"Do you have any idea how many nights I spent dreaming about this body?"
I stay perfectly still.
"Thousands." His lips brush my shoulder blade. "I memorized every curve. Every sound you make when you're about to fall apart. I played it on repeat in the dark."
The robe slides off, pooling at my feet. Goosebumps erupt across my skin. The nightgown beneath is practically nothing.
He fists the material at my hip.
"I'm going to make you forget every hand that ever touched you except mine. And when I'm done, you're going to know exactly who you belong to."
Ruin me. I've always been yours.
"Please," I whisper.
"Please what?"
"Ruin me."
"With pleasure."
The sound of fabric tearing fills the small space. I gasp as he tugs it away.
I'm completely bare. Naked in a maintenance closet with my palms pressed against cold wood. Exposed and at Tristan's mercy.
I keep waiting to be triggered, but every worry, every fear, washes away with his touch.
"Don't move."
His footsteps retreat. There's some rustling before he returns. Something light brushes my wrists.
"I'm going to tie your hands above your head. It gives you something to hold onto—and gives me access to everything." He presses a kiss to my shoulder. "Tell me to stop if you need to."
"I don’t want you to stop."
He binds my wrists with what feels like torn fabric, looping them together and hooking them over a pipe along the top of the doorframe. Not tight enough to hurt.
I like that he's telling me what he's doing, giving me the option to stop if I need to. Having the choice is liberating.
"Look at you." He circles into my peripheral vision, drinking me in. "Fucking perfect."
He turns me to face him, the binding twisting. My bare back presses against the cold door, but the way he's watching me makes my skin burn.
His gray-green eyes are molten in the lantern light.
"I'm going to erase every trace of him. Every touch. Every mark. Until the only thing your body remembers is me."
He leans in, lips at my ear. "And you're going to be so good for me while I do it."
A shiver cascades through me.
"Tell me where he hurt you."
The question lands like a stone in still water, rippling outward.
"Tristan—"
His thumb brushes my jaw, impossibly gentle.
