Not a question.
Never a question.
Her jaw tightened beneath my fingertips. Defiance sparking hot and immediate.
I kept going before she could voice it. "In my jersey."
The words landed exactly as I intended. Heavy. Possessive. Undeniable.
A beat of silence stretched between us—thick with everything we weren't saying.
Everything we refused to acknowledge.
I leaned closer. Let my breath ghost across her lips. "Everyone will know who you belong to."
Belle's breath stuttered. Sharp. Broken.
Her cheeks flushed dark—rage bleeding into something she absolutely refused to name.
I could see it warring in her eyes. The hatred. The humiliation.
And beneath it all—buried so deep she probably thought I couldn't see—Want. Raw and terrifying and unwanted.
She hated that I could make her feel it. Hated more that I knew.
Her hands clenched at her sides. Nails biting into her palms hard enough I wondered if she'd draw blood. "I won't?—"
"You will." I cut her off gently. Firmly. Left no room for negotiation. "Because you signed a contract that says you do what I tell you." My thumb traced the line of her jaw with deliberate tenderness. Contradiction as a weapon. "And because somewhere under all that rage—" I paused. "You want them to know."
Her eyes went wide. Mouth parting on a denial that never came. Because we both knew I was right.
She wanted to be claimed. Needed it. Even as she hated me for giving it to her.
I released her chin. Stepped back. Gave her air she desperately needed.
"The jersey will be laid out that night." I turned toward the stairs. Paused. "Wear it well, Belle."
I stepped back into her space before she could run. Close enough that heat radiated between us. Close enough that my breath ghosted along the curve of her neck and I felt her shiver despite herself.
"But right now…"
I let the words hang. Watched her pulse jump beneath fragile skin.
"I'm hungry."
She went rigid. Every muscle locking down in defense against what she thought came next.
I leaned closer. Let my lips brush the shell of her ear when I spoke again.
"And if you're good…"
Her breathing stuttered.
"I might let you come too."
The words landed exactly as intended—sharp and cruel and laced with promise.
Her entire body tightened like a drawn bowstring. Not desire flooding her system. Not yet. Fear of desire. The terror of wanting something she was supposed to hate.
