I swallow hard, looking at the floor with shame. “I want to own you, Charlotte. Not just have you. I want to be the air in your lungs. I have these thoughts… that I don’t ever want to hear ‘no’ from you. I want you to be a part of me, something I control so completely that you can’t even blink without my permission. It’s dark. It makes me feel like my father.”
I look up, waiting for the disgust. It doesn’t come.
“Do you want to hurt me?” she asks.
“Never. God, never. I just want to own you. I want to be the only one who provides for you, touches you, and decides for you.”
She steps closer, her chest brushing mine. “We can try that. On one condition. We have a safe word. If I say it, the game stops. But otherwise… I’ll try to never say no to you. I’ll let you own me, Valerio. If that’s what it takes to keep you whole.”
Can someone be so fucking perfect?How is she so fucking perfect?It’s like God made her specifically for me.
“You don’t understand. I want you to wait for me. I want to tell you what to wear, when to eat. I want you to belong to me.”
“Then show me,” she whispers. “Show me how you want to own me.”
I reach out, my gloveless fingers tracing the line of her throat. I’m going to let it out—but only for her.
“Yellow,” I say. “That’s the word. But until you say it, Charlotte… you’re mine. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Valerio.”
I lead her to the kitchen island with my hand on the nape of her neck.
“Did you eat today?” I ask.
Her brown eyes are wide and searching. “No. I wasn’t hungry.”
I feel a surge of heat in my gut. I grab a loaf of bread and a knife. I don’t ask what she wants. I don’t offer options. I make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the blade thudding against the marble.
“I don’t want you to say no to me when I tell you to eat, Charlotte,” I say, tearing a piece of bread off and holding it to her lips. “Open.”
She hesitates for a fraction of a second before she parts her lips. I feed her. Slowly. Piece by piece. My fingers linger against her tongue, her teeth grazing my skin.
“Good girl,” I rasp.
I’m stone-hard. Nothing ever turns me on but her, and nothing turns me on more than owning her.
I walk her to the closet. I ignore her jeans and sensible sweaters. I reach for a slip dress—black silk, thin as a cobweb.
“Take off your clothes,” I command.
She unbuttons the suit jacket as she slides the denim down her hips. She doesn’t reach for the “Yellow” safety net. And I secretly hope she never will.
I help her into the silk. I stand behind her in the mirror, pulling her back against my frame. I look like a reaper looming over a sacrifice.
“From now on, you dress for me. If I want you in lace, you wear lace. If I want you in nothing, you’ll walk naked until I tell you otherwise.”
I bite the curve of her shoulder, just hard enough to leave a mark that will be purple by morning. Her eyes roll to the back of her head.
My little Charlotte loves to be owned.
“I want everyone who looks at you to know that there isn’t an inch of your body that hasn’t been claimed.”
I grip her hair, tilting her head back. My eyes are wild, the Morelli rot in full bloom.
“You’re my property. You’re the one thing in this world I won’t let go of, even if I have to kill us both to keep the deal.”
This is when I expect her to tap out… but all she offers me is a small smirk of her perfect lips. Does she even realize that these aren’t just words? That I’d do just that if she ever looks at me like I’m the monster I am? That if I can’t have her in this life, I will sure as fuck have her in the next?
