His Wet Possessive Claim — Sinful Nights with Him.

Draven.

I strode into the sleek lobby of Voss Tower, briefcase in hand swinging with cufflinks catching the light, and pushed through the lobby doors. Chaos greeted me immediately.

Carla, my usually unflappable receptionist, stood with her arms crossed, glaring at the tall, auburn-haired woman in a tailored, flared cream coat looming over her desk, her voice cutting through the marble space.

“I told you, I’m family. His wife’s sister. Let me up or I’ll—”

“Mr. Voss has no wife yet, ma’am,”

Carla replied coolly. “The wedding is in three weeks. I can’t—”

“This is ridiculous. Call him right now.”

I approached, my footsteps echoing. Carla’s shoulders relaxed the second she saw me. “Mr. Voss. This woman insists—”

“It’s fine, Carla,” I said smoothly, placing a firm hand on her elbow. “She’s with me. Hold my calls for the next thirty minutes.”

She straightened giving a tight nod.

“This way, Elara.” I placed a hand on her back and steered her toward the private elevator. The doors closed, sealing us in mirrored silence.

“You always loved making scenes,” I muttered, barely looking at her.

“I learnt from the best,” she yanked free from me, her green eyes flashing.

“Marrying again so soon, Draven? Your late wife’s barely cold on the ground. What—three, four years? And everyone knows you’re incapable of love. This is just a contract marriage, isn’t it?”

I unlocked my office door and let her storm inside first.

“Your son won’t come to the wedding,” she continued, dropping into the leather chair across from my desk.

“He hates you. And honestly? I don’t blame him. You’re going to destroy this new woman the same way you destroyed my sister. How exactly do you plan to handle your son when he finds out what a sham this is?”

I loosened my tie and sat down, keeping my face neutral. “I’ll handle him calmly. He’s angry, but he’s still my son. The wedding is close, I'll make him attend”

“Calmly,” she scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping. “That’s rich coming from you.”

The door opened without a knock. Liora stepped in, elegant in a soft blue dress, her blonde hair catching the light. She smiled warmly and walked straight to me, arms sliding around my neck.

“Darling, am I interrupting?" she asked pleasantly.

"No, perfect timing" I rose slightly, pressing a light peck to her cheek

"Yes," Elara said at the same time, shooting her a deadly glare.

“Liora, this is Elara Calloway. My late wife’s sister and Elara, this is Liora; my fiancée.”

Liora extended her hand gracefully. “It’s lovely to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Elara stood, taking her hands with lips curving into a razor-sharp smile. “All terrible things, I hope. Enjoy the ring while it lasts, Mrs. Almost-Voss. History has a way of repeating itself.” She grabbed her bag, gave me one last icy glare, and swept out banging the door.

Liora exhaled, touching her pearls. “What on earth was that about?”

“Ignore her,” I said, pulling her closer for a moment. “She won't ruin this.”

She searched my face, then let it go with practiced ease — the way she let most things go, which I'd always read as grace. Now I wondered if it was something else.

“By the way… how do you see Seraphina? My daughter. I want to make sure this transition feels right for her.”

I leaned back against my desk, nodding once. “She seems… innocent.”

The words left my mouth and then the memory hit me like a fist.

Her body trembling under mine as she came undone, hazel eyes desperate and dark, taking everything I gave like she'd been waiting for it. She didn't know me. I didn't know her, yet she'd wanted me and I hadn't felt that in longer than I could name.

Something had cracked open in my chest that night and the fracture hadn't closed. It scared me. It should have stopped me, but it didn't.

I needed to get home.

Liora smiled, cutting through my thoughts, “She is. She’s been through a lot. I’m glad you’ll be there for her even though this is an arrangement.

I kissed her temple. “Of course, I'll round up here and meet you at home.”

—

I pushed open the heavy front door, the cool evening air clinging to my suit like a second skin but something else cut through it—slow, haunting ballet music drifting from the far end of the hallway.

My pulse kicked up. I dropped my briefcase by the stairs and followed the sound. The door to the old sunroom stood ajar.

Fabrics littered the floor and there, on a rickety ladder, was Seraphina. Her short sundress had ridden high as she stretched to hang a garland of fairy lights.

“What are you doing?” My voice came out lower than I intended.

The ladder wobbled. A sharp gasp escaped her as she grabbed for balance. I moved fast, hands shooting up to grab her, steadying against me with our breaths hitching.

“Easy,” I murmured, the heat of her body sinking into my palms.

Seraphina twisted, green-flecked hazel eyes blazing down at me. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I didn’t let go right away. “Last I checked, it's my house, little one."

She climbed down fast, brushing my hands off like they burned, and crossed to the pile of fabrics without looking at me. Her cheeks were flushed.

I leaned against the ladder, watching her. “What’s all this?”

“A costume studio," she snapped. "For my ballet pieces. Mom said I could.”

“Mm.” I stepped closer, catching the light citrus scent of her shampoo.

"If you love ballet enough to build them costumes, you should barely be able to breathe watching them perform.”

She spun, fire in her eyes. “I guess someone couldn't keep their eyes to themself.”

"Or their hands." A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "You weren't so stiff that night, Seraphina. Moaning like you'd break apart if I stopped.”

Her lips parted, a flicker of heat cutting through the anger. She backed up a step, but the wall stopped her. I closed the distance in two strides.

“Stop pretending,” I said, voice dropping. My fingers brushed her arm, feeling the goosebumps rise. “You want me. I can see and feel it. If you’re going to live here, open up. Stop fighting something we both already know the answer to.”

“Fuck you,” she whispered, but there was no bite left.

I smirked, crowding her gently. “That’s the idea.”

My hand slid under the hem of her shirt, palm flat against her stomach. She sucked in a breath. I trailed higher, thumb grazing the underside of her breast. Her nipple hardened instantly under my touch. I leaned in, lips brushing her neck, feeling her pulse hammering.

“Draven…” Her hips shifted toward me.

I sucked on her pulse point, teeth grazing with my tongue soothing. She arched, a soft whimper escaping. My other hand gripped her hip, pulling her flush against me. The hard line of my cock pressed into her belly. She involuntarily rocked once, and I felt her thighs clench.

“Good girl,” I breathed against her skin, sucking harder, marking her. Her hands fisted my shirt, breath coming in short, needy gasps. Wet heat radiated through her thin dress. I slid my fingers lower, teasing the edge of her panties—

“Seraphina? Darling, how’s the decorating coming?”

Liora’s voice floated down the hallway, cheerfully close with her footsteps approaching.

Seraphina froze, eyes wide with panic. My hand was still under her shirt, lips on her neck where a fresh hickey bloomed red. She shoved at my chest, but I held her there a beat longer, heart hammering.

The door handle turned.