The lights die with a hard jolt.
Not a flicker. A snap.
The elevator shudders. Stops dead between floors.
Darkness swallows the metal box.
My breath catches in my throat.
His arm is already around my waist.
Pulling me flush against him.
Heat. Muscles. The hard line of his chest.
I don’t have time to speak before his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is a claim.
Deep. Desperate. Absolute.
I gasp into it. Back hits the mirrored wall.
The glass is cool against my spine.
His body is fire.
I melt. Fingers curl into his shirt.
He tastes like command and need.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to press his forehead to mine.
His voice is a low rumble in the dark.
“I don’t even know your name but I know you’re mine.”
My pulse hammers against my ribs.
I nod against his lips. “Yours.”
He growls.
One hand slides down my ribs. The other grips my thigh.
Hikes it up around his hip.
He lifts me.
I wrap my legs around him. Heels lock behind his back.
He presses me flat against the mirror.
My reflection stares back.
Wide eyes. Flushed cheeks. Messed-up hair.
His cock presses through his trousers.
Already hard. Already waiting.
“Look at us,” he murmurs. “Look at what you do to me.”
I don’t have to look. I can feel it.
The thick ridge of him. The urgent press.
He doesn’t bother undressing me slowly.
His hands are inside my top. Pushing it up.
Baring my breasts to the cool air.
His mouth finds my nipple. Nips. Sucks.
I arch. Gasps tear from my throat.
His fingers work my bra clasp.
One snap. Gone.
I’m bare for him. Every inch.
He cups me. Thumbs circle.
“So wet,” he curses. “Already dripping for me.”
He’s right. I’m soaked. Needing. Craving.
His hand drops to my waist. Unzips my skirt.
Shoves it down. Kicks off my heels.
His belt buckle clicks.
He shoves his trousers and boxers down just enough.
My cock—no, his cock—snaps free.
Thick. Heavy. Veined. Aching.
He lines himself up.
I’m already open. Already waiting.
He pushes in.
Slow at first. Just the tip. Stretching me. Testing me.
I whimper. Back presses into the glass.
“Breathe,” he commands.
I do.
He bottoms out.
Full. Perfect. Right where he belongs.
His eyes lock onto mine in the mirror.
Dark. Possessive. Devouring.
“Mine,” he repeats.
He pulls back. Drives in.
Hard. Deep. Unforgiving.
I cry out. Fingers claw at his shoulders.
He sets a brutal pace. No hesitation. No mercy.
Just thrust after thrust.
The mirror shakes beneath us.
My legs tremble. His hands grip my thighs.
Holding me open.
I watch us. Watch him take me.
Watch his jaw tighten. Watch the way his gaze never leaves mine.
He’s claiming me.
Not just my body. My soul.
I’ve never felt this. Not like this.
Instalove isn’t a word. It’s a fact.
He’s been mine since the moment I walked in.
“Daddy,” I whisper.
The word slips out before I think.
His hips stutter. His breath hitches.
“Say it again,” he growls.
“Daddy.”
He curses. Thighs burn. Chest heaves.
“Fuck. You have no idea what you’re asking for.”
I do.
I need it.
I need to be filled. Claimed. Marked.
He grips my hips. Drives deeper.
Hits that spot over and over.
My core clamps down. Heat pools low in my belly.
“Come for me,” he orders. “Let me feel you squeeze my cock.”
I break.
Shuddering. Screaming his name.
He doesn’t stop.
He rides out my climax. Takes mine with me.
His thrusts turn erratic. Desperate.
“I’m close,” he grits out.
“Give it to me,” I beg. “Fill me. Keep me.”
He groans. Long. Deep.
He bottoms out one last time.
Holds me there.
Hot. Thick. Pulsing.
He cums deep inside me.
Wave after wave. Filling me. Claiming me.
I cling to him. Trembling. Saturated with him.
He stays buried. Forehead resting against mine.
Breathing. Heartbeats syncing.
“You’re never leaving this building without me,” he murmurs.
I nod. “Never.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me.
His thumb brushes my cheek. “What’s your name, baby?”
“Jessa,” I whisper.
He closes his eyes. “Jessa.”
Like he’s memorizing it. Like it belongs on his tongue.
He kisses me. Soft now. Slower.
But the promise in it is still hard. Still absolute.
“I’m Victor,” he says. “And you’re mine.”
I smile. “I know.”
He chuckles. Low. Dark.
The elevator lights flicker back on.
We don’t move.
He doesn’t even try to pull out.
Lets me feel him. Lets me know he’s still inside. Still connected.
“We’re going to have a baby,” he says suddenly.
Not a question. A certainty.
My stomach clenches. Eyes burn.
“How do you know?”
“I don’t,” he admits. “But I want to. I need to. You’re made for it. Made for me.”
My chest tightens.
“I want it too,” I whisper.
He kisses my temple. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go. Not ever.”
He adjusts me in his arms. Keeps me against his chest.
The doors slide open with a soft chime.
Two women in business suits step out.
Stop dead.
Eyes wide. Lips parted.
I’m draped over Victor’s hip. Skirt around my waist. His trousers low on his hips.
My reflection in the open elevator doors shows it all.
His mouth on my neck. My hand in his hair.
The way he holds me like I’m priceless.
One of the women swallows hard. “Uh… excuse us?”
Victor doesn’t even look at them.
“Move,” he says. Calm. Cold. Final.
They scramble. Doors slide shut.
We’re alone again.
He carries me to the stairs.
I don’t protest.
I’ve never felt safer.
In his arms, I belong.
And I know, with absolute certainty, that I’m going to love him forever.