I came with a choked sound, my come hitting the tiles in thick, hot spurts. My orgasm hit me hard, my body locking up as I came, my breath stuttering. The release was brutal, empty, leaving me hollowed out and still fucking hungry for her. I stayed there, panting, my forehead against the wall, the water washing away the evidence of how badly I wanted to go back in that room and finish what I’d started.
Belle wasn’t just under my skin. She was in my blood. And I was starting to think I wouldn’t be satisfied until she carried a part of me inside her too.
I turned the shower off with a sharp twist, the sudden silence deafening. The cold air hit my damp skin, raising goosebumps, but I barely felt it. All I could think about was her—still in my bed, still marked, still mine.
And the worst part?
I wasn’t sure which of us I hated more for it.
The next morning, I found her in the kitchen, sitting at the island with a piece of toast she wasn't eating. Her hair fell forward, shielding her face, her shoulders hunched like she could make herself smaller. She didn't look up when I walked in. Didn't acknowledge me at all.
I poured myself coffee, the clink of the mug against the counter too loud in the silence. She took a bite of toast, chewing mechanically, her gaze fixed on the granite like it held all the answers she needed.
I leaned against the counter, the heat of the mug seeping into my palm. "You no longer have access to your car."
Her head snapped up, eyes wide, the toast frozen halfway to her mouth. "Excuse me?"
I set the mug down with deliberate care, my movements controlled, measured. The kind of calm that scared people more than shouting ever could.
"You won't be driving until you learn to obey me."
Belle stood so fast the stool scraped against the floor, the sound sharp and jarring. Her hands trembled at her sides, her chest rising and falling too quickly. "You don't control me."
I stepped closer, closing the distance between us in two strides. She didn't back away—stubborn, always so fucking stubborn—but I saw the way her breath hitched.
"I do. And yesterday proved you can't be trusted to make safe decisions."
She laughed, the sound bitter and disbelieving. "Safe? That's what you're calling it now?"
I didn't flinch. Didn't rise to the bait she dangled in front of me. "Actions. Consequences."
The hatred in her eyes was palpable, a living thing that coiled between us. I expected it. Welcomed it, even. Hatred meant she still felt something.
What I didn't expect was the flash of hurt underneath it—raw, bleeding, quickly buried but not fast enough.
My chest tightened, something ugly and unfamiliar twisting in my gut. I stepped back before I could reach for her, before I could do something I couldn't undo.
"I'll drive you."
She stiffened, her arms crossing over her chest like armor. "To the bookstore?"
I nodded once.
She hesitated, her jaw working like she wanted to argue, wanted to tell me to go to hell. But the words didn't come. She stood there, trembling with rage and something else I couldn't name, and then her shoulders sagged just slightly.
Not because she agreed.
Because she knew she didn't have another choice.
The power of that hit me somewhere I didn't want to examine. Not satisfaction—not quite. Something heavier. Something that felt uncomfortably close to guilt.
I picked up my coffee, my voice dropping lower. "Ten minutes. Be ready."
She didn't answer. Just turned and walked away, her footsteps quiet on the tile.
I watched her go, my grip tightening on the mug until I felt the ceramic threaten to crack.
Control was all I had.
