"Say you're mine," he murmurs against my lips.
The words should trigger every alarm bell in my head. Instead, they send a thrill through my body, a rush of something that feels dangerously like belonging.
"I'm yours," I breathe, and somehow, it feels like the most honest thing I've ever said.
five
. . .
We move to the couch,my legs still trembling from that earth-shattering kiss. Sutton sits with casual confidence, one arm stretched along the back of the sofa, but his eyes never leave me. There's nothing casual about his gaze—it's focused, calculating, as if he's trying to see straight through to my soul. I perch on the edge of the cushion, keeping a careful distance between us, though my body seems to lean toward him of its own accord. The air between us vibrates with possibility, with the knowledge that something fundamental has shifted. I've admitted I'm his, and now he plans to define exactly what that means.
"We need to establish some parameters," he says, his voice steady and businesslike, at odds with the heat still simmering in his eyes. "If you're going to stay here—with me—there are certain rules I expect you to follow."
My stomach tightens with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. "Rules?"
"Boundaries," he amends, though his expression suggests there's little difference in his mind. "Expectations that will keep you safe and make this arrangement work for both of us."
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling vulnerable despite being fully clothed. "I'm listening."
He leans forward slightly, closing some of the distance between us. "First, you stay. Not just physically in this penthouse, but with me. No running, no hiding, no shutting me out."
I nod slowly. It seems reasonable enough, though I wonder how he defines "shutting out."
"Second, you don't run." His eyes darken as he says this, and I remember my aborted escape attempt days ago. "If something is wrong, if you're upset or scared or angry, you come to me. We deal with it together. You don't try to solve your problems by disappearing."
Again, I nod, though this one is harder. Running has been my survival strategy for as long as I can remember—running from Raymond's moods, running from difficult situations, running from anything that threatened my precarious sense of security.
"And third," he continues, his voice dropping to a register that sends a shiver down my spine, "you trust me. Completely. Without reservation."
At this, I hesitate. "I don't know if I can promise that," I say honestly. "Trust isn't something I give easily."
A smile flickers at the corners of his mouth, surprising me. "I'm aware of that, Cecily. It's one of the things I admire about you. Your caution has kept you alive this long." He reaches out, his fingers tracing a path from my shoulder down to my wrist. "But I'm not asking for blind faith. I'm asking you to try. To let yourself believe that I want what's best for you, even when you don't understand my actions."
I shiver at his touch, at the gentleness belying the steel in his words. "And what do I get in this arrangement? It seems like all the rules are about what you want."
His eyes flash with something—amusement, maybe, or appreciation for my boldness. "You get safety. Security. A place to heal from what was done to you. Resources to build whatever future you want for yourself." His fingers encircle my wrist, his thumb pressing against my pulse point. "And you get me. My protection. My attention. My... devotion."
The last word hangs between us, weighted with implications that make my breath catch. This powerful, dangerous man is offering me devotion—something I'm not sure I know how to handle.
"Why?" I ask, the question that's been plaguing me since the night he found me. "Why would you offer all this to someone you barely know?"
His grip on my wrist tightens fractionally. "Because from the moment I saw you, I knew you were mine to protect. Mine to care for." His voice drops lower, his eyes holding mine captive. "Mine to possess."
I should be frightened by that declaration. Instead, a warm, liquid heat pools in my belly, spreading outward through my limbs. I've never been wanted like this—with this fierce intensity, this absolute certainty.
"I don't know why I'm agreeing to this," I whisper, more to myself than to him. "It doesn't make sense."
"Doesn't it?" His free hand comes up to cup my face, turning it toward him. "You've spent your life belonging to people who hurt you, who saw you as a burden or a commodity. Is it so strange that you might want to belong to someone who sees you as precious?"
Precious. The word echoes in my mind, unfamiliar and alluring. Is that what this is about? Am I so desperate to be valued that I'm willing to trade one form of captivity for another?
But this doesn't feel like captivity, not really. Despite the rules, despite the power imbalance between us, there's something in Sutton's gaze that speaks of reverence as much as possession.
"Okay," I say finally, my voice barely audible. "I'll try. I'll stay. I won't run. And I'll... I'll try to trust you."
The smile that spreads across his face is mesmerizing in its genuine pleasure. "Good girl," he murmurs, and the praise sends an unexpected thrill through me.
His hand slides from my face to the back of my neck, exerting gentle pressure, drawing me toward him. "Now, let's seal our agreement properly."
