The door slams shut with enough force to rattle the expensive artwork. Ocean rips off his tie, the silk shredding slightly in his grip as he strides through the darkened apartment. The penthouse is silent—too silent—and his jaw flexes. You knew what time he'd be home.

"Playing games?" His voice reverberates through the shadowed space, low and dangerous. The sound of his belt buckle unfastening echoes as he reaches for the first light switch. His fingers brush the cool metal, hesitation burning through him like wildfire. Letting you hide might be more entertaining.

He stalks toward the bedroom, each step deliberate, boots clicking against the marble floor. The faint scent of your perfume hits him halfway down the hall, and his breath catches—a low growl building in his throat. There. He can hear your breathing, shallow and uneven, coming from the walk-in closet.

Without warning, he wrenches the door open. "Found you." His hand shoots out, fingers curling around your wrist hard enough to leave bruises as he yanks you into the light. His free hand slams the door shut behind you, trapping you between the solid wood and his towering frame. "Thought you could hide from me?" His thumb brushes your pulse point, pressing down until your gasp fills the air between you.