Hands shot to her shoulders and he shoved—hard.

She staggered back, ass slamming against a lab table, eyes blowing wide with genuine, delicious shock. Probably the first time in her spoiled life a guy had physically rejected her when she was serving herself up like a five-star whore on a platter.

Her fingers flew to her mouth. Touched her lips. Came away smeared with his blood from that savage bite.

She stared at the crimson streak. Then at him.

And smiled—slow, feral, licking his blood off her finger like it was foreplay.

"There he is," she purred, tongue dragging deliberately over her lower lip. "There's the monster from the videos. The one who takes whatever the fuck he wants." She sucked the finger clean, eyes locked on his. "Knew you were hiding in there, big boy."

"I'm busy," Phei growled, voice gravel and smoke, Dragon fully awake and snarling, cock straining so hard the zipper was leaving teeth marks.

Maddie stared, tits heaving like they were trying to stage a prison break from her blouse. Lips swollen, gloss wrecked, streaked with pink and red—his blood making her look freshly fucked already. Flush crawling up her throat, down into that perfect cleavage, the kind of blush that screamed dripping wet and desperate.

"You're serious," she whispered, almost awed. "You're actually turning me down. Me."

"Postponing," he corrected, tasting copper. "Big difference."

"I don't get postponed." Said like divine law. Gravity pulls down. Sun rises. Maddie Whitmore gets railed on demand. "I'm the one who decides when cocks get hard and when pussies get wrecked."

"First time for everything, princess."

Something shifted behind those blue eyes—playful brat melting into something sharper, hungrier, downright psychotic.

The look of a predator realizing the prey might actually bleed her back.

"You really think you can just walk away from this?" She straightened, smoothed her skirt like a queen fixing her crown, tongue sliding over blood-stained lips again. "Do you have any fucking idea who I am? What can I do to you—with you—for you?"

"Enlighten me."

"Whitmore Oil." She threw the name like a grenade. "Forty-seven billion in my trust alone. Fourteen percent of U.S. crude. Daddy lunches with presidents. Mommy has senators on leash. I could buy your entire sad little bloodline, Phei. Buy them, break them, sell the pieces on eBay and nobody would dare blink."

She prowled closer—slow, athletic, lethal grace in every step.

"One whisper from me and you're untouchable. Ivy League on lock. Seven-figure internships before graduation. Connections that make Harold Maxton look like the guy who mops his own yacht. I could hand you the keys to Paradise on a diamond leash."

"And the price tag?"

"You already know." She stopped inches away, perfume slamming into him—jasmine, vanilla, and the dark, musky scent of soaked lace between her thighs. "I want that nine-inch monster buried so deep I taste it for a week. I want you to fuck me raw until I'm screaming loud enough to shatter crystal. I want what Sierra's been hogging—except harder, dirtier, more."

Her hand slid down his chest, nails scraping, stopping just above his belt. Fingers toyed with the buckle—teasing, threatening, promising.

"Tonight. Whitmore Estate. Eight sharp. Parents in Dubai till Valentine's—whole mansion empty except staff who know better than to breathe wrong." She pressed closer, tits brushing his chest, hips rolling just enough to let him feel the heat radiating from her cunt. "Private wing. Soundproof. King bed big enough for every filthy position you've ever jerked off to."

"And if I ghost?"

Her smile went full shark—wide, white, merciless.

"Then I'll hunt you down. Again. And again. And again. Classrooms. Locker rooms. I'll corner you until you snap and hate-fuck me against the nearest wall." She leaned in, lips grazing his ear, breath hot and wet. "I'm obsessive when I want something, Phei. And right now I want your cock rearranging my organs. I don't stop until I win."

She pulled back, patted his chest twice—condescending, possessive—then turned.

Walked to the door with deliberate, hips-swaying cruelty. Giving him the full runway view: that criminal ass in the tight skirt, legs for days, the stride of a woman who'd never lost and didn't plan to start.

At the threshold she paused. Glanced back over one shoulder.

"Eight o'clock. Don't make me send a search party."

Door clicked shut.

Phei stood alone in the sterile chemistry room, lip bleeding, cock diamond-hard and furious, the ghost of her taste—blood, gloss, pure sin—still burning on his tongue.

Maddie Whitmore. Oil heiress. Body built for billboards and wet dreams. Face that launched trust funds. Throwing herself at him like a heat-seeking missile wrapped in daddy's money.

A week ago, he'd have dropped to his knees and worshipped whatever dark god delivered her.

Now?

He finally looked back at the empty space she'd owned seconds ago.

"Maybe," he said to the silence.

And walked out before the echo could answer.

Hallways flooded with post-lunch chaos—rich kids stampeding to class—and Phei melted into the current.

Lip throbbed. Wrist burned with phantom nails. Dragon roared behind his zipper, demanding he spin around, chase her down, pin her to the nearest locker and collect on every filthy promise.

He ignored it.

Not because he didn't want her—Christ, he did. Maddie was prime conquest material: Academy Belle, loaded, connected, the kind of trophy that would make the system rain rewards. Fucking her senseless would probably unlock achievements with obscene names.

But not on her script.

Not with her dictating time, place, rules. Not with her thinking she could bite his lip bloody, grind on him like a stripper with a deadline, and walk away believing she'd tamed the new apex predator because money and tits always won.

That was the real difference between her and Sierra.

Sierra had fought—clawed, threatened, iced him out—but underneath the armor she'd been starving to REALLY love her. Craving someone brave enough to force her surrender and make it feel like salvation and then declare her as his woman.

Maddie didn't want love or anything. Maddie wanted victory for their victory even she couldn't admit she wanted him forever too. She'd let him rail her six ways to Sunday and still strut out convinced she'd claimed him—another shiny toy added to the Whitmore collection.

Unacceptable.

If he took her—and fuck yes, he would, eventually—it would be when she was the one shaking. When she showed up on his doorstep, voice cracking, begging him to ruin her because she couldn't sleep without imagining his hands around her throat.

He'd break that sledgehammer confidence into something soft and obedient. Turn the heiress who bought everything and thought she could waltz into his life and order him around like he was her Call Boy, like his only purpose was to fuck her into happiness, the girl who only wanted to use him; into a girl who only wanted to be his, his woman!

The thought curled his bloody lip into a smile.

He wasn't ever going to be a slave to anyone!

Again!

The door clicked shut behind Maddie.

And then—

[DING!]

Blue text exploded across Phei's vision, bright and urgent.

[NEW MISSION GENERATED!]

[DETAILS: Maddie Whitmore, one of the Academy Belles, wants you to fuck her—rough, dominant, and brutal—with your full cock. She wishes you to deflower her petal buds that she hasn't found anyone worthy to take after testing them in foreplay.

[REQUIREMENTS:] Give Maddie what she wants, but conquer and completely dominate her fiery fierce fire with fire of your dragon! Do not just give in to her needs—make every moment, each brutal thrust as hard as she wants and more memorable than she'd ever hoped!

[REWARDS:]

1,000 EXP Fiery Cock Technique (NEW ABILITY) +12 Physical Stats +10 Charm Points

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