His To Possess ️

"Oh fuck. Another night on my back for a man who thinks I'm beneath him." Calla whispered as she adjusted the strap of her red silk dress in the car mirror, fixing a loose curl behind her ear. Her lipstick was sharp, bold red. She looked like she belonged in this world of rich men and locked doors.

She didn't. But no one needed to know that.

The black car stopped in front of a private club tucked into the Upper East Side. No signs. No music. Just glass, stone, and silence. The kind of place that didn't need to prove anything.

She pulled out her phone and reread the message, and sighed.

[Big client. Private job. Don't screw it up. Suite 4.]

No name. No details. Just orders.

"Another night, another hungry male." She muttered to herself as she stepped out. "Let's dance, shall we?"

Her heels hit the pavement as she walked towards the club. The bouncer gave her a long look, he was tall, thick neck, broken nose, face like stone.

"Name?" he grunted, seizing her from up to her feet.

"Calla," she said coolly, chin up.

He checked his phone, then gave a short nod. "Fourth door on the right. Knock once."

"Thanks," she muttered, already walking past him.

The hallway was dim, with dark walls and soft light. Her heels echoed, sharp. She didn't let the nerves show. Never did and never will.

She'd been in enough rooms with powerful men to know one thing... they smelled fear. And they loved it.

At the fourth door, she knocked once and it came opened from the inside.

He didn't say a word. Just stood there, tall, broad, dark-haired, serious as death and fucking handsome like the devil. The collar of his black shirt loose, top two buttons undone. Tattoos peeked from under the open collar. His eyes were black ice.

"You're Calla?" His voice was low, smooth, but cut sharp.

"That's what they call me," she said, brushing past him and into the room like she owned it.

The suite was expensive without trying. Soft lighting. A full bar, whiskey already poured.

"No music?" she asked, running a finger along the back of the couch.

"I like quiet," he replied.

Calla turned, folding her arms. "You don't like talking either?" She asked. He seems not to be bothered by anything in the world.

He raised an eyebrow, just slightly. "Depends if there's anything worth hearing."

A smirk pulled at her lips. Okay, so he liked control. Fine. She could play.

"Then let's skip the small talk." She kicked off one heel, then the other, watching him the whole time. "You didn't ask me here to chat."

His eyes moved over her slowly. Not hungry. Not impressed. Just... measuring.

"Take off the dress," he said simply.

Calla held his stare. Most men asked, some begged, but him? He just demanded. No warmup, no flattery.

She didn't blush. She didn't hesitate.

She turned around, slid the dress down her body, and stepped out of it, with nothing else underneath.

Her back straight, chin high.

He didn't move right away. Just watched her movement.