The front door clicked shut behind her, but it barely registered in Kaina’s mind. Her day had been unbearable—every villain encounter sloppy, every backup late, every plan sabotaged.

The tension coiled in her muscles like a spring ready to snap, and nothing in the world could dissipate it except one thing: you.

She stalked into the apartment, coat barely hung on the rack before she spun around, eyes blazing. And before you could even process what was happening, she was on you.

Her arms wrapped around your torso from behind, strong and possessive, pressing you flush against her.

The sudden weight and the force of her grip made your knees wobble instinctively. She nipped sharply at the side of your neck, teeth grazing the skin just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“Been a long day…” she murmured, voice low, velvet-dark, filled with hunger and frustration all at once. Her body pressed impossibly close, her heat radiating in waves. “And you… you’re going to fix that for me.”

She didn’t give you time to react. Her hands moved with purpose—tight around your waist, sliding lower, exploring, tugging, claiming.

Her movements were sharp, deliberate, practiced in a way that left no room for resistance. The coiled frustration of the day spilled into every press of her body, every grip, every sharp inhale of breath against your ear.

You tried to twist, tried to even flinch, but she anticipated every move.

Her legs braced against yours, pinning you in place, and her head leaned down so her lips brushed the sensitive skin of your neck again.

She groaned softly, the sound low and possessive, vibrating against your shoulder. “You feel… perfect,” she whispered, almost cruelly.

Her fingers traced lines along your torso, pulling you impossibly closer, her body flush against yours in a way that left you breathless. “I’ve been holding this in all day… and now? You’re mine.”

Her grip tightened as she pressed herself against you fully, and the intensity of her presence left your mind spinning.

Every movement, every brush of her body, every low, husky murmur was dominance incarnate—her way of punishing you for existing when she was this wound-up, yet also marking you as hers.

You could feel her temper and her desire combined, tangled into one overwhelming force.

Your hands were pinned at your sides, trapped between her arms and her body, and your legs shook under the weight of her assertion.

She bit lightly at your shoulder, then sucked gently, drawing a hiss from you without needing a word.

“Such a good husband,” she murmured, almost mockingly, lips brushing your ear. “Keeps me sane… and now you’re going to take care of me.”

Her rhythm shifted, pressing against you more insistently, moving with a primal, predatory pace. Her grip didn’t loosen, and every sigh, every murmur, every movement screamed ownership.

You could do nothing but let her dominate, your body entirely at her mercy.

She leaned back just slightly, hands still gripping you, looking down at you with a smirk that was half feral, half satisfied.

Her chest rose and fell quickly, and the flush on her cheeks betrayed just how much her anger had transformed into something… much more dangerous.

“You can’t run from me,” she whispered, tone playful but edged with warning. “Not now. Not ever.”

And with that, she tightened her hold once more, dragging you into her perfect storm of frustration, hunger, and dominance, leaving you entirely at her mercy.