CHAPTER 36
**ZION**
“No! I won't. You're seriously messed up. Do you have some kind of mental problem? You probably aren't used to women rejecting you, so let me make this clear: Get. Out." Her voice trembles, trying to hide the fear behind a mask of bravery.
Messed up.
Mental problem.
Oh, she has no idea. I'm a storm waiting to unleash its fury. I casually stretch my muscles, trying to appear disinterested, but every movement is calculated and sharp.
"Zion, get out!" she demands again, her voice trembling with frustration.
"Sorry, but no," I respond with a casual shrug.
Her knuckles are white from gripping the towel so tightly, the flimsy piece of fabric the only barrier between us.
"Zion..."
“You actually believe you can just stand there and defy me?” I taunt, my voice low and edged with menace. The fear in her eyes only feeds the anger simmering within me.
“You locked the door on me earlier and tried to shut me out. You’re lucky I walked away without doing something you'd regret. But don’t fool yourself into thinking I’m not capable of making you scream if that’s what I choose.”
I swing my legs off the bed and rise to my feet. The suddenness of my movement makes her take a step back, colliding with the wall. Her eyes are wide, and I can see the panic setting in. Run, princess. Run as fast as you can.
I move in closer, narrowing the gap between us. Her breathing quickens, and I notice the rapid pulse at the base of her neck. My shadow engulfs her, and she appears fragile and defenseless backed against the wall.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” I say, my voice a dangerous whisper.
“Drop the towel, Snowflake. You know you can’t hide from me.”
Her defiance only makes me more determined. She has no idea who she’s dealing with, but she’s about to find out.
I stalk across the room, closing the gap between us until only a breath of space remains.
She’s backed against the wall, her body pressed flat as though she hopes it will somehow disappear. I’m not about to make this easy for her.
“Drop the towel,” I command, my voice slicing through the tension like a knife. I make sure to enunciate each word with cold precision, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “I want to see you, unguarded and vulnerable. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Her gaze avoids mine, not out of challenge but from sheer fear, evident in the way her body quakes. I notice her eyes darting toward the door, as if she’s considering a desperate escape.
Before she can make a move, I reach out and snatch the towel from her grip, tossing it behind me with a casual flick. A dark satisfaction spreads across my face as I watch her eyes widen in shock. She tries to cover herself with flailing arms, but I’m having none of it.
“Don’t bother hiding,” I snarl, my voice low and menacing.
I wrap my fingers around her wrists, pulling them up and pinning them against the wall above her head. Her breathing is erratic, her chest rising and falling as if she’s just sprinted a marathon.
“Please don’t,” she murmurs, her voice barely more than a whisper against my ear. The sound of her plea only heightens my resolve.
I draw in her scent, a heady mix of fear and something floral, grounding me even as my mind races with forbidden thoughts. The urge to kiss her, to make her my own, is almost overwhelming.
I grip both her slender wrists with one hand, the other inching closer to her trembling body. As my fingers make contact with her skin, she flinches, her reaction a mix of surprise and apprehension. She doesn’t need to know that every touch is laced with a hunger and anger I can barely contain.
I let my fingers drift across her collarbone, tracing the contours of her skin as if I were savoring the touch of silk. The warmth and smoothness beneath my fingertips are almost hypnotic, evoking a fleeting vision of what might have been—a world where our bond was one of trust, where this touch was meant to comfort rather than dominate.
Yet, this fantasy is quickly overshadowed by the harsh truth of our strained relationship. This isn’t about intimacy; it’s about asserting dominance, and I can't afford to let my emotions cloud my purpose.
She’s no longer my friend; she’s the enemy. This isn’t about affection or closeness. It’s about dominance, control, and instilling fear. Her attempts to wriggle free only intensify my focus. My eyes drop to her beautiful breasts, her light pink nipples standing erect, almost pleading for attention.
I suppress a groan, biting my bottom lip as my gaze travels downward, my fingers trailing lightly along her sternum. Her body quivers slightly, the muscles of her abdomen tensing and relaxing under my touch.
It’s unnervingly soft, irresistibly perfect. My arousal grows, my body aching with a fierce desire that I try to push aside. She’s the enemy. I repeat it in my mind like a mantra as my gaze continues south, lingering on the smooth expanse of skin between her thighs.
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