The silence in the library was heavy enough to choke. Soren stood over Mika, the crushed remains of the phone still sparking in his hand. His amber eyes weren't just angry; they were haunted.
"You didn't just have a sweetheart," Soren whispered, his voice vibrating with a dangerous, low frequency. "You had a life. You had secrets. And you had a name for him that I've never heard."
Mika looked up, his violet eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears. "Soren, it was a long time ago. We were children—"
"Children don't send messages about 'Midnight Ships' and 'Midnight Promises,'" Soren roared, his fist slamming into the mahogany desk beside Mika's head. "You call me 'Master.' You call me 'Soren.' But when you looked at that screen, your lips moved. You whispered 'Liam.'"
The Jealousy of a King
Soren grabbed Mika's chin, forcing him to look into his feral, golden gaze. "Who is Liam? Because the man in the ballroom is Lucas, the rising Alpha of the Southern Docks. But Liam... Liam is the one you loved. Liam is the one you still want."
The "sweet-spice" scent in the room turned acidic. Soren's jealousy wasn't just a mood; it was an entity. He couldn't stand the thought that there was a part of Mika's heart—a tiny, secret nickname—that he didn't own.
"I have given you my name," Soren hissed, his thumb dragging roughly over Mika's bottom lip. "I have given you my diamonds. I have given you my mark. And yet, you keep a 'Liam' in your heart like a hidden dagger. I'm going to pull that name out of you, Mika. I'm going to make you forget how to even say it."
The Ultra-Long Spicy Possession
Soren didn't just claim Mika this time; he consumed him. He dragged him onto the library's rolling ladder, pinning him high above the floor, surrounded by the weight of the Soren ancestors.
The "spiciness" was a detailed, slow-burn torture of pleasure and possession. Soren was meticulous. He kissed every inch of Mika's skin, biting the sensitive areas of his inner thighs and his collarbone, leaving fresh, dark brands that screamed 'Property of Soren.' "Say my name," Soren commanded, his thrusts deep and rhythmic, his hands gripping Mika's hips so hard his knuckles were white. "Not his. Mine."
"Soren... ah! Soren!" Mika sobbed, his head back, his silver hair spilling over the wooden rungs of the ladder.
"Again. Say it until it's the only word left in your throat."
The encounter was long and impressive, a detailed account of Soren's absolute territorial wrath. He didn't stop until Mika was hoarse, until the name 'Liam' was buried under a mountain of Soren's heat and power. Every touch was designed to erase the past. Every groan was a claim on the future. Soren wasn't just an Alpha; he was a god demanding total worship, and by the time they reached the floor, Mika was a trembling wreck of surrender, his mind a haze of Soren's scent and Soren's name.