Dangerous Possession

"Me, into you? Do I look like a freak?" When I was sixteen, twentyfiveyearold Tristan backed me into a corner. He towered over me, his dark eyes filled with cold mockery.

But on the night of my eighteenth birthday, he trapped me against the wide mahogany desk like a beast losing control. He roughly ripped off his expensive silk tie.

His scalding breath washed over my face as he kissed me hard, his voice shaking with a hoarse rasp. "If I have to be a bastard to have you, I'll be a bastard." Chapter 1 Tristan stood outside the window.

His dark eyes were fixed on the Latin dance instructor's hand resting on my waist. It was the final class of the session, and I was the only student left in the studio.

When the instructor asked for one last dance to close out the course, I nodded. He had never crossed any lines before.

I remembered how I had looked at Tristan back then, my eyes full of hope.

After awkwardly confessing my feelings, I swallowed my nerves. "Do you like me?" He leaned casually against his desk, swirling a rock glass in one hand.

The sharp bite of vodka drifted through the air. He just looked down at me through halfclosed eyes, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Me, into you?

Do I look like a freak?" Since that day, I forced myself to get over him. I never brought it up again.

I ignored the dark look on Tristan's face outside the glass and followed the instructor's steps.

Just as the song was ending, the hand that had been resting politely on my waist suddenly slid up my back. He pressed hard, forcing my body flush against his.

The instructor's nauseating face thrust close. His rough fingers slid up my spine like a snake. Naked, sleazy intent flashed in his eyes. "Baby, classes are over.

Why don't we head to the locker room and unwrap a 'special gift'?" The hand on my back held me in an iron grip. He puckered his lips and leaned in. I jerked my head back.

Right before his mouth touched mine, the man was violently ripped away. Crash! Tristan had kicked the door open.

Like a demon straight out of hell, he pinned the instructor by the throat with one hand, lifting him completely off the floor and slamming him against the mirrored wall.

The glass instantly spiderwebbed with cracks. "Which hand did you touch her with? Speak!" The murderous intent in his eyes was bonechilling.

The instructor coughed wildly, unable to form a word. He just shook his head in panic. Tristan dragged him down and threw him to the floor.

The instructor was scrawny, much shorter than Tristan. Handling him looked completely effortless. The guy was already dizzy from the hit.

Afraid Tristan would end up with an assault charge, I took a step forward. "Tristan…" Tristan turned his head. "Don't tell me you're going to beg for him." The absolute ice in the man's eyes nailed my feet to the floor. "I'm sorry!

I'm so sorry! I didn't mean anything by it!" Tristan's expensive handmade leather shoe mercilessly crushed the instructor's face against the floor.

The sound of grinding bone was stomachturning. He took his time lighting a cigar.

Then, he crouched down, grabbed the exact hand the instructor had used to touch me, and shoved the glowing, redhot cherry of the cigar directly into the back of his hand. "Ahhh—!" The sickening sizzle of burning flesh mixed with the man's agonizing scream echoing through the room. "If you can't keep your mouth in check, I'll do it for you." Tristan stood up.

He looked down at the man writhing on the floor, pulled a thick stack of cash from his wallet, and tossed it onto him. "Compensation." The drive back was dead silent.

Sitting in the passenger seat, I frantically typed out everything that just happened and texted my best friend.

Reading her furious, pagelong rant cursing out the instructor, the corners of my mouth twitched up into a small smile. Tristan caught it.

He drove with one hand on the wheel, his eyes locked on the road ahead. "You still have it in you to smile?" I dropped my smile. "No.

Just a text from a friend." "A guy or a girl?" The air in the car instantly thickened. The only sound was Tristan's fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

I turned to look at him. "Tristan, thank you for today. But I think I'm entitled to a little privacy." Chapter 2 The man beside me let out a low scoff, ignoring my comment.

He just pressed down harder on the gas pedal.

