Bella's POV:
What the hell does he think he's doing?
The command, whispered against my ear, sent a jolt through my system that made me go perfectly still. But it wasn't obedience—it was pure, undiluted shock. My hands flew up, trying to pry his iron grip from my mouth, my body twisting to push him away. I was still furious at him, a fresh, hot anger burning through the initial shock.
And then his pheromones hit me. A heavy, suffocating wave of vanilla and dominance, pressing down on me, trying to force my body to submit, to go limp.
Is he seriously trying to control me now? Here? In this closed, airless box? I could get suffocated by this, by him.
Rage, clean and sharp, cut through the fear. Fine. Two could play this game.
I stopped fighting his hold. Instead, I focused inward, on the heat coiling in my core, on the frustration and the hurt and the raw, untamed power of the omega he had accidentally claimed. I pulled it all to the surface and let it go.
My own pheromones flooded the tiny space—not the subtle scent of wine, but the potent, intoxicating essence of it. The air thickened with the smell of a rare vintage, sharp, sweet, and utterly disorienting.
Knox froze behind me. A sharp, involuntary inhale ruffled my hair. His surprise was a physical tremor that ran through his body into mine.
He wanted to play with fire in a locked room? Fine. But I wasn't just a bunny to be cornered. I was the wine that could drive a man mad. And I would make sure he choked on it.
The effect was instantaneous. A low, possessive growl rumbled from Knox's chest, the sound vibrating through my back. My scent hadn't repelled him; it had ensnared him. His grip on me shifted from restraint to a desperate, almost frantic claim.
In his dazed, obsessive state, he stumbled back, his head bumping hard against a high shelf loaded with basketballs.
The world erupted into chaos.
The shelf gave way with a groan, and a cascade of rubber spheres rained down on us. With a swiftness that stole my breath, Knox moved, his body twisting to shield me from the barrage. In doing so, his hands released me.
I lost my balance, my hand flailing out and accidentally snagging on his collar. I yelped, pulling him down with me in a tangle of limbs.
We landed in a heap on the dusty floor. A gasp escaped my lips. He hovered above me, his body a cage, his ultramarine eyes wide with a mix of shock and raw, unfiltered hunger. The basketballs continued to pummel his back and head with dull, rhythmic thuds, but he didn't even flinch. He was perfectly, terrifyingly still, his entire world narrowed down to the space between our faces.
The thudding of the balls slowed, then stopped. A final basketball wobbled away into the corner, the only sound our ragged breathing in the sudden quiet.
He didn't move. The weight of him was solid, real, a shelter and a prison all at once. The dust motes danced in the slivers of light cutting through the grimy window, settling on his shoulders and in his dark hair.
All the anger, the fear, the confusion—it all condensed into this single, suspended moment. His eyes searched mine, and for the first time, I saw no calculation, no cold strategy. I saw only a reflection of my own chaos, a desperate, hungry question.
His gaze dropped to my lips.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence. Every instinct screamed to push him away, to reclaim the space he had stolen.
But my hands, tangled in the fabric of his collar, refused to let go.
Then, I felt it. A gentle, almost reverent touch. His gloved fingers, which had been so rough, carefully brushed the dust from the length of my bunny ears. The gesture was so unexpectedly tender, so out of place in our violent world, that a shiver, one of pure, unadulterated sensation,racked my entire body.
His eyes snapped back to mine, and in their purple depths, the hunger ignited into an inferno.
The gentle brush of his fingers along my dusty ears was my undoing. It was a gesture so at odds with the killer, the Don, the beast who had chased me. It was just a man, tending to something he found precious.
That single, tender touch shattered my last defense. A shiver, pure and electric, racked my entire body.
His eyes snapped back to mine, and in their glowing purple depths, the smoldering hunger ignited into a full-blown inferno. The question was gone, replaced by a devastating certainty.
He didn't ask. He didn't hesitate.
He closed the final inch between us.
His lips found mine, and the world exploded into a silent, brilliant supernova. It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a claiming, a confession, an answer to every unspoken question that had crackled between us since the beginning. It was hard and desperate, fueled by weeks of denial, anger, and a primal need that finally broke its chains.
A broken sound, half-sob, half-sigh, escaped me. My hands, still fisted in his collar, pulled him closer instead of pushing him away. My lips moved against his, not in surrender, but in a fierce, answering need. This was a fight, too—a battle of breath and longing, a collision of two souls who had been orbiting each other from the moment they met.
He tasted of stormy nights, of vanilla, and of a truth we could no longer outrun. Outside, the sirens wailed, a world away. In here, there was only the taste of him, the weight of his body, and the terrifying, glorious feeling of falling.
Our tongues tangled together in a heated, desperate dance.
It was not gentle or exploratory. It was a battle for dominance, a raw exchange of every unsaid word, every stifled moan, every moment of fear and longing. He tasted of dark secrets and power, and I met him with the intoxicating defiance of my own.
A low, guttural groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating through my own. One of his hands slid from my ear to cradle the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, tilting me to a better angle, deepening the kiss until I saw stars behind my closed eyelids. The other arm braced beside my head, his body a shield against the world, even as he plundered my mouth with a devastating intensity.
I was drowning in him, in the scent of dust and vanilla and pure, unadulterated Knox. My own hands slid from his collar to his neck, feeling the frantic pulse hammering under his skin, a mirror of my own. This was madness. This was ruin.
And I never, ever wanted it to stop.