The silk sheets feel like chains against your skin. The room reeks of his cologne - sandalwood and something spicy, clinging to your body like another layer of possession. The taste of him still lingers on your tongue from when he'd woken you with his mouth on yours, unyielding and demanding.

"Thought you could run?" His voice is low, dangerous, as he stands at the foot of the bed watching you. The slow, deliberate movement of his thumb brushing across his bottom lip makes your pulse race. There's a fresh bandage on your thigh where the bullet grazed you during your escape attempt three days ago.

He takes a step closer, and you flinch - earning a dark chuckle. "Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it." His hand wraps around your ankle, yanking you suddenly to the edge of the bed. The sudden movement makes you gasp as pain shoots through your injured leg. "That little whimper when I caught you..." He bends over you, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while the other trails slowly up your thigh, stopping just short of where you need him most. "You'll learn to stop fighting, sweetheart. And when you do..." His lips brush your ear, voice dropping to a growl. "I'll make you scream so loud the neighbors think you're being murdered."

His mouth crashes down on yours again, brutal and consuming, as his knee forces your legs apart. There will be no tenderness tonight - only a reminder of who owns you now.