He pulls back slightly, his hands framing my face, forcing me to look at him. His eyes are dark, fathomless pools, reflecting my own fear and confusion.
“You are mine, River,” he admits, his voice absolute. “And I will protect what is mine. But you must learn to trust my judgment. You must learn to obey.”
He kisses me then. It’s not the bruising conquest of his office, nor the calculated, insidious claim. This kiss is raw, almost desperate. His mouth slams against mine with a frantic, almost clumsy urgency that speaks of profound relief. I taste the lingering metallic tang of Anthony’s blood on his lips; a stark reminder of the violence he just enacted for me, and beneath it, the familiar, intoxicating taste of him.
His hands, which were framing my face now tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, almost painfully so. He devours my mouth, a deep, shuddering kiss that feels like he’s trying to absorb me, to pull me inside him, to ensure my safety by making me utterly a part of him. There’s a tremor in his body, a barely perceptible shake that betrays the depth of his fear, fear for me.
When he finally breaks away he rests his forehead against mine, his breathing ragged, his eyes squeezed shut for a long moment. He is not the composed, unshakeable professor. He is a man who just faced the potential loss of his most prized possession.
He opens his eyes, and they are dark, fathomless pools. But now I see the raw, exposed emotion in them; a terrifying blend of possessive fury, profound relief, and a desperate, almost aching tenderness.
“Never again, little artist,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, with a low growl that vibrates through me. “You will never put yourself in danger again. Do you understand?”
I can only nod, my own breath hitching, my body trembling with the aftershocks of fear and his overwhelming intensity.
He pulls back slightly, his hands still framing my face, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. His gaze is a physical weight, pinning me, claiming me. “You are mine, River,” he repeats, the words a soft, absolute vow. “And I will keep you safe, but you must let me.”
His eyes search mine, demanding not just understanding, but absolute, unquestioning assent. The game has changed. The stakes are higher, and I am, terrifyingly, ready to play.
Chapter Fifteen
River
* * *
The drive to Julian’s penthouse is a blur of city lights and unspoken tension. My body still hums with the aftershocks of fear and his overwhelming intensity, but beneath it all, a new kind of current thrums. In that moment, I saw a raw, vulnerable fear in his eyes that mirrored my own.
He pulls the car into the underground garage, the hum of the engine dying, plunging us into a sudden, heavy silence. He doesn’t speak. He simply turns off the ignition, and the darkness of the garage wraps around us, intimate and absolute.
I look at him. His profile is stark against the faint glow of the dashboard lights. His jaw is tight, his eyes, even in the dimness, are dark and intense.
“River,” he utters, his voice a low, rough growl that vibrates through the quiet space. He reaches out, his hand finding mine, his fingers lacing through mine with a desperate, possessive grip. “Are you alright?”
The question is simple, direct, devoid of any pretense. It’s not a command. It’s a plea, and it shatters the last vestiges of my composure. Tears, hot and unexpected, well in my eyes.
“I… I don’t know,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. The fear, the relief, the terrifying, undeniable truth of what just happened, it all crashes over me. “I was so scared.”
His grip tightens, almost painfully so. He pulls my hand to his mouth, pressing a soft, desperate kiss to my knuckles. “I know, little artist. I know.” His voice is raw, laced with a vulnerability that strips away his usual control. “I was full of rage, seeing someone touching what’s mine. I couldn’t contain it.”
The admission hits me with the force of a physical blow. Julian Kincaid, the unshakeable, the untouchable, was triggered for me. In that moment, the lines between professor and student, between predator and prey, blur into insignificance. There is only us. Two people, bound by a dangerous, all-consuming obsession, and a love that is both terrifying and absolute.
He releases my hand only to reach across the console, his fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me toward him. His mouth finds mine, and this kiss is different from all the others. It’s not about claiming, it’s not about breaking. It’s about need. Pure, desperate, overwhelming need.
I respond with an urgency that matches his, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. Desperate to feel the solid reality of him against me. This kiss is a confession. A promise. A desperate plea for connection in the face of chaos.
When he finally breaks away, we are both breathless, our foreheads resting against each other. His eyes, dark and blown wide, search mine, demanding not just understanding, but absolute, unquestioning assent.
“You are mine, River,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, with a low growl that vibrates through me. “Do you trust me?”
I can only nod, my own breath hitching, my body trembling with the aftershocks of fear. The words are a brand, a claim, and a terrifying, undeniable truth.
He pulls back slightly, his hands still framing my face, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. His gaze is a physical weight, pinning me, claiming me. “You will not put yourself in danger again. Do you understand?”
“Understood,” I whisper, the word a concession that costs me everything and nothing.
He offers a small, almost imperceptible smile, then pulls away, opening his door. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”
The elevator ride up is silent, the numbers climbing, the city lights blurring into a dizzying display. When the doors open to his penthouse, the vast expanse of glass and low light feels less like a fortress and more like a sanctuary. My duffel bag, still in my hand, feels laughably small.
