Content Warning: This chapter contains mature or potentially inappropriate content. Reader discretion is advised. The content is intended purely for fantasy and entertainment purposes, and is not meant to promote or endorse any such behavior. We strongly believe in and advocate for the importance of consent.
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"How does it feel, Erica Madden, to be the first woman to slap me?" Walter's voice was laced with dry amusement, but his eyes flickered with something darker, something feral.
Before I could react, he closed the distance between us. His hand wrapped around my waist, pulling me into him. His lips crashed into mine—forceful, heated, insistent.
I struggled, pushing against his solid chest. "Stop," I breathed. But the way he held me, with such raw intensity, sent shivers down my spine. My body betrayed me. His broad frame pressed into mine, his grip firm, unyielding. My boobs crushed against his chest as he deepened the kiss.
With a sudden burst of strength, I shoved him away. Our eyes met. Mine wide with disbelief—his smoldering with a maddening mix of desire and triumph. Then, like some invisible thread snapped between us, I surged forward and kissed him back.
Hard.
We melted into each other, lost in a storm of passion. My fingers tangled in his hair. His hands explored my ass. It was messy, electric, unstoppable.
"Damn, little bird," Walter murmured with a smirk, his lips still brushing mine. "Who would've thought you were starving for me all this time?"
"No… no, it was a mistake," I whispered, taking a shaky step back. "I need to go."
I turned to leave, but I'd barely made it a few feet when he caught me again—strong arms lifting me clean off the ground, one hand gripping under my thighs, holding my ass.
"You really think I'm just going to let you run after that?" he said with a low growl.
"What are you doing, Walter?!" I gasped, my limbs flailing.
"Taking you home."
"What?!" Panic shot through me. "Put me down! This isn't funny!"
I kicked, twisted, screamed—but deep down, a small, shameful part of me thrilled at the chaos.
Walter carried me straight to his sleek black BMW, opened the passenger door, and dropped me inside. He slammed the door, then got in beside me and locked the car with a decisive click.
"Put your seatbelt on," he ordered, voice cold.
"No! I'm not going anywhere with you! I'm not some toy for you to play with—"
He leaned over suddenly, yanked the seatbelt across my body, and before I could protest, he kissed me again. Slower this time. Burning. I shoved him away, breathless and shaken.
He stared at me, his expression hardening. "Lady, enough. I've been sweet. I've been patient. But keep pushing me, and I swear—" His voice dropped to a growl. "Don't wake the animal in me. You kissed me, Erica. You set this in motion. Now you deal with what comes next. The more you fight, the more it'll cost you."
His words rang through the car like a warning—and a promise.
I slumped in my seat, silent. Confused. Angry. And something else I didn't want to name.
Walter. One of the wealthiest, most powerful men in the country. A man known for charm, ruthlessness, and unpredictable rage. A man who had just abducted me with terrifying ease.
The car sped through winding roads in silence. I tried to process what had just happened. Who this man really was. I had heard stories—whispers, mostly—about Walter being Ezel's biggest rival. He is the same age as Lucas. But I had never expected to become part of his twisted game.
After thirty-five minutes, the city gave way to rolling hills and towering trees. And then… the mansion appeared.
The iron gates swung open automatically, guarded by suited men who nodded as the BMW rolled in. My breath caught in my throat.
The estate was massive. An architectural marvel. The mansion stood like a palace carved from marble and stone, with gothic archways, grand balconies, and windows that gleamed like black mirrors in the twilight. Ivy curled along the edges of the façade, half-wild and beautiful. Golden lights glowed from inside, casting the mansion in a soft, seductive aura.
A circular driveway wrapped around a marble fountain shaped like a pair of swans in flight. Lush gardens flanked both sides, their blooms vivid even under the moonlight.
Above the grand front doors, in gilded letters: WALTER MANSION.
The car came to a slow stop. Walter turned to me for the first time since we left.
"Welcome home, Erica," he said, breaking the ice after being silent for thirty five minutes straight.