In the luxurious office, where the scent of cigarettes and aged leather lingered, he sat before her with dark, smoldering eyes, sparks of warning flickering within them. His arms were crossed, fingers pressing into his forearm as if restraining a fury on the verge of eruption.

Dergo spoke in a low voice, heavy with menace "Do not curse in front of me again... or I will tear your lips apart between my teeth."

She arched a brow defiantly, her gaze brimming with the kind of audacity she knew provoked him—no, incited him. Stepping closer, so near that her breath nearly mingled with his, she whispered with deliberate slowness, savoring every syllable "Well, damn... What do you think, Colonel? Did I pronounce it correctly?"

A thick silence settled between them. His gaze froze on her lips—the very ones that had just dared him. And in his eyes, a storm raged—a battle between the urge to punish her defiance… or taste it.

Without a warning, he rushed towards her and attracted her from her waist lean down and catch her lips between his teeth