His smile is beautiful in its ferocity, in its absolute satisfaction. He withdraws his fingers, positioning himself at my entrance, the blunt head of him pressing against me without pushing in.
"Look at me," he commands, waiting until my eyes lock with his. "I want to see your face when I claim you as my fiancée. When I seal our engagement in the most basic, primal way possible."
He thrusts forward then, entering me in one powerful stroke that makes me cry out—not in pain but in the overwhelming pleasure of being filled so completely. He pauses when he's fully seated within me, giving me time to adjust, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Mine," he says again, the word both a statement and a vow. "My fiancée. My future wife. The future mother of my children. Mine in every way that matters, and soon to be mine in the eyes of the law as well."
The possessiveness in his words, in his gaze, should frighten me. Instead, it sends a flood of warmth through my body, a sense of belonging so profound it brings tears to my eyes.
"Yours," I agree, my hands sliding up his arms to his shoulders, feeling the coiled strength beneath his skin. "All yours, Sutton. Always."
He begins to move then, each thrust deep and deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. There's something different about this time—a new level of intensity, of connection, as if the ring on my finger has somehow deepened the bond between us.
"I've wanted this since the moment I saw you standing in the rain," he confesses, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. "Knew you were meant to be mine. Knew I would do whatever it took to make you mine forever."
His rhythm increases, his control slipping as passion overtakes him. One hand slides beneath me, gripping my hip to angle me for deeper penetration, while the other tangles in my hair, holding me in place for his consuming kiss.
"No more doubts," he murmurs against my lips. "No more questions about whether this is right, whether you belong with me. This ring—" he captures my left hand, brings it to his lips, kisses the diamond now marking me as his, "—is just the physical manifestation of what we've both known from the beginning. We were made for each other, Cecily. Destined for each other."
And as his thrusts drive me higher, as pleasure builds like a gathering storm in my core, I can't deny the truth in his words. From that first night, when he found me lost and desperate in the rain, there's been an inevitability to our connection, a sense that this was always where we were headed.
"Tell me you feel it too," he demands, his voice rough with need. "Tell me you know we were meant for this."
"I feel it," I gasp, my body tightening around him as my release approaches. "I've always felt it. Like I was waiting for you my whole life without knowing it."
My words push him closer to the edge, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate. His hand leaves my hip to slide between us, finding that bundle of nerves that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
"Come for me," he commands, his eyes burning into mine. "Come around me while wearing my ring. Show me you're mine completely."
His fingers circle my clit with merciless precision, his thrusts deep and relentless, and I shatter, pleasure crashing over me in waves that seem endless. I cry out his name as my inner muscles clench around him, pulling him deeper.
"Mine," he growls as his own release follows, hot and pulsing deep inside me. "Forever mine."
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 a vulnerability in his eyes that I've rarely seen—a brief glimpse behind the mask of control and confidence he usually wears.
"I should have asked properly," he admits, his voice softer than usual. "Gone down on one knee, made some romantic speech. You deserve that."
I reach up to touch his face, tracing the strong line of his jaw. "This was more us," I tell him, surprising myself with how much I mean it. "More honest. More real."
Relief washes over his features, quickly masked by his usual confidence. He rolls to his side, taking me with him, arranging us so that I'm cradled against his chest, my head tucked under his chin.
"We'll be married within the month," he says, not a question but a statement of fact. "No long engagement. No reason to wait."
I should protest the high-handedness, should insist on having some say in the timeline of our wedding. But the truthis, I want what he wants—to be bound to him as quickly and completely as possible, to make official what we both already know to be true.
"Okay," I agree, my left hand resting on his chest, the diamond catching the first true rays of dawn now filtering through the windows.
His arm tightens around me, his lips pressing against my hair. "No one will ever take you from me now," he murmurs, the words carrying a weight beyond simple possessiveness. "No one can ever separate us once you're my wife."
There's something almost desperate in his tone, a hint of the obsession that drives him, that has driven him from the moment he found me. It should worry me, this all-consuming need he has to possess me completely. But all I feel is a profound sense of security, of being valued beyond measure.
Because in Sutton's world, possession isn't about diminishing value but about recognizing it, protecting it, treasuring it. And wearing his ring, becoming his wife, is the ultimate recognition of my worth in his eyes.
"I can't wait to be your wife," I whisper, and the words feel like both a promise and a surrender—to him, to us, to the future we're creating together, one possessive act at a time.
seventeen
. . .
