Xander didn't sleep.
Not because of work—he could handle billion-dollar deals in his sleep. It was her.
Aurora.
The name replayed in his mind like a forbidden melody, her moans still echoing in his ears, her taste still on his tongue. His shirt still smelled like her skin.
It had been three hours.
Three hours since she walked out like a storm in heels—calm, devastating, and unforgettable.
And he hated it.
He hated how she left. Hated how she made him feel like the one being seduced. Hated that he wanted her again.
Worse? He had no idea who she was.
She had no last name. No file. No background.
And she had a picture of him sleeping.
Xander wasn't paranoid—he was realistic. You didn't become the most feared man in the business world by being sloppy. His security was state-of-the-art. His penthouse was a fortress.
So how had she gotten in?
He sat behind his desk, still wearing his wrinkled shirt, staring at the lipstick smear on his collar. Deep red. Same as her dress. Same as the flush in her cheeks when she came undone beneath him.
His phone buzzed.
A text from Elias Crane.
> "Still breathing or did someone finally melt the Blackwood iceberg?"
Xander didn't answer. He had no time for sarcasm. He tapped his intercom.
"Camilla," he said.
"Yes, Mr. Blackwood?"
"Check the building logs from 6 p.m. to 10 p.m. tonight. Look for a woman named Aurora. Dark hair. Red dress. I want everything—CCTV, ID scans, the works."
There was a pause.
"Sir… there's no record of anyone matching that description."
"What?"
"No entry. No elevator ping. Nothing."
Xander's fingers curled into a fist. "Impossible."
"She… wasn't here."
He ended the call and stood. Walked to the window. Looked out over the city.
Was she real?
Or did he just get played like a goddamn piano?
But his body remembered her.
And it wasn't a dream.
The ache in his muscles. The bite marks on his shoulder. The red lace now hidden in his desk drawer. All of it was very real.
Suddenly, the glass panel beside him vibrated. A soft knock.
He turned fast, his pulse skipping.
The woman standing on the other side of the glass meeting room wasn't Camilla. Or any employee.
It was her.
Aurora.
Wearing black this time.
Tight. Lethal. Ravishing.
She stepped inside, calm as ever.
"You missed me," she said with a playful tilt of her head.
"You broke in again."
"I never left," she whispered. "You just stopped looking."
Xander crossed the room in three strides, grabbing her by the arm—not roughly, but firmly.
"You think this is a game?"
Her eyes sparkled. "Isn't everything?"
He slammed her against the wall, his hand pinning hers above her head.
"I don't like being toyed with."
"And yet…" she breathed, pressing her body against his, "you're still hard for me."
He was. Damn it.
"I should call security."
"I'll scream," she said, tilting her head. "And we both know what that'll look like."
"Why are you doing this?"
She grinned. "Because you can't stop thinking about me."
He hated how right she was.
"You're dangerous."
"So are you," she whispered, her lips brushing his jaw. "But I'm better at it."
Before he could react, she flipped their positions, pinning him to the wall instead. Her mouth crashed onto his. Wet. Hungry. Pure fire.
He growled into the kiss, pulling her dress up again, his hands cupping her ass.
"You wore this for me," he said.
"I wear everything for you."
"Why?"
"Because…" she murmured against his lips, "you were mine before I even touched you."
That broke something in him.
He spun her around, bending her slightly over the sleek glass table. One hand tangled in her hair, the other parting her thighs.
She was ready. Wet. Dripping.
He didn't ask this time.
He took.
Thrust into her with a raw, desperate need. Her gasp filled the room. Her fingers gripped the table edge as he pounded into her, his rhythm brutal, relentless.
He grabbed her throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to own her.
"You like being used like this?" he growled.
"I like you like this," she gasped. "Out of control."
And she was right.
He was losing control.
She made him savage. Made him forget who he was.
He pulled her hair back, her mouth open in a silent scream as she came again, hard, clenching around him.
He followed a second later, groaning her name against her neck.
The silence that followed was thick with sweat, steam, and secrets.
She pulled her dress down slowly, smoothing her hair like nothing had happened.
He stared at her.
"I don't know who the fuck you are," he said finally.
She turned, smiling as she walked backward toward the exit.
"That's the fun part, Xander," she whispered. "You'll find out… piece by piece."
Then she was gone.
Again.
And this time, she took his sanity with her.