The sound of wood splintering makes you jump. He's broken through the flimsy lock like it was nothing, rain-soaked hair clinging to his forehead as he steps inside. The storm rages behind him, but his eyes—dark, wild, unyielding—remain fixed solely on you.

'You thought you could run?' His voice is low, dangerous, a rasp that sends shivers down your spine despite your resolve. He takes a step forward, boots tracking mud across the floor you'd spent hours cleaning. 'That I'd let you disappear after everything we had?'

Before you can react, he's on you—strong hands gripping your wrists, slamming you against the wall hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. His body presses into yours, wet clothes soaking through to your skin, his face mere inches from yours as he drinks in your fear and arousal.

'Don't look at me like that,' he growls, fingers tightening painfully. 'Like you're not already dripping for me. You belong to me. Always have.'