A kiss meant to destroy

Amara's breath came shallow, her heartbeat an uneven rhythm against her ribs. She stood frozen near the door, Rafael's words still lingering in the air, wrapping around her like chains she couldn't shake.

You keep coming back.

She wanted to deny it. Wanted to throw the accusation back at him. But the truth was a bitter taste on her tongue.

She was still here.

And he knew it.

Slowly, deliberately, Rafael moved around the desk, his movements unhurried, his confidence suffocating. He was a predator that had cornered his prey, waiting for the inevitable surrender.

The distance between them disappeared in slow increments, until he stood mere inches from her. He didn't touch her—not yet—but his presence alone pressed against her skin like a brand.

"Tell me, Amara," he murmured, tilting his head slightly. "What exactly are you running from?"

She forced herself to meet his gaze, even though every instinct screamed at her to look away. "You."

His smirk deepened, as if that answer pleased him. "Liar."

Heat flared through her chest, tangled with frustration, with something far more dangerous. "You want me to be scared of you."

His fingers ghosted over her arm, not quite a touch, just enough to make her shiver. "No," he corrected smoothly. "I want you to admit that you're not."

Her pulse pounded. "I'm not playing this game."

Rafael chuckled, a low, knowing sound. "But you already are."

She swallowed hard, hating the way her body reacted to him. The way every cell in her being was hyper-aware of his proximity, of the heat rolling off him in waves.

She wasn't supposed to feel this. She hated him.

Didn't she?

Rafael leaned in, his breath ghosting over her ear. "You feel it too, don't you?"

A sharp inhale betrayed her.

He exhaled slowly, savoring the moment. "This pull between us."

Amara shook her head, refusing to give him that power. "You're delusional."

His fingers brushed her wrist, curling lightly around it—not forceful, but firm enough to remind her who was in control. "You're shaking."

She yanked her hand back, stepping away. "Because I hate you."

His smirk didn't falter. "Then why aren't you leaving?"

The words hit her like a slap. Because she should leave. Every fiber of logic told her to walk out that door, to put as much distance between them as possible.

And yet—

She hesitated.

And Rafael saw it.

He took a slow step toward her, watching her with dark amusement. "You don't want to leave, Amara. You want to understand."

Her throat tightened. "Understand what?"

His gaze burned into her. "What I want from you."

She exhaled shakily. "Then tell me."

For a moment, he said nothing. Just watched her, his expression unreadable. Then, ever so slowly, he lifted his hand and traced a single finger down the side of her face, stopping at her chin.

"I want you," he murmured.

Her heart stuttered. "No, you don't."

His smirk returned, sharper this time. "Not in the way you think."

Her stomach twisted. "Then how?"

Rafael leaned in, his lips mere inches from hers. "I want you to break."

A chill ran down her spine. "You're insane."

His grip on her chin tightened, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep her still. "I don't want to hurt you, Amara."

She swallowed. "Then what do you want?"

His thumb traced the edge of her lower lip, his voice a quiet promise. "I want you to be mine."

The air vanished from her lungs.

His.

The word rattled in her skull like a warning bell, but instead of fear, something else slithered into her veins. Something dark. Something terrifying.

She wanted to scream at him, to shove him away, to fight—but deep down, a part of her whispered that maybe, just maybe…

She had already lost.

Rafael was the kind of beautiful that was meant to be dangerous.

Not the soft, harmless beauty of fleeting crushes or whispered desires—but something sharper, something edged with power and control. He was the kind of beautiful that lured people in just to watch them fall apart under his touch.

And Amara hated that she noticed it. Hated the way her eyes betrayed her, tracing the high angles of his cheekbones, the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his dark hair was tied loosely at the back of his neck, stray strands escaping to brush against his temple.

There was something effortless about him—something unfair. Confidence poured from him like an unshakable force, something woven into the way he moved, the way he spoke. He commanded attention, demanded submission without ever asking for it.

And here, in the quiet stillness of the room, she felt herself slipping under the weight of him.

He was close.

Too close.

And yet, he hadn't even touched her.

"Why do you look at me like that?" His voice was silk and shadows, curling around her like unseen chains.

Amara swallowed. "Like what?"

His lips curved, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. "Like you want to run."

Her pulse spiked. "Maybe I do."

His smirk widened, the lazy drag of his gaze making heat creep up her neck. "Then why haven't you?"

She had no answer for that. And Rafael knew it.

His fingers lifted, slow, deliberate, tracing the edge of her sleeve. Not quite touching her skin—just enough to make her breath catch, just enough to remind her that he could if he wanted to.

It was infuriating.

He was infuriating.

And yet, she didn't pull away.

The air between them thickened, something unspoken crackling like a fire barely contained. Amara forced herself to speak, to break whatever this was before it consumed her. "You think you can control me."

Rafael exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Oh, Amara." His voice dipped lower, his fingers ghosting over the fabric of her sleeve. "I don't need to control you."

His hand trailed lower, slow, dragging over her arm, hovering just above her skin. The lack of contact was worse than if he had actually touched her. It sent goosebumps down her arms, made every nerve hyper-aware of where he was, of where he could be.

"You already react to me," he murmured.

She sucked in a breath, but it was shallow, unsteady. "I don't."

He smirked, dark and knowing. "Liar."

His fingers dipped lower, skimming along her wrist, pressing just lightly against her pulse. Her heartbeat hammered beneath his touch, betraying her.

Rafael leaned in, his lips hovering just beside her ear, his voice nothing more than a whisper. "Your body tells a different story."

Heat coiled low in her stomach, a slow, unwanted burn. "This is manipulation."

His laughter was quiet, indulgent. "Is it?"

