Burning Jealousy

**Chapter 1: Sparks in the Silence**

Yagmur’s laughter echoed through the university courtyard, her blonde hair catching the late afternoon sun like a halo of gold. Her piercing blue eyes sparkled as she tossed her head back, chatting animatedly with a lanky boy from her literature class. She stood tall, her posture radiating confidence, completely unaware of the storm brewing just beyond the campus gates.

Joaquin, perched in his sleek black car, gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. At 31, he was a man who commanded boardrooms and closed deals with a mere glance, but seeing Yagmur with another guy—any guy—set his blood on fire. His dark eyes narrowed as he watched her, the tailored suit he wore suddenly feeling too tight, too hot. He didn’t just want her; he needed her, and the thought of anyone else even breathing in her orbit was unbearable.

When Yagmur finally spotted him and sauntered over, her hips swaying with that effortless swagger, Joaquin’s jaw was already set. She slid into the passenger seat, her scent—a mix of jasmine and something uniquely her—filling the car. “Hey, handsome,” she purred, leaning over to kiss his cheek. But he turned his head away, staring straight ahead.

“What’s your problem?” Yagmur snapped, her voice sharp as a blade. She wasn’t one to tiptoe around anyone, not even him.

“Who was that guy?” Joaquin’s tone was low, dangerous, like the rumble of thunder before a storm. “You looked pretty cozy out there.”

Yagmur rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, pushing her curves into sharp relief. “Oh, please. That was just Emre from my lit class. We were discussing a project. You gonna start a fight over a book now?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Yagmur,” he shot back, his accent thickening with every word. “I saw the way he looked at you. And you didn’t exactly push him away.”

She laughed, a biting, incredulous sound. “You’re unbelievable. I’m not some damsel you need to guard, Joaquin. I talk to who I want, when I want. If you can’t handle that, maybe you’re the one with the problem.”

The tension in the car crackled like static electricity as they drove toward her upscale residence. Joaquin’s hands flexed on the wheel, his mind racing with images of her with someone else, laughing, touching—fuck, he couldn’t stand it. Yagmur, meanwhile, stared out the window, her lips pressed into a tight line, refusing to give him an inch.

When they pulled up to her building, she didn’t even look at him. She flung the door open, stepped out, and slammed it shut with enough force to rattle the frame. “Don’t bother following me if you’re just gonna act like a jealous asshole,” she tossed over her shoulder before striding toward the entrance, her ass swaying with every defiant step.

Joaquin sat there for a long moment, his chest heaving, the heat of his anger morphing into something else—something raw, primal. He couldn’t let her walk away like that. Not when every fiber of his being screamed to claim her, to remind her who she belonged with. He killed the engine and stormed after her, his polished shoes clicking against the pavement.

By the time he reached her apartment door, his pulse was hammering. He didn’t knock—he never did. He pushed it open, finding her standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed, her eyes blazing with a mix of fury and something hotter, deeper. “What the hell do you want, Joaquin?” she demanded, stepping closer, her voice dripping with challenge.

“I want you,” he growled, closing the distance between them in two strides. “And I’m done pretending I can share even a fucking second of you with anyone else.”

Yagmur’s lips curled into a smirk, but her breath hitched as his hands gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him. She could feel how hard he was already, the evidence of his need pressing into her. “You don’t own me,” she whispered, but her hands were already sliding up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. “But if you think you can handle me, prove it.”

Their mouths crashed together, all teeth and heat, a battle for dominance neither was willing to lose. Her nails dug into his shoulders as he backed her against the wall, his hands roaming her body like he was mapping every inch of her. She gasped into his mouth, her pussy already wet with anticipation, the fight fueling her desire. His fingers slipped under her skirt, finding her dripping, and he groaned against her lips. “Fuck, Yagmur, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Shut up and show me what you’ve got,” she taunted, her voice husky, daring him to take her right there, to make her forget everything but the feel of him—hard, relentless, and all hers.