She’s breathing hard, chest rising against the thin cotton of my shirt. Her lips are parted, but she’s not saying a word. Her eyes stay on mine, and I can feel the fire behind them.
She’s absolutely infuriating and even more breathtaking.
“You done?” I ask.
She swallows once. Doesn’t blink. Her voice sounds softer, filled with a sense of sadness. “You left.”
“I came back.”
“You still left me.”
“Missing me now, are you, darling?"
Her jaw tightens, but her body doesn’t move under me. My hand is still at her throat.
“You try to punish me by crawling into the wrong bed,” I say. “Try to take control when we both know you have very little of it. And you still want to crawl back to me like you’re owed something.”
“I am,” she snaps.
I lower my face an inch closer. “You’re owed exactly what I give you.”
Her breath catches. Not in fear. In recognition.
This is what she wanted.
Not softness. Not comfort.
Me. Unfiltered.
My hand moves from her throat to her jaw. I tilt her face up, brushing my thumb over her bottom lip.
“I don’t like you in another room,” I command harshly. “Don’t do it again.”
She doesn’t respond.
Instead, she leans into my hand like it’s instinct.
I let the silence stretch.
Then I say, low and final, “Now stay where you fucking belong.”
Chapter nineteen
Martine Lilian Herron
Usually, I know better than to argue, and usually, I’m more inclined to behave. But I’m lonely, tired of being cast aside and kept in the house like some delicate thing that is required to remain in her gilded cage. I’m exhausted from trying to read between the lines of everything he won’t say. I know the Society limits what he can share, but what about everything else? I have questions, and he hides behind silence like it’s protection when it’s just control.
I miss school, I miss my horse. I miss my matching sweater sets and books back in my dormitory flat. I miss having a voice and using it. But now that I know what it feels like to have it taken away by the devil himself?
Salvation.
With a pettiness that shocks even me, getting a rise out of Hayden is intoxicating. I watch the control he has over his life,his tight, organized life built on gold pedestals of perfection, and I can’t stop myself from wanting to fuck it all up. It’s why I crave being close to him. My desire to be his bratty whore consumes me.
And I miss him while he’s away.
He towers over me on the bed, his voice edged with that sharp tone that cuts deep without ever needing to shout.
Stay where you fucking belong.
