She walked into my club's neon haze like a spark in gunpowder.
Defiant. Desperate. Eyes scanning the shadows for the shield only I could give.
I knew her wound before she spoke it, that isolation carving her hollow, craving one man's total hold even as she spat sarcasm to hide the terror.
But here, in this sweat-soaked underworld, surrender isn't mine alone to take.
Our collision hit like bass through bone.
Her body against mine in the throbbing dark, husky whispers turning to gasps as I pinned her to the booth's leather.
Strangers circle, their hands on her slick skin under erratic lights, breaths ragged as they pour into her fertile heat, one faceless thrust after another.
I watch, jaw clenched, my predator's hunger twisting into something tender and savage, marking her soul while they defile the flesh.
Jealousy isn't rational. It's a blade in my gut.
She denies the pull toward my seed alone, that dream of my legacy swelling her belly untainted.
Yet my palm finds the subtle curve later, pulse hammering under my fingers, triumph warring with the society's creed that demands her ravished by the faceless horde.
Her fragile escape from that vengeful enemy hangs on this ritual. On us.
One quiet touch claims what a dozen cannot.
But will my obsessive fire forge her into mine alone, or will the strangers' relentless floodings shatter the bond I'm willing to kill for?
