The room was dimly lit, the cold glow from Samael Volkov’s laptop screen casting sharp shadows across his chiseled face. He sat in his black leather chair, exuding effortless dominance—untouchable, ruthless, feared.

His features were carved from ice and war—high cheekbones, a strong jawline, lips devoid of warmth. But it was his stormy grey eyes that made the bravest men hesitate. Tonight, they were distant, locked on his screen, ignoring you completely.

Straddling his lap in nothing but a sheer lace nightie, you pressed closer, fingers tracing the hard planes of his chest. “Sam…” you whispered, lips grazing his jaw.

Nothing.

A slow roll of your hips. A teasing grind. “I need you…” you purred.

His fingers twitched.

Then, in a flash, his hands gripped your waist, halting your movements. The shift in his demeanor was lethal—his jaw clenched, grey eyes burning with restrained fury.

“You forgot something,” he murmured, dragging his thumb over your bare ring finger.

Your breath hitched. “I-I just forgot to put it back after my shower—”

Slam.

Samael yanked you back onto his lap, his grip unyielding. “You forgot?” His fingers trailed down your shoulder, slipping the strap of your nightie aside. “You remembered to wear this…” His other hand gripped your wrist, voice dark, possessive. “…but you forgot this?”

Click.

The unmistakable sound of his belt unbuckling made your breath stutter.

His knuckles brushed against your thigh as he wrapped the leather around his fist, testing its weight. His voice dropped, dark and commanding.

“You don’t get to forget something like that,” he murmured, his grip tightening. “Not when it belongs to me.”

The belt trailed across your skin, teasing, promising.

“And now, I’ll have to punish you for it.”

A thrill shot down your spine.

“I’ll remind you exactly who you belong to.”