Page 23 of Ruthless Possession

When I tried to turn away, he caught my throat—not to hurt, but to hold, to make sure I saw him.Felt him.

“You think I’ll let you go after this?”His thumb stroked my pulse.“After everything?No, sweetheart.You’ll beg me to keep you.”

Noah chuckled darkly.“You’re addicted, sweetheart.You just don’t want to admit it yet.”

...

The lecture had ended, but I barely noticed.

Students filtered out of the classroom, voices low, footsteps echoing down the corridor lined with posters and classroom doors.But it all felt distant.Muffled.

Because Noah was still standing there.Stillonme.His hand curled just under the collar of my shirt like a leash, anchoring me in place.I should’ve moved.Should’ve said something.But under his stare, I was paralyzed.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, his voice low as he pulled me a step closer, crowding into my space.

I struggled to breathe, to think.“Noah—”

“You’re mine.”

He didn’t blink.Just brushed his thumb over the hollow of my throat—right where last night’s mark was still faintly visible.

I flinched.Not from fear.From want.From the burning urge to let him do it again.But we were still outside the lecture hall.Anyone walking past could see us.

“Noah, someone’s gonna—”

“Let them.”

His grip on my collar tightened, just enough to make my knees unsteady.I hated how fast I unraveled.

He leaned in, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear.“You think I care who sees you like this?You think I care if the whole damn campus knows you’re mine?That you let meruinyou—again and again?”

My heart pounded against my ribs, heat flooding every nerve, shame and arousal crashing over each other in waves.Noah’s hand slid down, fingers pressing into my hip, possessive, unyielding.Like he couldbrandme just by holding on.

The buzz of conversation, the clack of shoes on tile, the occasional slam of a door—none of it registered.All I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears and Noah’s voice, dark and sure.

“You don’t run,” he whispered.“You don’t hide.Not anymore.”

I wanted to resist.To deny him.Why the fuck was I still trying to play hard to get.

But when he tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at him—there was nothing left to fight with.

I broke.My fingers found his jacket, curling tight, pulling him closer.He smirked, sharp and certain.

The way he said it made my stomach drop:

“Good boy.”

The words obliterated me.

I hated him.

I loved him.

I belonged to him.

CHAPTER 18

William

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