His hand curled around her wrist then—finally—pressing her back against the desk with an agonizing slowness, sinking her down, lowering her just enough that she had to look up at him.

"You hate this," he murmured, voice velvet and sin. "Don't you?"

She swallowed hard. "Yes."

His grip on her wrist tightened just slightly—not painful, not forceful, but firm. Enough to make her feel trapped beneath the weight of him. His other hand lifted, fingertips grazing along her jaw, the touch so light it sent a shiver down her spine.

"But you don't move," he observed, tilting his head. "Why is that?"

She hated him.

Hated the way he unraveled her with nothing but his presence, with nothing but the whisper of his touch.

Her breath came uneven as she forced herself to speak. "Because you'll let me go."

Rafael stilled.

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face—something dark, something dangerous. His thumb brushed her lower lip, slow, testing, making her breath hitch.

"You think so?" he murmured.

A challenge.

A warning.

She should answer. Should fight. Should push him away.

But instead—

She stared at him.

And something shifted between them.

The air burned hotter, thicker, suffocating. Rafael's smirk faltered, just for a fraction of a second. Just long enough for her to see it—

The hesitation.

His fingers ghosted lower, skimming down the column of her throat, stopping just above her collarbone. His breath fanned against her skin, his lips hovering just close enough to be felt but not quite there.

He was toying with her.

But for the first time—

She wondered if he was toying with himself, too.

His grip on her wrist slackened, not enough to release her, but just enough to feel the shift. Just enough to let her decide.

A test.

A dare.

Her heart pounded, every instinct screaming at her to run. To end this.

But she didn't.

She couldn't.

Because for the first time, Rafael wasn't just looking at her like something to own.

He was looking at her like something he wasn't sure he could have.

And that terrified her more than anything.

The tension between them had stretched too tight, wound too thick to be ignored. It was suffocating, intoxicating, a pull neither of them wanted to acknowledge but couldn't resist. The moment had been inevitable, written in the way Rafael's fingers traced the air just above her skin, in the way Amara's breath hitched whenever he leaned in just a fraction too close.

Now, the distance between them was nonexistent.

Amara could feel the heat radiating off his body, the slow, measured cadence of his breathing. His dark eyes were unreadable, but there was something in them—something dangerous, something hungry.

She should step back. She should run.

Instead, she stayed.

"Say it," Rafael murmured, his voice low, almost coaxing. "Say you don't want this."

Her lips parted, but the words wouldn't come. Because she couldn't say it.

Not when his hands finally touched her.

It wasn't a hesitant touch. It wasn't soft. His fingers skimmed up her arm, slow and deliberate, tracing heat in their wake. He wasn't just touching her—he was claiming her, inch by agonizing inch.

Her breath faltered when he cupped her jaw, his thumb dragging along the edge of her lower lip.

"You're shaking," he murmured, his voice like sin and smoke.

Her pulse pounded so hard she thought he could feel it beneath his fingers. She wanted to speak, wanted to tell him that this was wrong, that he had played her, trapped her.

But before she could think—before she could stop herself—

He kissed her.

It wasn't gentle.

It wasn't sweet.

It was fire.

Rafael kissed her like he was angry about it, like he had tried to resist and failed. His lips were demanding, burning against hers as his hand slid into her hair, fingers tangling in the strands as if to hold her there, as if he needed her closer.

Amara gasped against his mouth, her body betraying her when her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer too.

And then it was a blur of heat and need.

His other hand gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him, and she felt the sharp inhale he took—like even he wasn't prepared for this. For her. For whatever this was turning into.

A slow, deep groan rumbled in his chest as he tilted his head, his tongue teasing the seam of her lips before claiming her deeper, his teeth grazing her bottom lip. The kiss was wild, unrestrained, like he wanted to consume her whole.

She let him.

Because for once, she didn't want to think. Didn't want to fight.

Her hands moved without permission, skimming up his arms, feeling the tension in his muscles, the heat in his skin. It wasn't enough. She wanted more. Needed more.

As if sensing it, Rafael backed her up against the desk, his hands roaming lower, fingers digging into her waist as he devoured her.

Amara moaned softly, her body arching into him, her nails raking against his chest through his shirt. The sound made Rafael curse under his breath, and then suddenly, he lifted her onto the desk, slotting himself between her legs as he kissed her harder, deeper, more ruthlessly.

It was reckless.

It was madness.

And she loved it.

She gasped when his lips left her mouth, dragging a heated trail down her jaw, his breath scorching against her skin. His hands gripped her thighs, his fingers pressing into her flesh just hard enough to make her whimper.

"Rafael—"

Her voice was breathless, needy.

And it broke him.

Because the moment she said his name like that—

Everything snapped.

Rafael ripped himself away from her, his breathing ragged, his body taut like a predator barely holding itself back. His eyes were wild, darkened with something she couldn't name.

Amara blinked, still dazed, lips swollen, heart racing. "What—"

"Get out."

His voice was a snarl, sharp and furious. The heat that had consumed them moments ago now twisted into something entirely different.

Anger.

Rage.

Regret.

She barely processed his words before he turned away from her, running a hand through his hair, his entire body vibrating with restraint.

"Rafael—"

"I said get out!"

She flinched, her stomach twisting into knots, but she refused to let him see it.

Without another word, she slid off the desk, straightened her clothes, and walked.

But as she reached the door, she hesitated, glancing back over her shoulder.

Rafael was still facing away, his hands braced against the desk, his head lowered.

As if he was at war with himself.

Something in her chest tightened.

But she didn't say anything. Didn't ask.

She just walked out.

And the moment the door clicked shut behind her, she realized something.

Something had changed between them.

And there was no going back.