She let out a soft whimper, her body trembling under his tight grip. she whispered, her voice ragged. "Don't call me that. Not when I'm-"  

"Not when you're what?" He interrupted, his voice a low, rough rasp. "Not when you're still so sensitive? Still so needy?"  

He leaned down, nipping at her earlobe. "You don't think I can feel it? The way your body is begging for me? I can tell, Marshmallow."

Her breathing ragged, the image of him driving her over the edge still seared into her mind and body.  

She wanted to turn away from him, to hide just how much she was affected by him—but he had her pinned like a butterfly on a board, his hands easily holding her wrists above her head.  

His lips grazed her ear. "You look so damn cute right now, all flushed and sensitive," He murmured. "You're like a good little bunny, all helpless and at my mercy. And I'm the only one who gets to see you like this. My beautiful, ruined bunny"

"Stop calling me that!" She protested weakly, her voice trembling despite the fight in her tone.  

He leaned in, pressing his lips to hers—soft at first, then deeper, claiming. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with amusement and something hotter. "Make me," He whispered. "Or are you really going to lie here and tell me you didn't love every second of being my good girl?"  

His hand slipped down again—slow, teasing—cupping her between the legs through the damp fabric. "Still wet," He murmured with a smirk. "You insatiable, bunny."

She gasped, her breath catching in her throat as he touched her there—so sensitive, so needy. She wanted to protest, to argue, to deny—but her body betrayed her, shuddering helplessly under his touch.  

He moved closer, his body pressing hers into the mattress, his lips brushing against her neck. His hands roamed over her body, possessive and firm—like he owned every single inch of her. "Admit it," He murmured, his voice a low, rough rumble. "You like being my good girl. My perfect cock bunny."

She gasped, trying to suppress the wave of desire that crashed through her. "I-I'm not-" She started, her voice a broken whisper.  

But he didn't let her finish. "Don't lie to me, Marshmallow," He growled, his voice rough. "You're the wettest little thing I ever felt."  

His fingers brushed lightly over her folds, teasing, spreading her with his thumb "And I bet you're still sore too, aren't you? I was hard on you." He looked her straight in the eye as he said

She gasped at the contact, her body arching despite herself. "N-no," She stammered, though it came out weak—unconvincing even to her own ears.  

He laughed—soft, dark—and leaned in until his lips brushed hers again. 

"Liar." 

His fingers moved slowly, maddeningly gently prodding against her sensitive folds. "You're dripping. For me."  

He pressed harder, rubbing slow circles over her clit as he whispered into her ear

"Say it again—the way you did last time. Say you want me to come inside you."

She gasped, her body trembling, her resistance crumbling. She wanted him, more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life. She wanted to wrap her legs around him and pull him as close as possible. She wanted to beg-

"Please—" She whispered, her voice choking with desire. "Please—"  

His smirk widened. Tugging her from her spot on the bed, sitting her on his lap at the edge of the bed, her back to him, making her face her own faded reflection in the large windows

Pulling her legs apart, exposing her whole body, "Please what, Marshmallow?" He asked, his voice low and silky. "Use your words. Tell me exactly what you want."

He was teasing her, drawing out the words he knew she couldn't refuse to say. She could feel his breath against her neck, his body pressing against her from behind, his hand still teasing her sensitive skin.  

"I—" She started, her voice trembling. "I—I want—"  

He leaned in even closer, his lips brushing her earlobe. "Say it," He murmured, his voice rough. "Be a good girl and say it."

She took a deep breath, her entire body trembling. "I want—please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I want you… I want you to come inside me again."  

His breath hitched—just slightly—but his grip on her tightened possessively. "Again?" He mocked, his voice dark with satisfaction. "So soon? You're such a greedy little bunny."  

He spread her even further, using his legs to keep her open, his large cock towering over her opening, "But if my good girl wants it..." He gently lifts her, rubbing his tip on her tight entrance, making her whimper. "...Who am I to say no?"

