My heart pounded in my chest, my breath coming short. When his fist connected, that sickening thud of knuckles on flesh should have made me flinch. Should have made me turn away.
Instead, I leaned forward.
Heat flooded through me, pooling low in my belly. My breasts felt heavier, my pulse racing. My skin felt too tight. Every brutal hit, every display of raw power, sent electricity skittering down my spine. I was afraid of him in that moment—truly afraid of what he was capable of—and somehow, that fear tangled with desire until I couldn’t separate them.
This was who Cavin really was beneath the expensive suits and measured words. This violence, this power, this absolute dominance wasn’t a side of him. It was his foundation.
And god help me, I wanted it. I wantedhim.But here’s what truly undid me: I realized, watching him in that ring, that when he’s with me, he cages all of that.
Every touch has been controlled. Every kiss measured. Even when he’s angry with me, even when I went into the club and he was furious, he held himself back. That massive, devastating force that could break a man in half, and nearly did, treats me… differently.
Maybe Cavinisn’tthe boy I knew in school.
He fights like a demon but doesn’t unleash himself on me.
Or hasn’t yet.
The restraint that must take… the control.
Standing there in the crowd, watching him raise his bloodied fists in victory, I felt something shift inside me. Fear, yes. Awe, absolutely. Arousal that made my knees weak.
But also… pride.
He’s mine.
This dangerous, violent man has chosen to be gentle with me. And that choice, that constant caging of his nature, is somehow more intimate than anything else between us.
When his eyes found mine across the crowd, dark and predatory and hungry, I felt it like a physical touch.
Maybe he won’t always cage it with me. Not forever.
And the most terrifying part?
Iwanthim to let it loose. Excitement and arousal twist together. I’ve replayed the fight and his hand around my neck, replayed those moments a thousand times since, trying to understand why it didn’t terrify me but did the opposite.
And I want to feel it again.
But this time, I want to see how it ends.
So finally, I say yes.
Okay, fine. Alright I’ll go out to dinner withyou.
When?
Cavin
Tonight. I’ll pick you up at six o’clock. Wear something pretty.
My heart flutters in my chest.
I wish Bridget wasn’t back in the hospital for treatments because I want someone to complain to and then squeal with. I want someone who will help me pick out the clothes I should wear. I want to talk about what I’m going to do tonight.
I may be marrying a man I hate, but at least he’s a man and not a boy. He’s picking me up. He told me what time. He told me what to wear.
I like black and white. I like expectations and dependability. So if anything, Cavin is competent. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?
I don’t tell my mother—I have at least an ounce of self-preservation left. But I do go to my da.