I stared out the window, my brow furrowing as the familiar streetlights disappeared. "This isn't the way to my house." "Your parents caught an emergency flight to New Zealand this afternoon.

They called right before takeoff and asked me to take you to my place for a while." I pressed my lips into a thin line. "It's fine, Tristan.

I can stay by myself." The words barely left my mouth before the tires screeched against the asphalt.

The sudden stop threw me forward against the seatbelt before slamming me back into the leather seat. In the confined space of the car, Tristan's shadow completely engulfed me.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned in, aggressive and predatory. His large hand clamped down on my shoulder like a steel vise.

A dangerous, dark fire burned in his deep eyes, and his voice dropped low, sounding exactly like an ultimatum. "Harlow, don't test me when I'm already pissed.

Now, are you going to walk in there like a good girl, or do you want me to throw you over my shoulder and carry you in for the whole neighborhood to see?" The adrenaline and tension I'd been choking down all day finally snapped.

I shoved at his arm, my vision blurring as a hot sting hit the back of my nose. "I want to go to my own house." I choked out, pushing harder. "Let go of me, Tristan.

I hate you." Tristan froze. The iron grip on my shoulder loosened slightly. "Why are you crying?" I ignored him, curling into a tight ball against the car door and sniffing hard.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him step out into the night. A second later, the passenger door was yanked open.

Without a single word, he reached in, scooped me up into his arms, and kicked the car door shut. With tears still clinging to my lashes, I looked up at him, completely stunned.

Tristan's jaw was locked tight as he met my gaze. After a few agonizing seconds, the arm wrapped around my back tightened, pulling me closer.

When he spoke, the edge in his voice was completely gone. "I'm sorry." As he carried me inside, he admitted his heart was still hammering out of his chest from what happened at the studio.

If he hadn't walked in when he did, that instructor wouldn't have stopped at just talking. The sheer panic had made his temper snap. He apologized again.

For as long as I could remember, I had never seen this man lower his head to apologize to anyone. He let me get away with murder.

A small thrill shot through me, instantly followed by a hollow ache in my chest. Tristan treating me this well just meant he saw me as a kid he had to protect.

Every time I reminded myself of that fact, I ruthlessly stamped out the tiny sparks of hope flaring to life inside me.

But his next rulebreaking move forced me to face a terrifying possibility. Maybe Tristan actually did like me… and maybe it was more than just a little.

Using my high school graduation and impending adulthood as an excuse, my best friend dragged me to a club.

Even though our IDs said we were eighteen, I was still two months away from my actual birthday.

Driven by pure curiosity and a thirst for chaos, she scoped out the place for about five minutes before ditching me at our booth to go conquer the dance floor.

I took one tiny sip of the neon drink in front of me, shoved it aside, and focused entirely on the fruit platter.

I was scanning the crowd for her when a figure blocked my view. "Hey gorgeous, you all alone?" Classic, sleazy pickup line.

I gave him a tight, fake smile and kept my mouth shut. "Let me buy you a drink." He bit his lip and raised an eyebrow. …Did he seriously think he looked hot doing that?

Before I could tell him to get lost, an unfamiliar, professional voice cut in. "Sir, you've had too much to drink.

Let me have someone escort you out." "Hey—!" Before the sleazeball could even protest, two massive bouncers grabbed him under the arms and hauled him away.

The guy in the suit turned to me. "Mr. Tristan is waiting for you in VIP Booth 1 upstairs.

Don't worry about your friend; we'll keep an eye on her." Chapter 3 I silently followed another waiter upstairs.

The second floor dripped with exclusive luxury, a stark contrast to the chaos below. I stopped in front of the VIP booth. A few rich kids were shaking dice cups.

Tristan looked up, an unlit cigarette clamped between his teeth. "Come here." I slid onto the leather sofa beside him. "Did you see me down there?" He let out a low chuckle, offering zero explanation.

Listening to their banter, I realized one of these trustfund babies actually owned the club. I watched them play several rounds without grasping the rules.

