“You what? Saved yourself?” He leans closer until I can’t look anywhere else. “You think they’ll ever let you walk away clean? They used you, Sienna. And you used me.”
“I didn’t?—”
“You did,” he cuts in. “You just didn’t think I’d come back.”
His control fractures right there. His hand slides up, gripping the back of my neck, and pulls me forward.
Then he slams his mouth into mine.
The kiss isn’t gentle; it’s punishment, a reminder, a claim. I push against his chest, but he doesn’t move, and for a second, the world narrows to the sound of our breathing and the heat between us.
He suddenly breaks the kiss, but doesn’t lose the distance between us. “You even still taste like mine.”
I hate him.
I hate this.
And I hate that I still feel tethered to this man.
“We had a deal,” he spits out. “You think words stop meaning something because you change your mind?” I shake my head even though I don’t like what I had to do. “And now I decide what that means.”
Neither of us speaks for a beat. He drags his thumb across my bottom lip, and my pulse skips. The air between us is charged again, with rage and want tangled together.
“I have to teach you a lesson, princess,” he mutters. “And you’re not going to like it.”
I slowly shake my head. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
Fear tenses my muscles when I say, “Don’t kill my dad.”
He glowers at me. “You think I’d waste my fucking time killing your dad?” His hands are suddenly underneath my dress, and he lifts the fabric over my hips. “No, princess, I’m going to fuck you. And you’re going to marry me tonight.”
He lifts me like I weigh nothing, setting me on the counter. The movement forces a gasp out of me as his hands stay firm on my hips, holding me in place.
His forehead presses against mine, his breathing harsh and uneven. “No one takes what’s mine. Not my father, not my brother, not even you.”
“You’re angry. You’re not thinking straight.”
He lets out a small, bitter laugh. “I’ve never thought clearer in my life.”
The silence between us is thick, charged. He looks at me for a long moment, and something shifts in his eyes. There’s less rage now and more something else. Something dangerous.
“Say it,” he murmurs. “Say you’re mine and you’re sorry.” When I don’t, his hand slides up, gripping my jaw, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Say it, Sienna.”
My heart is pounding so hard that it hurts.
“You don’t own me,” I whisper.
His mouth curves upward. “You keep telling yourself that.”
Then his lips crash into mine, and everything goes quiet.
It’s not a kiss—it’s a warning.
A reminder.
His hands tighten, his control is absolute, and I realize too late that he’s not just angry.