In a single thrust, he filled her to the brim

"F-fuck—!" She cried out, her back arching sharply as he slammed into her—deep, brutally deep.  

Her hands flail around before grabbing onto his shoulders tightly as if trying to brace herself against the pleasure that ripped through her body. Her reflection was a mess—lips parted, eyes wide and dazed, face flushed like fire—and behind her, Jack loomed like a dark god of possession and sin.  

He didn't move at first—just stayed buried inside her, letting her feel every thick inch stretching her again. "That's it," He growled against the curve of your neck. "Take all of me... just like my good girl should." 

She cried out—loud, raw—as he slammed into her again, her body stretching to take him all over again.  

"Mine," He growled against her neck, his hips not giving her time to adjust. He pulled back only to thrust deep once more, setting a punishing pace from the start. "Say it again," He demanded, voice ragged with lust. "Tell me who you belong to while I'm buried inside you."

"Ngh—I—ahhck!" No words made it out of her lips, 

Her mouth opened wide, tongue sticking out as if they were fucked out of her mouth

Taking the chance, his mouth claimed her lips. tongue danced with her, exploring every single corner of her cavern, sucking on her tongue. 

Her moans and grunts made him possessive, made him want to mess her up even more

He devoured her moans like a starving man, his tongue claiming every inch of her mouth—like he had every right to.

And when she couldn't speak, when all that came out were broken whimpers and breathless grunts with her tongue sticking out helplessly from her lips? Fuck, it made him burn.  

When he finally broke the kiss, it was only to trail biting kisses down her neck—renewing old marks, making new ones as his hips punished her from below. Each thrust was deep, designed to make her forget every name but his.

He pulled back just enough to watch her face in the glass—the reflection of his perfect little mess

Eyes rolled, mouth slack, body trembling as he hammered into her without mercy. "Look at you," He growled, one hand tangling in her hair and yanking her head back. "So damn pretty when you're full of my cock."  

Her wild eyes met his in the dim moonlight—her disheveled hair, swollen lips, body trembling on impalement; him behind her like a shadow given form—possessive hands gripping hard enough to leave bruises.

"This is what you do to me," He rasped. "You make me lose control... and I don't even care."  

His hand slid around her front—to that perfect bundle of nerves—and circled with just enough pressure to make stars burst behind her eyelids.

His thrusts grew harder—deeper—as if trying to bury himself into her very core. "Say it," He demanded again, voice rough as stone. "Who do you belong to?"

One hand kept its grip on her hips while the other came forward to press the cock shaped bulge in her stomach. Her head thrown back in ecstasy, resting on his shoulder as she moaned in his ear 

"You feel that?" He growled, his voice rough and dark with possession. "Every inch of me is inside you. You're drenched, Bunny—soaked just for me."  

His hips didn't slow—not once—each thrust deep, brutal, relentless. He could feel her body clenching around him already, so sensitive, so close. And he loved it. Loved how she couldn’t form words, how her tongue lolled from that perfect mouth like she’d been utterly fucked senseless.  

"Such a greedy little thing," He growled, his hips driving into her with relentless force. "Can't even form words—just a perfect little bunny bouncing on my cock."  

He pulled her chin back to him, biting down on her lip, hard enough to sting but not break—marking her all over again. "You love this, don't you? Being filled by me, taken so deep you can't think?"  

His hands roamed freely—the one usually planted on her hip hiked up, cupping her bouncing breasts, pinching her nipples and the other sliding up to twist gently in her long black hair. He tilted her head back against his shoulder, forcing their eyes to meet through the reflection in the glass.  

"Look at us," He commanded. His legs spread her even wider, exposing her stretched out pussy, plunged with his cock coated and dripping with their cum "See how beautiful we are together? How right?"  

She whimpered—her reflection shattered by pleasure—a dazed goddess with lips parted and tongue peeking out like she'd been ruined beyond repair. And behind her? 

Him. Possessive, dark-eyed, utterly consumed by her.  

