“No,” I protest, my eyes watering. He won't take this from me. It's my fucking identity. If I'm not trying to hate myself into a smaller size, who even am I?
“I'm plump enough,” I whisper.
“Say that again,” he says quietly. Dangerously quiet.
“I said… I'm plump enough.” I swallow hard.
“Christ,” he says in a low curse. “If I hear you say one more self-deprecating thing about yourself, Bianca, I swear to Christ…” He cuts himself off, then pauses, his voice husky with a hint of warning in it. “You ought to be spanked for that.”
The words hit me. Heat floods my face, and something low in my stomach tightens in a way that has no business happening right now. Not with him. Not here.
“You said you wouldn't hurt me,” I whisper.
His expression softens just a bit, but his tone stays firm. “I'm not going to hurt you. But I will protect you from this bollocks, even if that means putting you over my knee and reminding you of what you're worth.”
I can't breathe. I can't think.
Who does he think he is, just intruding into my deepest, darkest secrets?
I can't do anything but stare up at this massive, dangerous man who looks at me like I'm something precious.
Turning me to face him, he holds my chin in his hand. “Listen to me, Bianca. You are fuckinggorgeous. Do you hear me? Gorgeous in a way that makes men stupid.”
My breath hitches.
He continues. “I've watched you walk down streets, and I’ve seen men trip over their own feet trying to get a second fucking look. I've seen the way they stare at you in that coffee shop. The way they lean in closer when you take your hat off. The way they'd do anything just for a moment of your attention. But you don't notice, do you? No. Too busy staring at that fucking Crowning prick. Too busy thinking you're anything but perfect.”
He leans in closer, and I'm trapped between him and the chair… between fear and something I don't want to name.
“Your curves.” His gaze drops for a second, then snaps back to my eyes. “The way your jeans hug your hips. The way you fill out a jumper. The way you move through the world, like you don't know how beautiful you are.”
“Stop,” I whisper.
“No.” He shakes his head. “You need to hear this. You need to understand. Your body isn't something to be ashamed of, lass. It's something men would kill for. It's something I…” He stops himself, his jaw clenching.
“Something you, what?” The question slips out before I can stop it. I want him to admit that he's done something wrong. And I can't stand the intensity of his stare, not for another second.
I've spent years of my life trying to force myself, to hate myself, into beingdifferent. Listened to the words my mother said, only confirmed by Marcus.
His gaze drops to my mouth for a heartbeat before he looks back into my eyes. “Something I think about way more than I should. Something I've memorized from a distance and still can't stop imagining up close.”
Good.God.
The realization hits me like a bucket of ice water. He's not just protective. He hasn't just stalked me. He's… he's obsessed.
“You're mad,” I whisper.
The ghost of a smile crosses his features. “I told you that last night. We're all mad here, remember?”
He stands up, giving me space again, but the air between us feels charged and dangerous.
“Eat your toast, Bianca. I'm not in the business of force-feeding. But if you're not eating it because you think you need to starve yourself and somehow be little Miss Perfect, I'm telling you again—it's not happening. You already are perfect. I need you healthy and strong, and I'll not have you starving yourself over some nonsense Crowning or your mother put in your fucking head.”
He walks back to his side of the table, stares at me for a moment, then walks over to the counter. He grabs two fresh slices of bread and puts them in the toaster.
I watch. The smell of it toasting fills the air. I do like toast. Who doesn't like toast? It smells delicious. It's good, thick artisan bread. I wonder where he got it from?
A moment later, the toast pops up. I'm nibbling a piece of bacon when he brings two large slices, liberally spread with butter.
