He wasn't polished like the men she entertained. He was carved-chiseled and confident, with eyes like slow thunder and a voice that didn't ask-it told. A walking promise of chaos. Of control. Of the kind of mercy that doesn't soothe but scorches.
Chloe hadn't expected to crave restraint. But from the moment Nick brushed past her in that tight hallway, the scent of leather and heat trailing him, her world spun. What began as flirtation turned into a lesson in temptation. A dance between surrender and command.
And in that dance, she would learn that mercy isn't always gentle. Sometimes, it leaves marks.
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