"What? Why?" The words come out more desperate than I intended, but I can't help it. I want him so badly it's like a physical ache, and the thought of stopping now feels impossible.
His expression is pained as he looks down at me, his thumb brushing across my cheek with infinite gentleness.
"Because ogres mate for life," he says simply. "When we claim someone, it's forever. We become possessive, protective to the point of obsession. We can't let go. It’s not in our nature."
The words hit me like cold water, but not in the way he probably intended. Instead of fear, I feel a surge of something that might be hope. Call me crazy all you want.
"And that scares you?" I ask softly.
"It terrifies me," he admits, his voice rough. "Because I’ve seen what an ogre’s obsession looks like before. What it pushes an ogre to do. I won’t let you sacrifice your freedom like that."
Before I can argue, before I can tell him that maybe I don't want freedom if it means losing him, he's scooping me up in his arms and carrying me toward the bedroom.
He sets me down gently beside the bed, pulling back the red plaid duvet with careful hands. When he tucks me beneath the warm blankets, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, I grab his hand desperately.
He tries to pull away, but I tighten my grip on his hand, holding him there beside the bed.
"This isn't over," I tell him, and I mean every word. "You can't just give me a taste of what we could have and then walk away."
Something flickers across his expression. Hope, maybe. Or fear. Or both.
"Don't go," I whisper. "Please."
"Good night, Rona," he says, his voice strained, gently extricating his hand from mine.
Then he's gone, leaving me alone in the warm bed that smells like him, my body still humming with unfulfilled desire and my heart racing with determination.
I lie there in the darkness, listening to his footsteps in the other room, thinking about what he said. About ogres mating for life, about possessiveness and protection and never letting go.
About my freedom and how much I value it.
The thing is, he's wrong about what I want. What I need.
I don't want safe and predictable and easy. I want the man who saves baby birds and cooks perfect pancakes and kisses like the world is ending. I want the ogre who looks at me like I'm a whole feast, who feeds me with his own hands and makes me feel claimed and cherished and desired.
I want Darhg Rooke, in all his ogre possessiveness.
And I'm going to convince him to claim me.
One way or another.
Chapter Ten
Darhg
Ididn’tsleepawink last night, but somehow, I still feel more energized than I’ve felt in months.
Or years.
It doesn’t hurt that I spent most of the night thinking about Rona. Even jerking off three times didn’t dull the relentless lust that filled my mind. I can still taste her on my tongue, smell her sweet, intoxicating pussy whenever Iclose my eyes.
I’m fucked and I know it. It’s only pure, sheer force of will that allowed me to refuse to fuck her when she asked for it. Because I won’t allow myself to become a monster, possessive and jealous. I refuse to become my father. I won’t stand for it.
Which is why I took Rona out this morning for breakfast at The Wandering Gnome. Because I don’t trust myself to stay this strong if she asks me to feed her with my own hands again.
I’m only an ogre, after all.
Rona and I step out of The Wandering Gnome, bellies full and minds content. She ate with gusto, as always, and made jokes with Mathilda, the gnome proprietor of the restaurant. Jokes at my expense, about how hungry ogres are. How ravenous we are.
