"So tight," he groans, his jaw clenched with the effort of restraint. "So perfect."
When he's fully seated within me, he pauses, his forehead pressed against mine, our breath mingling in the small space between us. "Mine," he whispers, the word more a vow than a possession. "All mine."
"Yours," I agree, my hands sliding up his back, feeling the coiled strength beneath his skin. "Only yours."
He begins to move then, each thrust slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. It's the most intimate thing I've ever experienced—this connection that goes beyond the physical joining of our bodies. I feel seen in a way I never have before, known in ways that transcend the physical.
But as the pleasure builds, as my body adjusts to accommodate him, his control starts to slip. His thrusts become harder, faster, more desperate. His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise, angling me to take him deeper, and I welcome the slight edge of pain, the reminder that this is real, that I'm really here with him, that I'm really his.
"Sutton," I gasp as he hits a spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. "Oh God, Sutton."
"That's it," he growls, his rhythm becoming more erratic as his own release approaches. "Say my name. Let me hear you."
He reaches between us, his thumb finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, circling it in counterpoint to his thrusts, and the dual sensation pushes me toward a second climax I didn't know was possible.
"Come with me," he demands, his voice rough with strain. "Come around me, Cecily. Now."
As if my body is conditioned to obey his commands, I shatter, my inner muscles clenching around him as pleasure crashes through me in unrelenting waves. Sutton follows a moment later, his release pulsing hot within me as my name tears from his throat in a hoarse cry.
Time seems to stop as we lay tangled together, his weight a comforting pressure, his heartbeat thundering against my chest. When he finally lifts his head, the tenderness in his eyes makes my own fill with tears.
"Why are you crying?" he asks, his thumb catching a tear as it spills down my cheek.
"I didn't know," I whisper, overwhelmed by the intensity of what we've just shared. "I didn't know it could feel like this."
Understanding softens his features. He shifts, withdrawing from me with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the fierce passion of moments before, and gathers me into his arms, cradling me against his chest.
"Now you know," he says softly, his lips brushing my temple. "And this is just the beginning, little one. Just the beginning of all the ways I'm going to love you."
Love. The word hangs in the air between us, unacknowledged yet undeniable. And as I curl into the warmth of his embrace, I realize that's exactly what this is—not just desire or possession, but love in its most primal, consuming form. A love that terrifies and exhilarates me in equal measure.
A love I never expected to find when I ran from Raymond's house into the rain that fateful night. A love I'm still not sure I deserve, but that I'll spend every day trying to earn.
"Sleep," Sutton murmurs against my hair. "I've got you."
And I do, secure in the knowledge that I am his completely now—body, heart, and soul—and that nothing will ever separate us again.
nine
. . .
I stareat my reflection in the floor-length mirror, barely recognizing the woman looking back at me. The midnight blue gown Sutton selected hugs every curve I didn't know I had, the material so fine it feels like wearing water. My hair has been styled by a professional he brought to the penthouse, my makeup applied with an expert hand that makes my eyes seem bigger, my lips fuller. I look like someone else entirely—someone who belongs on the arm of a man like Sutton. But beneath the designer dress and the careful makeup, I'm still just Cecily, a girl who ran away from her stepfather's abuse into the arms of a man whose world is as foreign to me as another planet.
"You're beautiful," Sutton says from the doorway, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine.
I turn to face him, my breath catching at the sight of him in a tuxedo that looks like it was poured over his powerful frame. He's always handsome, but tonight, he's devastating—the kind of man who stops conversations when he enters a room.
"I don't know if I can do this," I admit, fidgeting with the delicate bracelet he fastened around my wrist earlier, anotherin the endless stream of gifts he's showered me with. "These people... they're not my people."
He crosses the room in three long strides, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders, warm and steadying. "They're not my people either," he says, surprising me. "They're business associates, competitors, people I need to manage. But you—" his hand slides up to cup my cheek, "—you're mine. The only person in that room who matters."
I lean into his touch, drawing strength from the certainty in his voice. "What if they can tell? That I don't belong?"
His eyes darken, thumb brushing over my lower lip. "You belong to me. That's all anyone needs to know." He leans down, his mouth capturing mine in a kiss that's equal parts possession and promise. "And tonight, I want everyone to see exactly who owns my attention."
The word "owns" should bother me, but it doesn't. Not anymore. Not when it comes from Sutton, who has shown me that his possession is a form of protection, his control a kind of freedom I never knew existed.
The moment we step into the grand ballroom of the Whitmore Hotel, I feel every eye turn in our direction. The room is filled with beautiful people in beautiful clothes, sipping champagne beneath crystal chandeliers that probably cost more than most people make in a year. The women wear dresses that might as well be painted on, their necks and wrists dripping with diamonds. The men stand in clusters, power radiating from them like heat from the sun.