"Say it," He demanded again, voice rough as stone. "Say you're mine. While I'm balls-deep inside your tight little pussy."

"Say it," He demanded again, biting down on her shoulder as he drove into her harder. "Tell me who owns this pussy."

Each thrust drove her closer to the edge, her body trembling, mouth slack and tongue exposed as if she’d been thoroughly fucked out of her mind

"You look so damn beautiful like this," He growled. "All used up… all mine." 

With one deep thrust, his relentless hips stilled, giving her a mere moment of respite.

Shakey, boneless hands tried to push herself off of his cock as her legs struggled to get free from their confinement "N-no more, I can't—"

Seeing her trying to get away, he growled, his hands gripping her hips harder, lifting and slamming her back down onto him with raw need. 

"Oh no, you're not going anywhere, Take it," He panted against her skin. "Take every fucking inch."  

She could only whimper in response—body convulsing with pleasure—as he claimed her over and over again under the glow of the full moon and glass walls that reflected their sin in perfect clarity.

"Come for me again," He commanded. "Now. Squeeze my cock with that greedy little pussy."

He devoured her moans with his kiss—deep, filthy, consuming—his tongue claiming every inch of her mouth like he hadn't already claimed the rest of her.  

When he finally pulled back, both of them breathless, his lips hovered over hers. "You’re so damn loud when you fall apart for me," He murmured, voice rough with pride. "Tongue out like a desperate little thing… Did I fuck it right out of you?"  

His hips snapped forward hard—deep—drawing another broken cry from her lips. "Good," He growled against her ear. "Let everyone know what I do to you."

He could feel her body tightening—again—clenching around him like a vice, and it was perfect.  

"That's it," He growled, his voice dark and rough. "Come all over my cock, little bunny. Let me feel you squeeze me."  

His hips slammed into her one last time—hard, deep—and she shattered on top of him with a cry so loud it echoed off the glass walls. Her body convulsed in his arms, her legs trembling uselessly as she collapsed back against his chest.  

And still—he didn't stop. He held her upright, kept her impaled on his length as he whispered against her ear

"You’re never getting away from me," He murmured, voice low and possessive. "Every time you walk tomorrow? You’ll feel me... remember who owns you."

He stayed inside her—still hard, still claiming—as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His lips brushed the shell of her ear. "Feel that?" He murmured, voice a velvet growl. "I’m not done with you yet."  

Her breath hitched—weak, shattered—as if she couldn’t believe it either.  

But he wasn’t joking.

He rocked into her slowly this time—a deliberate, torturous glide that made her whimper like a thing owned and cherished all at once. "Mine," He repeated again, like a vow sealed in flesh and fire. "Say it... one more time before I make you come again."

She trembled in his arms, her voice weak and broken. "Y-yours..."  

He smirked against her neck—possessive, satisfied. "Good girl."  

And then his hips moved again—slow at first, savoring every inch of her tight heat—before building into a relentless rhythm once more. She was soaked, sensitive, ruined, but he didn’t care. He wanted her shattered beyond repair—completely undone by him and only him.  

"You're never escaping me," He growled into the curve of her shoulder as he drove deeper, hitting her sweet spot

She didn't have the energy to scream anymore, her body just twitched and jolted at every spurt that shoots into her womb

He held her close—possessively—as the last of his warmth filled her womb, pulse after pulse, marking her deep inside.  

Her body twitched and jolted weakly around him, every spurt drawing tiny, broken tremors from her exhausted frame. She was soaked, dripping with their mix—her thighs trembling, her breath shallow and uneven.  

He nuzzled into the crook of her neck, biting gently at the flushed skin. "Feel that?" He murmured hoarsely. "Every drop… all for you."  

His hips gave one final roll—deep and slow—and she whimpered like it was too much to bear… like it was everything she needed all at once.

"You're mine," He whispered again—not demanding this time, but soft now. A truth carved into bone.

"And I'm never letting go."