"And after five days?"
"After five days, you'll beg me not to take you home."
She's here.
She's mine.
And I'm never letting her go.
4
Jemma
Iwake up sore, thoroughly claimed, and wrapped in a Russian mobster's arms.
Every muscle aches. Especially between my legs. Last night was intense. He took my virginity, and he didn't hold back. Even now, I can feel the reminder of it—the pleasant ache, the slight burn, the feeling of being completely and utterly used.
This is my life now, apparently.
Konstantin is still asleep, his breathing deep and even. One arm is locked around my waist, his hands splayed possessively over my stomach. Both hands. Like even in sleep, he's thinking about putting a baby there.
He took my virginity last night and immediately started talking about breeding me.
The scary part? I liked it.
No. I loved it.
What is wrong with me?
I know exactly what's wrong with me. I've spent years reading dark romance novels where the dangerous, obsessive hero claims the heroine completely. Takes her virginity. Breeds her. Keeps her. And I always thought "that's so unrealistic, no one would actually want that."
Turns out I'm that no one.
"Stop overthinking." His voice is rough with sleep.
"How do you know I'm overthinking?"
"Because you went tense." He nuzzles into my neck. "What's going through that pretty head?"
"I'm trying to figure out if I need therapy or if I'm just finally being honest with myself."
He huffs a laugh against my skin. "About?"
"About the fact that I liked it. All of it. The claiming. The breeding talk. The possessiveness." I turn my head to look at him. "You took my virginity and immediately told me you were going to get me pregnant. And I came so hard I saw stars."
His eyes go dark. "You did."
"So either I'm broken or—"
"Or you finally found someone who matches your freak." He rolls me onto my back, settling between my legs. "There's nothing wrong with wanting what you want, Jemma. With liking intensity and possession and being claimed."
"Society would disagree."
"Fuck society. I'm not asking society to understand us. I'm asking you: do you want this? Do you want me?"
I look up at him—this dangerous, beautiful man who's been obsessed with me for almost a year. Who kidnapped me. Who took my virginity roughly and possessively and made me love every second of it.
"Yes," I whisper. "I want this. I want you. Even though it's insane."