All I knew was that Tristan hadn't lost once.

Someone groaned, slamming his cup down. "Is there something wrong with Tristan's dice?" "Yeah, man, you have to be counting or something!" Tristan leaned back, a lazy smirk on his face. "Don't blame me just because you suck." Over their loud protests, Tristan suddenly turned his attention to me. "Did you catch how it works?" I blinked, shaking my head.

He reached over, grabbed the dice cup from the guy next to him, and placed it right in front of me.

He closed the distance between us, his large hand covering mine and pressing it flat against the leather cup. Before I could even process the contact, someone cheered. "Hell yeah!

Let the girl shake it. We can trust her!" "I don't know how to play." I tried to pull my hand back, but his grip was like iron. "Just shake it." His head was dangerously close.

The faint, intoxicating scent of alcohol laced his breath, washing over my skin as he spoke. I turned my head to look at him, crashing straight into his dark, bottomless eyes.

The air between us instantly thickened, pulling taut like a drawn bowstring. "Tristan, your turn!" I snapped back to reality and whipped my head forward.

Tristan guided my hand, shaking the cup before bringing it to a sudden stop. He lifted the lid, checked the dice, and let out a soft laugh. "What?" I asked. It was his turn to call.

He dragged his gaze away from me. "Seven sixes." The next guy narrowed his eyes. "Call!" Tristan lost. He just smirked and downed his drink.

For the next few rounds, Tristan's deep, burning gaze kept wandering, locking onto my lips, flushed red from the alcohol. He was clearly distracted.

I watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard, losing three rounds in a row. Guilt gnawed at me. I figured my terrible diceshaking was the reason he was getting so drunk.

So, I volunteered to take him home. The designated driver parked the car in the garage and left.

I supported Tristan's heavy frame as we took the elevator up and stumbled into his penthouse.

When I approached with a hot, damp towel, Tristan, who had been resting with his eyes closed, suddenly snapped them open.

Like a black panther locking onto its prey, his hand shot out and clamped around my wrist.

He gave a violent yank, pulling me entirely off balance and crashing directly into his chest.

I was instantly swallowed by the overwhelming scent of raw testosterone mixed with sharp vodka. Our faces were inches apart. Tristan's eyes were hazy, heavy with liquor.

One hand gripped my shoulder, while the other reached up, his fingers brushing against my earlobe. "Tristan…" "Mm," he hummed, the sound vibrating deep in his chest.

The fingers at my ear trailed slowly down my jaw, coming to rest directly on my lips. His rough thumb pressed into my bottom lip, rubbing back and forth.

Tristan's gaze dropped, fixing entirely on my mouth. He leaned in, the heat of his skin burning against mine.

Right before his lips could touch mine, his head dropped onto my shoulder.

He let out a breathy, frustrated laugh against my neck. "Not eighteen yet." At the time, I chalked it up to the alcohol talking.

It wasn't until my eighteenth birthday that I finally saw Tristan's true colors.

On the exact day I turned eighteen, a guy from my class, Dylan, confessed to me in public, right as Tristan walked in.

Dylan stood in front of me, holding a massive bouquet. "Harlow, I really like you." He looked at me, eyes full of nervous hope. "Do you like me?" Tristan happened to be walking down the stairs, staring down at the entire scene from above.

Chapter 4 For a split second, I felt like I had been dragged two years into the past. I had asked Tristan the exact same question. His rejection had been absolute.

All the blurry, intoxicating tension from that night he was drunk meant absolutely nothing. He didn't like me; it was all just in my head.

I was so caught up in my own head that Dylan took my silence as a yes. He shoved the massive bouquet into my arms and reached for my hand.

Before he could even make contact, Tristan materialized behind me. He grabbed my wrist and yanked me back. The flowers hit the floor with a soft thud.

The air in the room instantly turned suffocating. Tristan didn't even glance at the ruined bouquet.

