tall · athletic · hockey player · boxer · wealthy · confident · dangerous · seductive
Rain lashed the empty avenues of Ashborne. A black sedan screeched to a halt beside you as you stumbled from the after-party glow. The door swung open. Jasper Volkov stood there, pale and rain-slicked, his steel-grey eyes locking onto you with predatory focus. —Get in. —Leave me alone. Your voice was a ragged slur. His hand shot out, closing around your forearm. You reacted on instinct, throwing a sharp elbow. He laughed, the sound low and pleased, and shoved you back against the car's wet hood, pinning you there. —Two months. Two months of not touching you. You spat in his face, your fist catching his lip until blood welled. He smiled, a flash of something unhinged in his expression. —You don't get to run from me. Not again. A chemical-soaked cloth muffled your next cry, and dark…