I know he’s hurting, and it hurts me, too.
But I have no chance to tell him that, with his hand still over my mouth, and—
“Shall I prove how wrong you are?”
And now I have myself to worry about, and I’m already struggling before he’s even done speaking. Because I know. I just know the moment he—
No no no no no.
His lips have replaced his hand, and it’s exactly what I was afraid of.
The moment this happens, it’s all over.
And the moment he kisses me, I knew it would be like this.
Deep.
Hard.
No-holding-back demanding.
And it’s impossible to resist.
I’m not even surprised to hear myself whimper against his lips as my body softens under his in surrender. I can’t even muster the energy to get mad when I hear him release a rough low growl in satisfaction, like a predator claiming its prey. There’s just no point wasting energy on lies. It is what it is, and there’s at least one truth that we can both agree on.
I’m his.
Completely.
Absolutely.
Irrevocably.
He’s marked me for life, his claim reaching all the way to my soul, and that’s why all I can do is wrap my arms around him with a sob as the kiss deepens. All I can do is kiss him back as the whole world melts away.
His hands do what they expertly do, and my clothes disappear layer after layer, and I’m once again shaking under his burning gaze—
“Look at me.”
And the moment my eyes lift to his is the same moment his hand slips down, and a gasp tears out of me.
Oh.
Oh—
I was not ready.
He gives me no warning. He gives me no time to adjust, no careful build-up, no mercy. Just the sudden presence of his handthere—warm and certain anddemandingin a way he wasn’t the first night—and my body jerks against his like a string being pulled tight, and a small helpless sound catches in my throat.
“You’re mine, Tiara.”
His voice is low and rough in a way I’ve never heard it.
“Say it.”
I don’t want to.
I don’t have any plans to.