He just stared at Dylan, a chilling smile playing on his lips. "Did she say yes before you put your hands on her?" Dylan's face flushed a furious, embarrassed red. "I'm sorry…" Then, he looked at me, pushing his luck. "So, is it a yes?" The grip around my wrist tightened like a vise.

I pressed my lips together, hesitating.

Dylan had always been genuinely sweet to me, and the last thing I wanted was to publicly humiliate him in front of all our classmates. "I…" "She says no." Tristan cut me off completely.

He was still wearing that smile, but the murderous hostility rolling off him was unmistakable.

Before anyone could even process what was happening, he threw a glance at his assistant, who had just rushed over with some files. "Entertain our guests." Without another word, he dragged me upstairs and straight into his study. "What were you hesitating for down there?" Tristan didn't bother flipping the light switch.

The only illumination came from the pale moonlight bleeding through the window, completely masking his face in the shadows.

His laugh was icecold. "Don't tell me you were actually going to say yes to him." A shiver of unease ran down my spine, but I fired back, stubbornly holding my ground. "Why not?" Tristan stalked toward me, backing me up until the edge of the mahogany desk dug into my lower back.

With nowhere left to run, I braced myself and met his gaze. The pitchblack room had nothing on the dark, consuming void in his eyes. He didn't blink as he stared me down.

Suddenly, his arm hooked around my waist.

Before I could even gasp, he lifted me effortlessly with one arm and planted me right on the desk. "You like me, don't you?" His scalding palm pressed against the sensitive skin of my waist, his thumb stroking dangerously.

His powerful physique completely trapped me in his territory. Tristan asked softly, his gaze growing increasingly burning.

The hand on my lower back didn't move, keeping me firmly in place.

Hearing him casually throw the feelings I had buried for years back in my face sent a hot rush of humiliation and raw anger straight to my head.

I glared at him for a few seconds before fighting back with everything I had, shoving at his chest. "Not anymore! I stopped liking you a long time ago!

And don't forget what you said. If you liked me, you'd be a freak." Tristan pinned my thrashing legs effortlessly and clamped down on my wrists.

He ground his teeth, letting out a dark, furious laugh. With his free hand, he roughly ripped off his tie.

The last thread of his sanity completely snapped. "If I have to be a fucking bastard to have you, I'll be a bastard." I froze in shock, but Tristan was already leaning in.

His rough fingers clamped down on my jaw in a death grip, forcefully prying my teeth apart, plundering all my breath with a ferocity bordering on punishment.

Ignoring my struggles, Tristan pinned both my wrists above my head against the desk with one hand, kissing me deeply, frantically, with a force that felt like he wanted to grind me into his very bones.

Once my brain finally caught up, I thrashed wildly, but it was completely useless. Tristan held me down with ruthless dominance, refusing to let me move an inch.

Desperate, I sank my teeth into his bottom lip. Tristan stopped, his heavy eyes snapping open to look at me. But he didn't pull away.

He just trailed a cluster of hot, feverish kisses around the corner of my mouth. "What's wrong?" I jerked my head away, my voice trembling violently. "Tristan, what are you doing?" Tristan gripped my chin, forcing my face back to meet his dark, obsessive gaze. "Refuting it with action." Chapter 5 I blinked, my brain taking a long second to process his words.

He was rebutting what I had said earlier about him not liking me. It was a cliché but perfectly logical reason. I was too young.

Tristan openly admitted that when I was sixteen, he really did only see me as a kid. The shift in his feelings had happened completely under the radar.

Tristan leaned down, coming in for another kiss. I immediately threw my hand up, pressing it flat against his mouth.

Tristan raised a single dark eyebrow. "I haven't agreed to be your girlfriend yet." He played along, his breath warm against my palm. "Then what's it going to take?" "I need to think about it," I said, holding my ground.

I still remembered crying my eyes out all night after he rejected me two years ago, swearing I was done with love forever! Letting him win this easily… it felt like a total ripoff.

Unless he was genuinely pissed, Tristan usually let me get my way. This time was no different.

