Kieran, Knight—leaned against the frame of the bed room door. About four maids were inside, clothes and shoes scattered across the floor like a storm had passed. They were all gathered around Genesis, who stood in front of the large mirror, flushed and flustered as the women fussed over her.
"You look so gorgeous," one of the maids cooed, brushing through Genesis's long hair. Her cheeks went red, unaware that another set of eyes was already locked onto her from the doorway.
"I wonder how the boss is going to react when he sees you," another giggled.
Genesis glanced down at herself, uneasy. The dress was revealing—dangerously so. It clung to her like a second skin, short, tight, and shimmering black. It hugged every curve, dipped low at the chest, and rode high up her thighs. Thin straps crossed her back, and a slit ran up one leg, revealing more skin with each shift in movement.
"What do you think he'll do? Rip it off?"
Her ears burned as laughter bubbled around her. But Knight wasn't laughing.
He stood at the door, gaze fixed solely on her—like he saw nothing else, no one else.
Then, one of the maids turned and froze. Her eyes widened. "Sir…"
All heads snapped toward the door. Genesis's eyes widened too, and she quickly turned back to the mirror, panic blooming in her chest. She slapped a hand over her exposed cleavage and tried tugging the hem of the dress lower with her other hand.
Her eyes fluttered shut. She could feel him before she saw him—before the sound of his footsteps grew louder. His scent wrapped around her like a warning and a promise. She didn't have to look. She knew it was him. Somehow, his presence had already swallowed the room whole.
Still covering herself, she sensed him draw closer… until he stopped just inches behind her, his presence massive, warm, and suffocating.
"I like your dress," he said.
Her heart skipped violently. Her eyes snapped open—instinctively—and met his gaze in the mirror. He was staring straight at her, his expression unreadable.
She parted her lips and mouthed, "Thank—"
"Take it off,"
Her breath hitched.
She stared at his reflection, frozen. His eyes weren't blue anymore. They were darker now—black with desire. No smile. No teasing. Just hunger.
Slowly, she turned to face him, but the moment she did, he stepped forward. She backed away until her spine met the cold glass. Still, he didn't touch her. His eyes devoured every inch of her.
Genesis's breathing grew shallow. She didn't understand. He said he liked the dress…so why did he want it off?
Didn't he like it on her?
Her mind raced, spiraling into confusion and heat.
Knight stared at his wife, and his mind drifted back to Alicia's voice in his head:
> "But why do you think this way?"
He had smirked.
> "Because I'm obsessed. I'm addicted. And I'll gladly cross every line if it means making her mine—if it means forcing her to be mine."
Now, in front of Genesis, that same smirk crept onto his face.
She shivered.
Without warning, his hand gripped her waist and spun her around. He pulled her against him, pressing her back to his chest. She felt the hard evidence of his desire against her spine, and her breath caught.
One of his hands slid around her throat, tilting her chin, forcing her back to arch as he stared into her eyes through the mirror.
Her chest heaved.
Then he pressed his nose to her neck and inhaled slowly—deeply—like she was the air he couldn't live without.
His voice was low, gravelly, and soaked in hunger.
"Baby," he whispered, "you rule my fucking world… and I gladly bow to you."
He kissed, licked, and bit her neck. He wanted her skin painted in his marks—wanted everyone to know she belonged to him. Not that anyone doubted it already. Who would dare test the limits of his madness?
But for Knight, that wasn't enough.
He pulled back, eyes dark with hunger. One hand moved to her breast, yanking down the cloth until it slipped away, exposing the soft swell and her pink, peaked nipple. Her eyes fluttered closed from the sudden chill and the heat crawling over her body—until he gripped her breast hard enough to make her gasp.
"Don't look away," he growled. "Look at the mirror. This face—" he leaned in, his breath hot on her ear, "—this body, this pussy… it's only for me to see. Only for me to own. To breed. To fill with my cum."
Her breath hitched. She shivered at his filthy words. A hot drip of arousal slipped down her thigh.
He gently rolled her nipple between his fingers before cupping her breast again. "I'm going to tattoo my fucking name here," he whispered darkly, squeezing her again, "because they're mine."
His hand moved lower, tracing down her trembling thighs—already marked with evidence of last night's obsession. His touch slid beneath her panties, and he found her soaked.
His smirk deepened.
In one swift tug, he yanked the panties down her legs. She gasped, unprepared, as he pushed the dress higher, exposing her dripping, flushed core. He grazed his fingers over her folds, then looked up, satisfied.
"I'm going to tattoo my name here, too."
Thwack.
His hand landed hard between her thighs, a slap to her pussy that made her legs tremble. She would've collapsed if he hadn't been holding her so tightly.
Still gripping her throat, he turned her toward the armchair a few feet away. That's when she noticed it—a box, resting perfectly in the center of the chair.
With his hand still caressing her slick folds, he leaned closer, voice velvet and sin.
"Go sit there, Angel," he murmured. "I have something for you."
She stared at the chair. At the box. Her heart thundered in her chest.
What was inside?