I feel Colsar tremble beside me. “And so I did the only thing I could think of.”
I draw in a breath. “I told him I wanted him.”
The silence sharpens. “He loosened his grip.”
My voice steadies. “I put my hand down his pants.”
A pause."Then?—"
“I ripped them off."
“I had him dragged into the square, then had the hand he touched me with chopped off.
For a moment, nothing moves.
Then—
“You…” Colsar exhales sharply, then laughs. It is sudden, almost disbelieving. “You ripped them off,” he says again, shaking his head, a grin breaking through despite everything. “You actually?—”
He drags a hand over his face, a low sound escaping him, something caught between amusement and awe. “That is fucking incredible.”
His eyes flick back to mine, something hotter there now. Admiration. “You let him think he had you,” he says, voice dropping. “And then you took him apart.”
His thumb brushes once against my shoulder.
"It was...strangely satisfying," I admit. "Now I understand why you enjoy...dismemberment."
A faint, dangerous smile lingers. “That’s my wife.”
The words settle between us, heavy and certain.
Then the shift comes. The humor doesn’t vanish, but something darker moves beneath it, pulling it down into something steadier.
His grip tightens. “I should have been there.”
Quieter now. Rougher. “He should never have gotten close enough to touch you.”
His jaw sets, the tension in him sharpening, contained rather than explosive. “I don’t care what you did to him after,” he continues, voice low, controlled. “He should not have had the chance to lay a hand on you at all.”
“But you handled it.”
“You survived it. And you made him pay for it.”
His hand lifts, slower now, giving me space before settling lightly along my jaw. “And I am not disgusted,” he adds, quieter.
His thumb brushes my cheek.
“If anything…”
A faint smile returns to his mouth, darker now. “I want you more for it.”
A pause.
“And still very much yours.”
I move before I can second-guess it, my arms sliding around his neck as I draw myself closer, needing the contact more than I can explain.
His hands are still on me when I move, and this time I don’t think about it. I don’t slow myself down or try to measure the moment. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into me, pressing close like I need to prove he’s real, like I need to feel something solid under my hands. “I want to tell you something else.”