He let out a low laugh, his thumb brushing the shell of my ear. "Deal." For the next few days, Tristan actually put in the effort to pursue me.

Like today, when he called to take me out for dinner.

I thought about it, but turned him down. "I already have plans." "Guy or girl?" …He literally only ever cared about this one specific detail. "Girl," I lied.

I was actually meeting Dylan. Tristan ruthlessly cutting Dylan off the other day still made me feel guilty.

I asked him out today to apologize for Tristan's behavior and to give him a clear rejection. Dylan was sweet, but the only person I wanted was Tristan.

I just didn't tell Tristan to avoid the headache. Just as Dylan and I finished eating and were about to leave, the restaurant's heavy glass doors swung open.

Tristan walked in, flanked by a group of highlevel executives in tailored suits.

His freezing gaze cut right through the crowd, locking with deadly precision onto me and Dylan standing sidebyside. The air in the room instantly dropped below zero.

I knew right then, tonight was going to completely spiral out of control. My regret for picking a place near the penthouse purely for convenience instantly hit its peak.

I completely forgot that Tristan's corporate headquarters was literally blocks away.

Tristan just stared me down for a long, suffocating moment before silently walking away with his clients.

Since my parents were on a sixmonth business trip, I was still staying at Tristan's place. He didn't come home until eleven that night.

My heart, which had been in my throat all evening, slammed violently against my ribs as the heavy footsteps approached my bedroom. A solid knock hit the wood.

I played dead. "Open the door." …No escaping this tonight. I dragged my feet across the carpet and twisted the knob. "Tristan." The sharp scent of alcohol instantly hit my nose.

I didn't even need to look up to know he was furious. "How was dinner with your friend?" "It was good." My voice totally lacked conviction.

Tristan stared at me in dead silence for what felt like an eternity. Then, a cold, empty smile flickered across his face. "Get some sleep." I watched him turn around.

His broad back looked strangely isolated in the dim hallway.

Driven by some instinct I couldn't explain, I reached out and grabbed his sleeve. "Are you mad?" Tristan kept his back to me. He didn't speak. He didn't move.

Suddenly, I didn't want to make things hard for him anymore. He hadn't actually done anything wrong.

Two years ago, him rejecting me because he didn't like me back was perfectly reasonable—both morally and emotionally.

Later on, when he did catch feelings, he had to forcefully suppress them and wait for me to grow up.

I realized that everything hidden beneath his casual, lazy arrogance was just endless, agonizing restraint.

Chapter 6 I took a step forward and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind. "Why are you so mad? I don't even like him." Tristan turned around.

His eyes betrayed a raw, almost shattered vulnerability. "Then who do you like?" I curled my lips into a smile, answering him syllable by syllable. "Tris.

Tan." The word barely left my lips before his large hand clamped around my wrist.

He roughly dragged me into his dimly lit bedroom, slamming me hard against the heavy solid wood door.

An overwhelming, suffocating kiss crashed down on me, dripping with territorial possessiveness.

He completely tore off his usual civilized mask, his voice dropping into a dark, irresistible command. "Open." The second my lips parted, he devoured my breath entirely.

Tristan pinned my shoulders, his ruthless grip leaving absolutely zero room for escape. Just as my lungs started burning for oxygen, I felt him slowly ease up.

The massive hands pinning my shoulders slid down to grip my waist.

Tristan slowly pulled back. "So what were you doing meeting him today?" I gasped for air, my words breaking apart. "To officially reject him.

To give him… a clear answer." "Good girl," Tristan murmured. Right in the middle of that thick, heated tension, my phone buzzed, completely ruining the mood.

I pulled it out and lit up the screen. [… ] It was Dylan. Tristan took two steps back and leaned against his desk.

He lifted his chin with a mocking smirk. "Answer it." I hesitated for a few seconds.

Knowing I had absolutely nothing to hide with Dylan, I answered it and put it on speaker. "Harlow, I really do like you