Chapter 25
Belle
I sat on the dusty hardwood floor between the stacks, back pressed against the shelves, knees pulled to my chest.
My body hummed. Alive in a way I didn't recognize.
Lips swollen.
Thighs aching.
Pulse refusing to calm.
My first time.
On a book display table.
With Gideon Jones.
I pressed a hand over my mouth, stifling the sob threatening to break free.
What the hell is happening to me?
The scent of old paper and leather bindings mixed with something else now. Something raw. Something I couldn't name but felt branded into my skin.
I kept replaying it:
The way he kissed me like I was oxygen itself. The way he held me afterwards—just for a second—like I might shatter. The way his voice broke when he whispered mine. How I didn't push him away. How I wanted him.
The pleasure hit in waves, aftershocks radiating through muscles I'd never known could feel this way. My body remembered every touch, every thrust, every whispered command that unraveled me piece by piece.
The shame hit harder.
I dropped my forehead to my knees, fingers digging into my calves.
I gave in.
Not because he forced me.
Not because of the contract.
Because I wanted him so badly I couldn't breathe around it.
My throat tightened. Tears burned behind my eyes but refused to fall.
He'd left. Phone call. Emergency. Gone.
And I was still here. Still trembling. Still feeling him inside me. Still wearing the evidence of what we'd done.
Books surrounded me—stories of people who made better choices, who fought harder, who didn't surrender to the men who controlled them.
I'd spent my whole life in these stacks.
Safe.
Contained.
Now even this space felt tainted. Claimed. His.
