Ashes in his smile
Creighton stares at you for a long moment, your words hanging in the air between you.
You don’t flinch. You don’t look away.
Creighton king
“Wise,” he murmurs.
Before you can respond, his hand shoots out, grabbing your arm—not roughly, but with enough force to make your pulse leap. He yanks you closer, your bodies nearly touching.
Creighton king
“But I do expect payback…”
He says, his voice low and dangerous.
Creighton king
“And I plan on collecting it. Starting now.”
He pushes you back—gently, but deliberately—until your shoulders press against the cold wall. His frame boxes you in, one hand still on your arm, the other braced beside your head. You’re trapped between stone and heat.
Creighton king
“You owe me, Annika,” he breathes,
Creighton king
His face inches from yours. “And I always collect my debts.”
Your heart is pounding. You don’t know if it’s fear or adrenaline or something you’d rather not name. His eyes are locked on yours, daring you to speak, to move, to challenge him.
But you stay still. For now.
You stay pinned between the wall and his body, breathing fast, your hands clenched into fists.
Annika Volkov
“What do you want, Creighton?” you snap, your voice shaking—not from fear, but fury.
He leans in, one hand sliding down your side with a deliberate slowness, stopping at the curve of your thigh. His voice is rough in your ear.
Creighton king
“I want you to remember who you belong to,” he growls.
His mouth crashes against your neck—no tenderness, just claim. His other hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back, forcing you to meet his eyes.
Creighton king
“I want you to scream my name like you used to,” he hisses.
Creighton king
“And I want you to pay for shooting me… with your body.”
Annika Volkov
“This is madness,” you gasp, pushing hard against his chest.
Annika Volkov
“Let me go!”
But he falters. Just a beat. Just enough.
You shove him harder this time, and he steps back, barely, surprise flickering across his face.
Annika Volkov
“You think you can control me?” you spit.
Annika Volkov
“You don’t get to break me just because I broke you first.”
His jaw tightens. You see the war behind his eyes—rage, desire, betrayal—and something else. Maybe even regret.
Creighton king
“Madness?” he echoes, his voice like gravel and silk.
Creighton king
“Sweetheart, you shot me. Left me bleeding out in a room that used to smell like you.”
He slams a hand beside your head. You jump.
Creighton king
“Tell me—what should I call that?”
He presses in harder, chest to chest, unyielding. You push, but it’s like trying to move stone.
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