I shake my head, still cradling my arm against my chest. "It's fine."
"It's not fine. She drew blood. Let me see."
He moves toward me, and I back up instinctively, but there's nowhere to go. The back of my legs hits the chair, almost tripping me, and he stops just in front of me, carefully taking my arm and examining the crescent-shaped marks where Svetlana's nails broke skin.
His touch is gentle despite the fury I can still see in his eyes. He traces the marks carefully, and I see his jaw clench.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I should have made sure she couldn't get past security."
“You should have told me you have a fiancee!” The words come out before I can stop them. "You never mentioned that you have a fiancée." I feel more ashamed now than I did before. It was bad enough that I let my stalker fuck me, that I crawled to him, sucked his cock… all of that has degraded me past what I ever thought I would allow… or allow myself to be aroused by. But I’ve never, ever been a party to cheating, with anyone.
"Had. Past tense." He's still examining my arm, his fingers gentle on my skin. "I ended it already. She was an arrangement, nothing more. A convenience."
"A convenience." I laugh humorlessly. "Is that what I am too? Another convenience? Another arrangement?"
"No." He looks up at me, and the intensity in his eyes makes my breath catch. "You're nothing like her. You're nothing like anyone."
"What am I, then?" The words come out cracked, my voice scratching over my abused throat.
"Mine." The word is simple, absolute. "You're mine, Mara. There are no other women. There will be no other women. No one else in my bed, no one else in my life. Only you."
The possessiveness in his voice should terrify me. But it also does something else, something I don't want to acknowledge. It feels… good. It feels like what I’ve always wanted.
To be understood, accepted, wanted,lovedcompletely and obsessively.
Maybe that is what this is. Maybe I’ve always wanted to be owned, and I just never knew it.
"I didn't ask for this," I whisper. "I didn't ask to be yours."
"I know." His hand moves from my arm to my face, cupping my cheek. "But you are anyway."
His mouth comes crashing down onto mine, hot and hard and final. This is the pleasure he promised me, this is…
I can’t think. Can’t breathe. His tongue pries my lips open, slides into my mouth, demands that I surrender. And I arch into him, a moan dragging from my abraded throat, the pain welcome because now I know that pain from Ilya never comes without pleasure, eventually.
I’m beginning to trust him. It’s stupid and foolish and it might ruin my life, but right now, with my pussy soaked and the taste of his cum still in my mouth even as he kisses me, I don’t fucking care.
He can ruin me, as long as he makes me fucking come.
He pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against mine. "I need you to understand something. What just happened—Svetlana coming here, touching you, hurting you—that will never happen again. You're under my protection. No one touches you. No one hurts you. No one."
"Except you," I say quietly.
He's silent for a moment. "Except me."
He kisses me again, harder this time, more demanding. His hands move to my waist, pulling me against him, and I can feel the evidence of his arousal, the way his body is responding to mine. He’s hard again, thick and long and pressing against my stomach as he devours my mouth, relentless in his possession of me.
"I need you to know," he growls against my lips, "that you're the only one. That there's no one else, will never be anyone else. I need you to understand what you are to me."
He turns me around, pressing me against his desk, and I should protest. Should tell him to stop, that this isn't what I want, that I'm not ready for this.
But I don't say any of those things. Because they would all be lies.
I want him to fuck me so badly it feels like a physical pain. Like I’ll die if I don’t get his cock inside of me.
I don’t care what else happens next. I need him to fuck me.
His hands move to the waistband of my leggings, and when he starts to slide them down my hips, I don't pull away. I let him, and I hate myself for it, but I can't seem to stop.
