Allison found herself pinned against a wide, cold table, the chill seeping into her skin as her vision swam in a dizzying fog.

“You…” she barely managed before Kellan’s lips silenced her, the pressure fierce.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, his fingers brushing her skin, sending an electric shock up her spine. The sensation was both searing and unforgettable.

“Slower,” Allison whispered, her breath ragged as her hand found the sharp contours of his waist, her fingers meeting the hardness beneath. He was all fire and steel, impressive, but utterly lacking in tenderness.

But Kellan wasn’t listening. His body moved with primal urgency, like a predator savoring its prey. Moments ago, they'd pointed guns at each other's vital organs; now, they were locked in a dangerous rhythm fueled by something far greater than hatred.

“Don’t move!”

His rough, deep voice filled the air. His ragged breathing, the intensity of that command alone, would have sent most people’s blood racing. But Allison wasn’t most people. Orders didn’t sit well with her.

With a quick movement, he tightened his arm around her neck, placing his other hand on her shoulder, shifting their positions. She wasn’t one to be controlled.

Kellan hit the table with a thud, a groan escaping his lips as he opened his eyes. The coldness in his gaze had melted into something more… confusing.

Now straddling him, Allison brushed hair from her flushed face, her confident expression leaving no room for doubt. Her chest heaved, but her eyes, unyielding, remained fixed on his.

“I’ll be in charge!”

Her fingers traced the chiseled muscles of his torso, each hard and defined as marble. Kellan’s face was shadowed, but his body—lean, powerful, a perfect V—was a sculptor’s dream. They were both using each other, but in that moment, it didn't feel like a loss.

She kissed him again, methodically unbuttoning his shirt before losing patience and ripping the fabric away, her palms resting on the warmth of his chest. Kellan, always in control, had never encountered such a reversal. Instead of resisting, he let it happen, though his hands clung to her waist as if to make her a part of him.

Her silhouette, sculpted against the dim light, was an artist’s muse, each movement bringing them closer to chaos. She kissed him gently, from neck to cheek, then his deep, magnetic eyes.

The rest of the night blurred into fragmented memories: a violent storm, waves tossing her about. She snapped back to reality for a fleeting second, seeing starlight dancing in her eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“The effects of the drugs haven’t worn off yet.”

“Are you serious? What are you, an animal? And stop biting me! … Not there, you idiot!”

The night continued in a whirlwind of desire and passion.

When she woke, something hard dug into her side. Her fingers curled around the cold silver metal of a gun. He was inches from the dagger that had once been at his waist; danger had been their silent witness.

She sat up, her eyes drifting to the intricate ceiling designs, struggling to focus. For a moment, her thoughts spun, unable to grasp anything solid. The dimly lit room, barely illuminated by light filtering through heavy curtains, resembled a battlefield. The man beside her slept soundly, his muscular back rising and falling with each breath.

Allison’s head was foggy, her body aching. She stood, her toes digging into the plush carpet as she leaned against the couch. Her legs were weak, shaking from the aftermath of what could only be described as a war between their bodies.

Chaos reigned: a broken vase, scattered petals, overturned chairs, and condoms abandoned near the bed. The trail of destruction marked their wild escapades.

She blinked, reality hitting her like a splash of cold water. It hadn’t been a dream; it had been real.

She muttered, “He’s a real savage!” She didn’t need a mirror to see the evidence: bruises, bite marks, and teeth marks dotted her waist in angry purples and reds, a testament to the night’s ferocity. Even her thighs were a mess of violent colors.

“Where the hell did he come from?” she wondered aloud, toying with the absurd notion of smothering him with a pillow.

The man, still under the influence of the drug, lay unconscious, his face buried in the pillow. Red scratches from her nails marred his back, a mark of their night together.

Allison poured a glass of water, the coolness restoring her clarity as she contemplated her next move.