"Does it hurt?" My voice is rough.
"Only when I breathe," she jokes, but I don’t laugh.
It’s not fucking funny.
She scoots back against the pillows and sighs as she sinks into the bed. My own clothes come off quickly, the need for skin-on-skin contact overwhelming, and I crawl under the covers beside her, pulling her back against my chest.
Usually, conquering her is the goal. Burying myself inside her so deep all she can do is scream and take me until she’s soft and satisfied is the standard of our nights together.
Tonight, though… feeling her alive is the only thing that matters. It’s all I want, and when my dick starts to perk up, I ignore it.
"Gabriel," she whispers, her voice thick with exhaustion.
"Shh. Don't talk."
I shift, leaning over to the nightstand. The drawer slides open with a quiet hush. My fingers find the velvet box I’ve had hidden there for weeks, waiting for the right moment. This... this is it.
I turn back to her.
"Give me your hand."
She blinks, confused, but she lifts her left hand from the duvet.
I snap the box open.
The light from the Christmas tree catches the diamond. It’s a massive emerald-cut stone, flawless of course, flanked by two smaller stones. It’s ostentatious. It’s heavy. It’s a rock that saysthis woman belongs to a man who can buy and sell your entire life.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Blair’s breath hitches. Her eyes widen as she stares at the ring.
"Gabriel..."
"I told you that you belong to me," I say, my voice low. "And now it’s official."
I take the ring from the box and slide it onto her finger. It fits perfectly.
"It's... it's too much," she whispers, staring at the diamond glittering in the semi-darkness.
"It's not enough.”
I keep hold of her hand, weaving my fingers through hers so the metal presses against my skin, too.
"You said I trapped you," I say, watching her face. "You were right. I did. I saw a door that was capable of closing, and I shoved my foot in it because the thought of being on the other side of it—the side without you—was unacceptable."
She looks up at me. Her blue eyes are searching, stripping me bare.
"Why?" she asks. "You could have had anyone. You could have had a woman who fits in here. A woman who doesn't come with baggage and all kinds of scandal. Who isn’t your son’s ex."
"I don't want just anyone," I growl. "I want the woman who looked me in the eye at a fight club and didn't flinch. I want thewoman determined to make something of herself from nothing and doesn’t know the meaning of quit. Who understands what it means to struggle and still come out on top."
I lean in, brushing my lips against her temple.
"I’ve spent most of my life building walls. I made myself untouchable. I made myself cold because cold is safe. But I’ve been obsessed with you for years, watching you waste your light on my son. When you walked into the club in that green dress, looking like you were holding yourself together by a thread, I decided I was done watching. I wasn't going to let you fall. I was going to catch you, and I was never going to put you down."
My throat feels tight. The words are jagged, scraping on the way out.
"I love you," I admit. It sounds like a confession of guilt. "I didn't think I was capable of it. I thought that part of me died years ago. But you... you dug your way into my chest and refused to leave. It’s heavy, and it’s terrifying, and it’s the only thing that makes sense. I’m obsessed with you, yes. But it’s more than that. You’re the only reason the heart in my chest bothers to beat."
