Claimed by the Enforcer

He ruined me for one night three years ago...
I ran before sunrise and never told him why...

Now the most feared enforcer in professional hockey is staring at his own eyes on our son's face - and he already knows I lied.

Marcus Kovalenko doesn't do soft. Six-foot-four of Russian-American muscle, knuckles scarred from a decade of breaking men for a living, eyes so pale they stop looking human when he's angry. Three years ago I let him wreck me, beautifully, for one reckless night, then vanished before he woke up. I told myself it was mercy. Really, I was terrified of loving a man built to destroy things.

Now he's standing at the boards of our son's hockey practice, staring at a three-year-old with his exact pale eyes, and three years of careful lies come apart in one breath.

"That's my son," he says. Not a question.

Marcus doesn't ask permission. He takes - my address, my nights, my body pinned against his penthouse glass like he's spent three years starving and finally gets to eat. His mouth against my throat feels like punishment and worship at once.

I tell myself I'm only letting him back in for Luca.

I'm lying. God help me, I'm lying, and every time he growls my name I forget why I ever ran.

He destroyed me once without even trying. This time I see every move - and I want him to make it anyway.

One-click now and fall for the enforcer who refuses to let her go.