An old memory slips free of its bindings and pushes forwards. I knock it away but the traces it leaves behind don’t go so easily. “I thinkyoulike what fear does to me.”
“How many times do I have to repeat that I won’t harm you?”
“When men say that they mean they won’t leave visible bruises and it’s not the same thing at all.”
His brows draw together in concern while his eyes track across my face, trying to draw meaning that I work equally hard to disguise. “Who hurt you?”
I shake my head while his eyes drill deeper into mine, cataloguing everything they see until I’m forced to hide away, pulling up a shutter so thick that no pieces of my internal darkness can throw a shadow over his light. “I’m not… this is about you. Whatyou’lldo.”
For the longest moment, I expect him to persevere. If he pushes me again right now, I’ll have to step away. I’m not ready. Perhaps he sees that the same way he sees everything else, because the teasing humour floods back into his face, seeding it with colour.
Baxter laughs deep in his throat, the sound working to both calm and inflame me. Then he murmurs in his soft voice, “Oh, believe me. I intend to leave my mark all over you,” and a shiver moves up my spine, taking me far away from my unspoken dangers.
His hand moves to my throat, fingers pressing into the sensitive skin of my upper jaw, thumb rubbing my windpipe where the choker leaves it bare.
“But when you leave here, you’ll be the same person you always have been.” He pauses and my body leans towards him, rising onto the toes of my good foot to press against him in exactly the right places. “Maybe better.”
He’s waiting for me. To say something. To capitulate.
My logic centre tells me unequivocally that the right answer is to say no. Politely. Firmly. Screaming into his face if he doesn’t get it.
That is theonlyright answer.
“Okay.”
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
BAXTER
Once she gives her response, I touch my forehead to hers, sighing with satisfaction. Whatever she’s hiding from me can wait for another day. I don’t want to spook her. Not now when she’s saying everything I need her to. Obeying in every way that matters.
I raise my hand from her throat, brushing my knuckles along her cheek. “You’ll do what I say, wear what I send you, obey me when I issue an order.”
They’re not questions but I’m alert for her response. If she draws back now, we won’t work together. No matter how perfect she’s seemed up to this point, I can’t mould her if she shows too much resistance.
Her body tells me the answer first.
Her eyes meet mine and there’s no pushback, no sign of her stubborn frown. The palm against my chest isn’t pressing me away. Every part of her is soft and welcoming, no sign of the stiff muscles of rejection.
“Okay,” she finally whispers again, and I lower my mouth to hers, lips gently exploring this uncharted territory. Excitement unfurls in my stomach even at that brief caress.
She looks so beautiful. The dark hair, pulled back with the combs I gave her. Her flushed cheeks, matching so perfectly to the colour of her dress. Those sparkling blue eyes, wide with longing.
I pull her hand away from my chest and turn it, kissing the inside of her wrist where the skin is so pale it’s practically translucent. I can trace the twisting blue veins, the thicker cords of her tendons. Her hand trembles inside mine.
Meri thinks this tiny woman with her strange mix of bravado and terror could be working for the enemy, even now.
All I think when I look at her is how much I want her to be mine.
All of her, in every way.
The thumb of the hand I’m not holding goes straight to her mouth where she tears at the nail. Or what used to be a nail. There’s nothing left of it and the exposed skin at the tip looks raw.
I pull it away and she bites her bottom lip instead, digging in hard enough with her teeth that I worry she’ll draw blood.
Just in case she needs to hear it again, I repeat, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“What about the punishment you mentioned? Won’t that hurt?”
