His Possession, His Obsession

The scent of expensive cologne and dark intent lingered in the air. The penthouse was drowning in silence, the kind that wrapped around me like a predator's gaze—watching, waiting, ready to strike.

I could still feel the ghost of his touch on my skin, the way his fingers had traced my jaw as if he were memorizing the shape of me, branding me without a single word. Kim Taehyung wasn't just a man—he was a storm wrapped in a custom-tailored suit, an abyss that devoured everything in its path.

And now, I was in his path.

"Did you think you could escape me, sweetheart?" His voice was velvet wrapped in steel, deceptively soft, yet laced with a darkness that sent a shiver down my spine.

I forced myself to meet his gaze. His obsidian eyes burned with something primal—possessiveness, hunger, obsession. I had seen men look at women before, but never like this. Never like they were owed them.

"I wasn't trying to escape," I whispered, my voice betraying me.

His lips curled into a slow, predatory smirk. "Lying already? We'll work on that."

He took a step closer, his presence consuming the space between us. My back hit the wall before I even realized I was retreating. My heartbeat thundered against my ribs as he leaned in, one hand braced against the marble behind me, the other curling under my chin, forcing me to look at him.

"You belong to me, sweetheart," he murmured, his breath ghosting against my lips. "You just don't know it yet."

I swallowed hard. "You can't own a person, Taehyung."

His eyes darkened. "Can't I?"

There was something terrifyingly beautiful about the way he looked at me—like I was a priceless artifact he had just acquired, one he would kill to keep.

His fingers trailed down my throat, pressing lightly where my pulse betrayed me, rapid and uneven. He tilted his head, amused. "You're scared of me."

I wasn't sure if it was fear or something more dangerous.

Taehyung chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through my bones. "Good," he murmured, his thumb brushing over my lips, parting them slightly. "Fear keeps things exciting."

His touch was electric, his presence suffocating. Every rational thought screamed at me to push him away, but my body betrayed me, drawn to the darkness in him like a moth to a flame.

"You shouldn't want this," I breathed.

His gaze sharpened. "But I do."

And then his lips crashed against mine.

It wasn't a kiss—it was a claim.

Possessive. Desperate. Irrevocable.

I gasped against him, my hands instinctively gripping the fabric of his shirt as he pulled me closer, his fingers tangling in my hair to keep me exactly where he wanted me. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, demanding entry, and when I hesitated, he bit down on my lower lip, just enough to make me gasp, enough for him to take control.

The moment I let him in, I was lost.

Taehyung kissed like he did everything else—with dominance, with a hunger that could never be sated. His hand slid down my waist, gripping my hip with a force that promised I wouldn't be escaping him anytime soon.

When he finally pulled away, I was breathless, my lips swollen, my thoughts a hazy mess.

He smirked, as if pleased with himself. "Now, tell me again that you don't belong to me."

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Because we both knew the truth.

I was already his.

And nothing would change that.

A Dangerous Game

I should have pushed him away.

I should have fought back, screamed at him for crossing a line, but the truth clawed at my chest, refusing to be silenced—I wanted him.

Not just the man.

The danger.

The obsession.

His fingers traced my jaw as he took a step back, his gaze still dark with possession. "You keep running, sweetheart," he mused, tilting his head. "But I always catch you, don't I?"

His words sent a shiver down my spine, but I refused to let him see it.

"You don't own me, Taehyung," I said, forcing steel into my voice.

His smirk deepened, as if he enjoyed my defiance. "You're adorable when you lie."

He turned away, strolling toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, his hands sliding into his pockets. The city lights illuminated the sharp edges of his face, the powerful silhouette of a man who had everything.

Everything, except me.

And he wasn't used to not getting what he wanted.

"You're playing a dangerous game," I whispered, watching him.

He turned slightly, his gaze catching mine through the reflection in the glass. "So are you, sweetheart."

I sucked in a sharp breath as he walked back toward me, his presence overwhelming, intoxicating.

"Tell me," he murmured, his fingers brushing against my wrist, feeling the erratic beat of my pulse. "Why did you come here?"

I swallowed hard. "I had no choice."

He arched a brow. "No choice? Or no control?"

The truth tasted bitter on my tongue.

Taehyung was a man who didn't ask for things—he took them. And yet, beneath the ruthless exterior, there was something deeper. Something darker.

An obsession.

And I was at the center of it.

His grip tightened around my wrist, dragging me forward until I stumbled into him. The scent of expensive cologne and raw power wrapped around me like a vice, suffocating in the best way.

"You think you can fight this," he murmured, his fingers skimming up my spine. "But we both know how this ends."

I shivered. "And how does it end?"

His lips brushed against my ear. "With you in my bed, moaning my name."

My breath hitched.

His fingers trailed down my back, leaving fire in their wake. "You feel it, don't you?" he whispered. "This pull between us."

I hated that he was right.

No matter how hard I tried to resist, I was already caught in his web.

I took a shaky breath. "You can't control me, Taehyung."

He chuckled, low and dark. "Sweetheart, I don't need to control you." He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against mine, barely a whisper away. "Because you want this just as much as I do."

The truth settled heavy between us.

Undeniable. Inescapable.

I was playing with fire.

And Taehyung was ready to burn me alive.

A Deal With the Devil

Taehyung's fingers brushed against the thin strap of my dress, his touch lingering, teasing. "If you're so determined to fight me," he mused, "let's make a deal."

I swallowed. "What kind of deal?"

His smirk was dangerous. "You stay. One week. No running. No lies."

My breath caught. "And if I refuse?"

His gaze darkened. "Then I make you stay."

A chill ran down my spine.

One week.

Seven days in the lion's den.

I should have said no.

But deep down, I knew the truth—this was never a fight I was going to win.

So I did the only thing I could.

I whispered, "Fine."

And sealed my fate with the devil.