Chapter 10: Breaking Point

Harper stood in her Brooklyn apartment Sunday afternoon, staring at the silver cocktail dress from last night crumpled on her bedroom floor. The faint bruise on her neck—Zane's mark from that heated coatroom clash—stared back at her in the mirror, a purple bloom she'd tried to cover with concealer but couldn't quite hide. Every brush of her fingers over it sent a shiver through her, a visceral reminder of his lips, his teeth, his growled claim: You're mine tonight. She'd stormed out of that showcase furious, aroused, and unraveling, and now, hours from facing him again at 4 p.m. for kitchen specs, she felt the walls she'd built crumbling to dust.She shouldn't go. Shouldn't wear the dress he'd demanded, shouldn't step back into his orbit when every encounter pushed her closer to a ledge she couldn't unjump. But her body hummed with a reckless need she couldn't drown out—not with coffee, not with work, not with the cold shower she'd taken to clear her head. The kitchen updates were ready—matte-black island, sleek cabinets, a compromise on the backsplash—but they were an excuse, a flimsy tether to professionalism she didn't believe in anymore. She wanted him. Had wanted him since that first wall-pinning stare, and last night's possessive kisses had snapped the last thread of her restraint.She dressed with intent, sliding into the silver dress again, its shimmer a dare, pairing it with black heels and leaving her hair loose, wild. No blazer, no armor—just her, raw and ready to burn. Her bag held the specs, but her mind held him—his hands, his voice, the way he'd looked at her like she was his to take. The subway ride to Manhattan was a haze, her pulse a drumbeat, and when she stepped into the penthouse elevator at 3:58 p.m., her breath came shallow, her body already anticipating the crash.The doors opened, and the penthouse was a twilight dream—golden light fading to dusk, the city skyline a jagged silhouette beyond the windows. Zane stood in the kitchen, leaning against the island, a glass of whiskey in hand, his dark shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up. His gray eyes locked onto her as she stepped out, the dress catching the light, and a slow, dangerous smile curved his lips."Harper," he said, his voice a low rasp, setting the glass down with a deliberate clink. "You wore it.""You asked," she replied, dropping her bag on the counter, her heels clicking as she crossed to him. "Specs are here. Kitchen's final."He didn't move, just watched her, his gaze tracing the dress, the bruise peeking above the neckline. "Fuck the kitchen," he said, stepping closer, his hand brushing her hip. "You're here for more than that."Her throat tightened, heat flooding her at the truth in his words. "Am I?""Don't play coy." He closed the gap, his fingers sliding to her jaw, tilting her face up. "You've been running all week. No more running."She glared up at him, defiance sparking through the want. "I'm not running. I'm here.""Good." His thumb brushed her lips, smearing her lipstick, and his eyes darkened, molten and sure. "Because I'm done waiting."Her breath hitched, and then he was on her—his mouth crashing into hers, hard and hungry, a kiss that stole her air and her fight. She kissed him back, just as fierce, her hands fisting in his shirt, yanking him closer as their tongues clashed, a duel of need and surrender. He groaned, a primal sound that vibrated through her, and lifted her onto the island, the cold marble biting her thighs as he stepped between them, his hands tearing at the dress's straps."Zane—" Her voice broke, a gasp as he ripped the fabric, baring her shoulder, his mouth finding the bruise he'd left, sucking hard enough to darken it. She arched into him, nails digging into his back, and he growled, shoving her dress higher, his fingers gripping her thighs, spreading them wider."No stopping this time," he muttered against her skin, his teeth grazing her collarbone, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts through the thin fabric. "You're mine.""Prove it," she challenged, her voice husky, tugging his shirt open, buttons popping as she bared his chest—hard, hot, hers. He laughed, rough and wild, and scooped her off the island, carrying her down the hall, her legs wrapping around his hips, their mouths locked in a frantic, messy kiss.They crashed into the master suite, the door slamming shut as he dropped her onto the bed—silk sheets cool against her fevered skin, mirrors lining the wall reflecting their chaos. Her dress was a ruin, half-torn, and he finished it, ripping it off with a sound that made her pulse spike. She yanked at his slacks, freeing him, and he kicked them aside, his body bare and sculpted, every inch of him a promise she needed fulfilled."Fuck, Harper," he groaned, climbing over her, his hands pinning her wrists above her head, his mouth on her neck, her chest, kissing a trail to her breasts. He tore at her bra, the lace giving way, and his lips closed over her, sucking hard, his tongue flicking until she moaned, loud and unrestrained. She writhed beneath him, her hips rocking, seeking him, and he released her wrists, his hands roaming—gripping her thighs, spreading her wide as he settled between them.The mirrors caught it all—her flushed skin, his dark head dipping lower, his hands possessive as he peeled off her panties, tossing them aside. She gasped as his mouth found her, a slow, deliberate lick that made her arch off the bed, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. He growled, the vibration sending a jolt through her, and he devoured her—tongue, lips, teeth—until she was trembling, her moans echoing off the walls, her body a taut bow ready to snap."Zane—please—" Her plea broke, desperate, and he pulled back, climbing up to kiss her, letting her taste herself on his lips. She clawed at his shoulders, her legs wrapping around him, and he groaned, positioning himself, the tip of him brushing her, teasing."Say it," he rasped, his eyes locked on hers, wild and fierce. "Say you're mine.""I'm yours," she gasped, no fight left, just need, and he thrust into her—hard, deep, filling her completely. She cried out, her nails raking his back, and he moved, a relentless rhythm that shook the bed, silk sheets tangling around them. The mirrors reflected every angle—his muscles flexing, her legs locked around him, their bodies slick with sweat, crashing together in a dance of raw, unfiltered passion.He flipped her, pulling her to her knees, and entered her again, his hands gripping her hips, his mouth on her shoulder, biting as he drove deeper. She moaned, loud and shameless, her hands fisting the sheets, the headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust. He reached around, fingers finding her, circling, and she shattered—her climax hitting hard, a wave that left her shaking, screaming his name. He followed, a guttural groan as he buried himself in her, his release pulsing hot and fierce, his arms banding around her as they collapsed, breathless, spent.They lay there, tangled in silk and each other, the mirrors showing a wreckage of limbs and sated desire. His hand slid to her jaw, turning her face to his, and he kissed her—slow, deep, a contrast to the frenzy, tasting of them both. "Mine," he murmured, his voice rough, satisfied."Yours," she whispered, too wrecked to argue, her body still trembling with aftershocks. He pulled her closer, silk sheets draping over them, and she let herself sink into him, the fight gone, the surrender complete—for now.Tomorrow, she'd face the fallout—work, boundaries, the mess they'd made. But tonight, in his bed, with his hands still possessive on her skin, she didn't care. They'd broken, and it was everything she'd feared and craved.