I grip her chin, forcing her to look at me. I need her to believe me.
“No woman could be you. No woman came close to meaning something or having anything of mine. There’s nothing in me you haven’t made yours,” I assure her.
“Swear it,” she breathes out, eyes glistening with pure emotion.
“I swear,” I say without thinking, the oath cementing into my bones.
She palms my chest as if communicating with my heart. “Would you let someone else have me?”
My heart rate spikes in response. The thought alone unleashes a rage inside of me that could level the world to nothing but dust and skeletons.
“You wouldn’t.” She nods more to herself. “Good.”
Why deny the undeniable?
“That’s not good at all, baby girl.”
She cups my face. Her eyes bore into mine as if gauging my reaction. “I want two kids. Preferably a boy and a girl.”
She calls me cruel, but she’s the cruel one, painting this perfect family image in my head.
“How many do you want?” she asks, her sweet voice hypnotizing me into wanting it all with her and so much more.
I arch a brow at her, and she giggles.
However many she wants to give me, and she knows it.
It’s so easy to get lost in this dream I fully submerge in until I will choke on it. Insanity, that’s what it is. I want her out of this life, and she wants to bring my heirs into it.
She brushes her nose along mine, murmuring, “Two then.”
Her hand moves to my chest, toying with the first button. I can’t find it in me to stop her. Yet she still glances at me for permission. She seduces me all right, but again, she wouldn’t need much when I am constantly yearning for her. This woman owns me. I just pretend it’s the other way around.
Leaning back on my palms, I jerk my chin to her, basking in her attention. “Go ahead. You’ll see it, anyway.”
The spark in her eyes undoes me.
She slowly unbuttons the first one and moves to the second, but she loses patience, which elicits a chuckle from me. Ripping the shirt open, she reveals my chest.
She gasps, blinking, tears gathering in her eyes.
Most of my arms, chest and back are covered with tattoos. One arm sleeve is a distorted clock bleeding into a lion, with a crooked steel crown, stars, and roses peppered in between.
On my upper back is the BRACON tattoo—a cross with a rose in the middle.
On my other arm is a skull with hollow eyes from where snakes crawl out, blending into a bleeding dagger, each drop for one of my kills to emphasize the tallies I carve into my skin. Black shadows connect all the tattoos, emphasizing the dark world I rule.
But what she can’t stop looking at is my chest, where a dahlia flower reigns. A few petals scatter around as if blown by the wind, each one engraved with a small letter inside of them to spell her name. Under the flower lies my palm, holding it like an oath to protect, to serve, to love.
Tears stream down her face as she cups her mouth. I love her tears when I have my way with her, but out of it, they fucking kill me.
I drag her to my chest, holding her as she sobs quietly. Her tears, each and every oneof them rip me apart.
I knew that tattoo would trigger her emotions.
“It’s beautiful,” she hiccups.
I brush her tears away, asking softly, “You like it?”
