Chapter 8 – A Name Like Fire

(Draven's POV)

She was perfection wrapped in temptation—and she had no idea.

The moment our bodies met, the moment I pulled her against me, the world shifted.

I had convinced myself I could resist. That I could stand in the same room as her and let her go.

I was a fool.

She fit too perfectly against me, her scent curling into my lungs—sweet, warm, and utterly intoxicating. My hand pressed against the small of her back, my fingers brushing the bare skin there, and I burned.

She felt it too.

I could see it in the way her breath hitched, the way she stiffened for just a moment before letting herself fall into my rhythm. Into me.

And when she smirked at me—smirked—I nearly lost all sense of control.

"You must like attention," I murmured, watching how she responded, the way her pulse fluttered against the base of her throat.

She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving in amusement. "Is that your way of telling me I have it?"

My grip tightened on her waist, just enough for her to feel it.

"You had it the moment you walked in," I admitted.

Her breath caught for the briefest second before she quickly masked it, but I didn't miss it.

I didn't miss anything about her.

The way the candlelight flickered against the soft curve of her jaw, how her dress—dark and elegant—hugged her body like a sinful whisper.

How her fingers, small and delicate, trembled just slightly in my grasp.

She was trying to hide it.

Trying to pretend like my touch didn't affect her, like the heat between us wasn't curling, growing, ready to consume us both.

I wanted to test her.

I wanted to push her, unravel her.

So I did.

My thumb trailed along her waist, slow and deliberate, tracing a pattern only I understood.

Her breath hitched.

"Why are you here?" I asked, my voice low, dark, filled with curiosity I shouldn't have let slip.

She hesitated—just long enough for me to know she wasn't expecting the question.

"I—" she started, her voice breathless. I twirled her before she could gather her thoughts, and when she came back to me, I pulled her closer.

Too close.

"I received an invitation," she finished.

My lips curved slightly, my amusement deepening.

"Did you?"

She swallowed, her throat bobbing slightly. "Yes."

I smirked. Slow, taunting.

"And you just… decided to come?"

Her gaze snapped up to mine, fire flickering beneath the surface of those eyes.

"Would it be a problem if I did?" she countered.

Damn.

I should have expected her to bite back.

But I liked it.

I liked the way she didn't just melt—how she challenged me, pushed me, forced me to push back.

Too bad she didn't realize she was playing with something far more dangerous than she could ever imagine.

My fingers pressed into her waist, my grip tightening instinctively.

"You shouldn't be here," I murmured, though I knew the words meant nothing.

Not anymore.

"Why?" she asked.

Because if she stayed, I wouldn't be able to resist.

Because if she stayed, she would ruin me.

"Because," I exhaled, my hand trailing up her back, my fingertips grazing her bare skin, "you don't know what you've walked into."

She shivered.

She tried to hide it.

Failed.

I noticed.

The way she reacted to me, the way her pulse picked up, how her breathing grew uneven…

She felt it too.

This pull.

This thing between us.

My body moved on instinct, closing the small space between us. I wasn't leading this dance anymore.

I was claiming it.

I was claiming her.

"You seem very concerned about my presence," she mused, her voice soft but teasing, tilting her head slightly. "Should I be flattered?"

She had no idea.

No idea how much her presence was shattering every last restraint I had left.

My lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.

"Perhaps."

She belonged to me.

Even if she didn't know it yet.

My hand slid lower, just above the curve of her hip, my fingers barely pressing into the fabric of her dress.

The way I moved wasn't just intimate—it was undeniable.

I wasn't just leading this dance.

I was controlling it.

And yet, it was her who had control over me.

She just didn't know it yet.

I wasn't supposed to let her get this close.

But I couldn't let go.

Not now.

"And if I don't?" I murmured, my voice low, almost teasing, though we both knew the possessiveness lurking beneath it was anything but playful.

She parted her lips to answer, but I didn't let her.

Instead, I did something I shouldn't have.

I leaned in.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

My lips brushed the curve of her jaw, barely touching, just enough to feel her sharp inhale.

Not kissing.

Just a whisper of contact.

A tease. A warning.

Her breath hitched.

I knew she wasn't going to stop me.

I knew she didn't want to.

And that was what would destroy me.

"Tell me to stop," I murmured against her skin.

She didn't.

And that was my undoing.

Her fingers curled slightly against my shoulder, her grip tightening instead of pulling away.

My hand slid up her back again, my palm spanning her waist, pressing her just a little closer.

She wasn't leaving.

She wasn't mine yet.

But she would be.

And then, she whispered the name that was about to consume me.

"Jasmine."

My mate.

The name I had been waiting a lifetime to hear.

I repeated it, my voice gravelly, softer this time, possessive.

"Jasmine."

I felt her shiver at the sound of it, my thumb dragging over the pulse point on her wrist, feeling how erratic it had become beneath my touch.

She was fire wrapped in silk.

And now, she was mine.

"You should stop looking at me like that," she whispered, her breath uneven.

"Like what?" I asked, my hand trailing her bare shoulder, fingertips brushing along her collarbone.

"Like you already own me," she murmured.

I did.

I smirked, slow, wicked.

"You keep saying that," I whispered back, "and yet, you're still in my arms."

She sucked in a breath.

The final notes of the song played, but neither of us moved.

Because this wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.

She exhaled, almost as if she had been holding her breath. Then, her fingers loosened in my grasp, and she took a small step back.

Her lips parted, her eyes flickering toward the edge of the ballroom before returning to mine.

"I need to use the restroom," she said, her voice quieter now, steadier, but I could still hear the underlying breathlessness.

I tilted my head slightly, amused by how eager she was to escape.

"It's on the first floor," I murmured, releasing her hand but letting my fingers brush against hers just a second too long.

She nodded, stepping back.

Then—she turned and walked away.

I watched her go, my chest tight, my jaw clenched.

I should have let her leave without a second thought.

But I knew the truth now.

She was running.

And I was going to chase.