He runs his rough thumb over my bottom lip. “You should be with me,” he murmurs.
Yes. Yes! I want to scream, but I’m afraid of ruining the moment. I can’t help getting the sense that Tate wants to be with me, but he won’t let himself. It doesn’t excuse his behavior;if anything, it’s worse. Here I am hanging onto something that may never come to fruition. Tate’s insides will never heal. I’m only here to rot with him.
“Give me your hand.”
He wiggles his ring off my finger.Hisbecause he’s made it clear that it doesn’t belong to me. Only he can put it on and take it off me. No one can know about our secret wedding other than our trusted few.
I hate that he can take it from me. That he’s able to be so business-like about it. He can walk away at any time, but I’m dependent on him. It’s as if I’m only safe when I have the ring on, and when he takes it, I’m alone, stripped of my protection.
Which is all kinds of fucked up. Our bargain was struck long before I wore that ring. But I thought I’d get to keep it. Look at it. Be reminded that I belong to him now, and not my father. Proof of freedom.
Tate takes his off, too, and slides them both into his pocket.
He finally steps away, leaving me naked on the bed without a solution or assurance. We’re married now, and I’m still left bare.
No, wait.
I have the cuff.
Did he … did he do that for me?
What the fuck are you thinking, Ryan?
Tate would never do something like that for me. He did it to mark me. Brand me. Remind me I’m his toy—that’s fucking it.
But I can like it if I want to.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him when I’ll see him again, but I won’t debase myself like that. Instead, I put the wall in place. The one he seems to tear down with that fucking dick of his. Next time, I won’t succumb. I’m gonna leave him wanting the same way he always does me.
“Ryan VanCourt,” he muses out loud as he buttons his pants and slides into his suit jacket.
He wants me branded, renamed, and owned. If he could write his name in my DNA, he would.
“No way. I’m not changing my last name. Absolutely fucking not.”
“You are if I say you are.”
“I’m not doing shit, Tate.” I’ve reached my limit, and he knows it. I do my best to play Obedient Little Mouse, and in some situations, my hands are tied. But I’m not a mouse, and changing my name is something I’ll fight him on. If he wants me to change it, he’ll have to make me, which means he’ll have to decide if it’s worth the consequences.
“We’ll talk about it another time,” he says as if the topic’s still open for discussion.
It’s not.
He fixes his hair in the mirror and slips into his dress shoes, murmuring about how I can stay in the room as long as I’d like. We can’t be seen leaving together. Then he turns to stare at me.
“Well? Get your ass over here.”
“Why?” I snap, but I’m already on my way, taking the black silk sheet from the expensive hotel bed with me. Tate’s seen every inch of me. He’s licked every inch of me. Has claimed every inch of me. I have no reason to shield my body from him, yet right now it feels like my only defense.
And then he proves that I have no defense against him.
Gripping the edges of the sheet in one strong hand, he pulls me to him, catching my lips with his in a rough kiss. Tate is the most addictive poison. He’s effortless dominance. The way he can pull me into his aura, drowning me in a kiss—it’s fucking terrifying. I’m sinking into him and on edge at the same time.
When he releases me, I’m changed again. Every kiss steals from me. Steals a piece of my soul I’ll never get back.
“Say it again,” he demands. “Say it because you know it’s true.”
“I’m yours, but you’re mine, too,” I whisper.
