"Yours," I gasp as pleasure crashes over me in waves, my body clenching around him, pulling him deeper. "Always yours."
He follows a moment later, his release hot inside me as my name tears from his throat in a hoarse cry. We stay connected as the aftershocks subside, his weight a welcome pressure, his breath hot against my neck.
When he finally lifts his head to look at me, there's something vulnerable in his eyes that I've never seen before—a brief glimpse behind the mask of control and confidence he always wears.
"I don't know how to be less than I am," he says quietly. "Less possessive. Less obsessed. Less consuming. This is who I am, Cecily. Who I've always been."
I reach up to touch his face, tracing the strong line of his jaw. "I don't want you to be less," I tell him, the admission both liberating and terrifying. "I just needed to understand. To know that I'm not wrong for wanting this. For wanting you, exactly as you are."
Relief washes over his features, quickly masked by his usual confidence. He pulls me into his arms, arranging us so that I'm cradled against his chest, my head tucked under his chin.
"You're not wrong," he assures me, his hand stroking my back in long, soothing motions. "We're not wrong. We're just... different. Outside the boundaries of what most people understand or accept."
I nod against his chest, comforted by his certainty even as a small part of me continues to wonder if I've simply exchanged one form of captivity for another, one master for another. But if this is captivity, it's a gilded cage I've chosen for myself, one lined with pleasure and protection and a twisted form of love I never expected to find.
And for now, at least, that's enough.
fifteen
. . .
The headlineon my tablet screen stares up at me, bold black letters that make my stomach drop like I'm in a plummeting elevator: "DISGRACED BUSINESSMAN RAYMOND PARKER MISSING FROM FEDERAL PRISON." I read the article twice, my pulse thudding in my ears like a warning drum. Raymond disappeared during a prison transfer three days ago—vanished without a trace while being moved from one facility to another. No signs of escape. No body found. Just gone, as if he simply ceased to exist between one moment and the next. Authorities are investigating, the article says, but have no leads. I set the tablet down with hands that refuse to be steady, a cold certainty settling in my chest. This is no coincidence, no random prison escape. This has Sutton written all over it, as surely as if he'd signed his name to Raymond's disappearance.
Three days ago. The same night Sutton came home late, clothes impeccable as always but with a certain tension in his shoulders that had melted away after he'd taken me with unusual ferocity, as if exorcising some dark energy from his system. The same night he'd whispered "it's done" against myskin as I drifted off to sleep, words I'd assumed were meant for me, a promise of satisfaction delivered.
Now I'm not so sure.
The sound of the front door opening pulls me from my thoughts. I quickly close the browser on the tablet, pulling up a shopping site instead—one of the many Sutton has given me unlimited access to, his way of ensuring I want for nothing within my gilded cage.
"Cecily?" His voice carries through the penthouse, a deep baritone that still sends involuntary shivers down my spine after all these weeks.
"In the living room," I call back, trying to keep my voice steady, casual.
He appears in the doorway, impeccable as always in a tailored suit that clings to his powerful frame like a lover's hands. His eyes find me immediately, a slight smile softening his features in a way reserved only for me.
"Shopping again?" he asks, nodding toward the tablet as he crosses the room to kiss me hello. His lips are warm against mine, the touch brief but possessive.
"Just browsing," I say, setting the tablet aside as he sits beside me on the couch. "How was your day?"
"Productive." His arm slides around my shoulders, pulling me against his side. "Yours?"
I hesitate, debating internally whether to bring up what I've discovered. Sutton values honesty between us—demands it, even—but there are certain topics we dance around, certain questions I've learned not to ask directly.
"I saw something interesting online," I say finally, deciding on a middle path. "About Raymond."
I feel him tense beside me, the slight stiffening of his shoulders the only outward sign of his reaction. "Did you?" His voice remains neutral, controlled.
"He's missing." I turn to look at him, studying his face for any reaction, any tell. "Disappeared during a prison transfer."
Sutton meets my gaze steadily, his expression revealing nothing. "I saw that," he says, his tone conversational, as if we're discussing the weather rather than a man's mysterious vanishing.
"It's strange, isn't it?" I press. "That he would just... disappear like that?"
"Is it?" Sutton's hand traces idle patterns on my shoulder, deceptively casual. "A corrupt businessman with enemies on both sides of the law? I imagine there are quite a few people who would prefer Raymond Parker no longer exist."
The implication hangs in the air between us, unspoken but unmistakable. I swallow hard, gathering my courage. "Sutton, did you?—"
His finger presses against my lips, silencing the question before I can fully form it. "Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to, little one," he says softly, the gentle tone belying the steel beneath his words. "Some things are better left unknown."
