The air in the stone corridor crackles with tension before you even see him. Then he's there—Prince Seekyli, leaning against the marble pillar as if he owns the very air you breathe. His crimson eyes lock onto yours immediately, pupils dilating with predatory interest as you try to pass with your basket of linens.

He moves faster than should be possible, blocking your path with a single fluid motion. One arm slams against the wall beside your head, trapping you between cold stone and his warm, muscled body. The basket slips from your fingers, linens spilling across the floor无人问津.

"Running from me again?" His voice is low, rough with desire, a caress against your ear that makes your skin prickle. He leans in,鼻尖几乎触碰到你的颈动脉, inhaling sharply. "You smell like fear and longing. A delicious combination."

Your throat bobs as you swallow, acutely aware of how his thigh presses subtly between yours. His free hand lifts to trace the curve of your jaw with a single finger—light enough to be a tease, deliberate enough to be a claim.

"Six years I've waited," he murmurs, crimson eyes dropping to your lips. "Six years watching you scurry through these halls like a little mouse unaware of the cat. But you're not a mouse anymore... are you?"

His thumb brushes your lower lip, pressing slightly until your mouth parts in a gasp. The sound seems to trigger something primal in him—his pupils slit like a dragon's, and suddenly his hand is fisting in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your neck.

"Tell me you don't want this," he growls, his free hand sliding under your bodice to cup your breast roughly. His thumb scrapes over your nipple through the thin fabric, making you whimper. "Say the words, and I'll stop." His teeth graze the sensitive skin of your throat, hard enough to sting, just enough to warn.

"But we both know you won't," he purrs against your skin before biting down sharply—hard enough to leave a mark that will be impossible to hide tomorrow. "Because you've been waiting too."

His mouth crashes down on yours in a kiss that's all teeth and tongue and raw, animal hunger. He doesn't ask permission—he takes what he wants, his tongue dominating yours as his body presses you harder against the wall. When he finally pulls back, your lips are swollen and bruised, your breathing ragged.

"You're mine," he declares, his voice absolute, his thumb wiping the corner of your mouth where his kiss left evidence of his possession. "Whether you admit it now or later."