“Yes,” I say. “Now.”
Her breath stops entirely.
I take a step closer, close enough to feel her warmth, to see her pupils dilate.
“And if you’re afraid, remember this…” I lower my head until my lips almost graze her ear. “You’re mine now, and I take care of what’s mine.”
She shivers. A perfect, delicious quiver that leaves goosebumps skating over her skin.
I brush a knuckle down her jaw, the barest touch, and her lips part like a prayer.
The thread snaps.
“Get ready,” I murmur, my voice scraped raw with desperate, hungry need. “I’ll be through in ten minutes.”
I turn away before I forget every promise of restraint I made to myself.
Because the contract may say fifteen months…but the obsession that is already in my blood? It has no expiration date.
Charlotte
I sit in front of the mirror, staring at a woman I barely recognise.
My hair is down now, falling in soft waves over my shoulders. I tugged out every pin the moment I stepped into this bedroom, unable to cope with the tightness against my scalp any longer. This is the room, the room where tonight, everything changes. I keep running my fingers through the strands, trying to calm the tremble in my hands.
I look… like someone pretending to be brave.
Do I… undress? Wait for him in the bed? Sit primly on a chair like a terrified woman waiting for execution?
My heart is a wild drumbeat as I whisper to my reflection: “You can do this. It’s just one night. One baby.”
A lie stitched into every word.
I take a shaky breath and stand, studying the lines of my body, the curve of my waist cinched by silk, the soft swell of my breasts against the snug neckline. Will he like what he sees when I’m undressed? Will he be disappointed? Will he… care?
I’m still debating which way to angle my shoulders when the door handle clicks.
My pulse stops.
He’s here and I’m not ready. Not at all. But I don’t think that will matter to him.
I straighten instinctively as the door swings open and he fills the space with dark suit and darker intent, closing it behind him with a soft, final click.
His eyes land on me, and everything inside me goes silent.
He moves first, stripping off his jacket, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. He doesn’t take his eyes off mine, even when mine flicker to watch his hands as they move over his buttons.
I have to swallow when he pulls it off his shoulders and throws it onto the small chair beside the door.
“Charlotte,” he says, his hands not hesitating to undo his belt as he toes off his shoes. His movements aren’t rushed or hurried, but methodical in his undressing. A routine that leads to a finality we only agreed on yesterday. “Undress.”
His words are commands, and I want to be offended, to at least tell him to speak to me with respect. Only the way my body responds to him would betray me anyway.
And I agreed to this.
“I can’t,” I say, lifting my eyes from the intricate tattoos that cover his chest, back to meet his. “It’s a wedding dress. You’ll have to do it. At least undo the buttons down the back.” I turn and lift my hair, pointing to the row of tiny pearls.
“Are you attached to the dress?” he asks. I look over my shoulder to find him stepping out of his trousers and briefs. He is entirely fucking naked and every bit as delicious as he looked yesterday.
