"Now," he said, his voice a dark promise, "let’s see how well you can apologize."
For some reason, this was harder than everything else. Not the humiliation. Not the exposure. Not the way my body betrayed me with every shuddering breath.
But this.
Lying here, marked and trembling, expected to say the words that would make him right.
My throat closed around them, bitter as poison.
"Belle." Gideon's voice dropped to a growl, warning and promise tangled together.
Something in me snapped.
"I'm sorry," I spat, the words sharp enough to cut. Not an apology. An accusation.
My eyes met his, blazing with everything I couldn't say—I hate you, I hate this; I hate that you make me feel like this.
His jaw tightened. For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then his thumb traced my bottom lip, slow and possessive. The touch was almost gentle, almost tender, and that made it so much worse.
Something flickered in his eyes—something I couldn't name.
He blinked. Pulled away suddenly, like I'd burned him. The space between us felt cavernous.
"Get ready for bed," he said quietly.
Then he turned and walked out. Left me there, his mark burning on my neck. Wondering why his retreat felt more like a punishment than anything he'd actually done.
Chapter 20
Gideon
The door clicked shut behind me, but I didn’t let myself breathe until I was in the bathroom, my back pressed against the wood like it could hold me together. My hands shook as I yanked my shirt over my head, the fabric catching on my damp skin. The mirror fogged with every ragged breath I took, my reflection a distorted smear of need and restraint.
Fuck.
I stripped the rest of my clothes off, my cock already heavy and leaking, the tip wet with want. My fingers twitched at my sides, itching to stroke myself, to take what I needed—what she made me need—but I clenched my jaw and turned the shower on instead. The water hit the tiles with a hiss, steam rising like a wall between me and the door she was on the other side of.
I stepped under the spray; the heat searing into my skin, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. My hand finally gave in, wrapping around my length, my thumb smearing the precum over the head as I groaned. The sound echoed off the tiles, raw and desperate. I braced my other hand against the wall, my forehead pressing into the wet surface as I worked myself, my strokes rough and uneven.
Belle.
Her name was a curse and a prayer in my head, her taste still on my tongue from that first night, her defiance still burning under my skin. The way she’d looked at me—like she wanted to kill me even as her body betrayed her—made my grip tighten, my pace stutter. I could still see the mark I’d left on her throat, dark and possessive, still feel the way her pulse had jumped under my teeth.
The water sluiced down my back, but all I could feel was her. The way she’d trembled when I touched her. The way she’d hated it. The way she’d wanted it.
The water pounded against my shoulders, but the heat did nothing to burn away the thought slamming into me like a body check against the boards.
Breed her.
My hand stilled around my cock.
The words hit me like a puck to the ribs—unexpected, brutal, stealing my breath. I exhaled sharply, my grip tightening until my knuckles ached. The image flashed behind my eyes before I could stop it: Belle, her thighs spread, her stomach round with something that was mine. The thought sent a jolt through me, my cock twitching in my fist, precum beading at the tip.
I groaned, low and rough, my free hand slamming against the tile. This wasn’t just want—this was need, sharp and primal, clawing up from somewhere deeper than lust. I’d never thought about a woman like this before. Never wanted to mark one so thoroughly, so permanently. But the idea of Belle, swollen with my child, her defiance softened into something pliant and mine—fuck.
My strokes turned harder, my breath coming in ragged bursts. I could almost hear her voice, husky and furious, telling me no. Could almost feel her nails digging into my skin as I pinned her down, my mouth on her throat, my teeth marking her as I filled her again and again. The fantasy twisted tighter, my balls drawing up, my release coiling low in my gut.
