"Let me see." He holds out his hand, an order not a request.
"It's my phone," I protest.
In two strides he's across the bathroom. He doesn't grab it from me, but his presence is so overwhelming I find myself surrendering it without further struggle.
He glances at the screen, then pockets my phone. "No outside calls. Not yet."
"You can't just take my phone!" Indignation cuts through my fear. "I have rights!"
"You have safety," he corrects, crowding me against the sink. "You think those are just ordinary bikers out there? We've got enemies, baby doll. Rival clubs that would love to know I've got a wife now. A weakness they could exploit."
"I wasn't going to announce it on social media," I snap. "I was calling my best friend!"
"And what would you tell her? That you need rescuing?" His eyes narrow. "That you want to leave your husband after less than a day?"
"You're not—" I stop, because technically he is. My husband. The thought makes me dizzy. "This isn't real. None of this is real."
His hand comes up to cup my face, surprisingly gentle for such a large man. "It's the most real thing I've ever felt," he says, voice dropping to that deep rumble that vibrates through me. "From the moment I saw you, something clicked into place. Like finding a missing piece I didn't know was gone."
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. This isn't just possession or lust—at least, not only that. There's something else, something that makes my chest tighten in a way I don't want to examine too closely.
"I don't know you," I whisper. "And you don't know me."
"I know enough." His thumb traces my lower lip. "I know you're kind. I know you're smart. I know your body loves it when I’m balls deep in you, promising to get you pregnant.”
As if to prove his point, his other hand slides to my hip, drawing me against him. Despite everything, my traitorous body reacts, heat pooling low in my belly.
"I know you're scared," he continues. "And I know I'll protect you with my life. That's what being my wife means."
"It should mean trust," I counter, trying to ignore how his proximity affects me. "Which includes not stealing my phone."
A muscle in his jaw tightens. "Trust goes both ways, baby doll. You weren't planning to tell your friend where you are so she could call the cops?"
My silence is answer enough.
"That's what I thought." His grip tightens on my hip. "I'm not the bad guy here. I'm keeping you safe."
"By making me a prisoner?"
Something dark and possessive flashes in his eyes. "By keeping what's mine close."
"I'm not yours!" The words burst out, fueled by fear and frustration and this maddening attraction I can't seem to control. "I'm not a possession!"
"No?" In one fluid motion, he lifts me onto the bathroom counter, stepping between my spread thighs. "Then why does your body say otherwise? Why do you get wet when I touch you? When I call you mine?"
His hand slides up my inner thigh, finding the damning evidence of my arousal through my jeans. I can't help the small sound that escapes me.
"Your mind might be fighting it," he growls, pressing against the seam of my pants, "but your body knows the truth. It knows you belong to me."
"That's just…physical," I gasp as his fingers work against me. "It doesn't mean anything."
"Bullshit." He captures my mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing my protests. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with hunger. "It means everything."
Before I can form a coherent response, he's lifting me off the counter, carrying me back into the bedroom. My back hits the wall with a thud, his body pinning me there as he attacks my neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses.
"Stop," I whisper, but my hands are clutching his shoulders, pulling him closer.
"You don't want me to stop," he murmurs against my skin. "You want me to make you feel good. Let Daddy take care of his little girl."
