"Are you okay?" he asks, eyes scanning my face with fierce intensity. "Did he hurt you?"
I shake my head. "No, he just—he was being creepy, that's all."
Calvin's jaw tightens. "He touched you."
"Just my hair," I say, though even that had felt invasive.
"No one touches what's mine." Calvin's hand slides into my hair, gripping firmly enough to send shivers down my spine. "No one but me."
I should be frightened by his possessiveness. By the violence I just witnessed. By how quickly and completely he destroyed a man's career for merely touching my hair. Instead, I'm trembling with a need so intense it borders on painful.
"You can't just... fire people for talking to me," I say weakly, knowing even as the words leave my mouth that it's exactly what he can and will do.
Calvin's smile is sharp, dangerous. "I can do whatever I want, little bird. This is my company, my world." His hand tightens in my hair. "And you are mine. The sooner everyone understands that, the better."
His mouth crashes down on mine, the kiss brutal and possessive. I melt into it, opening for him without hesitation. His free hand slides down to cup my ass, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp into his mouth.
"You're wet, aren't you?" he murmurs against my lips. "Seeing me protect what's mine turned you on."
I should deny it. Should be ashamed of my reaction. Instead, I nod, pressing my thighs together against the building ache.
Calvin's laugh is dark, knowing. "Such a good little girl," he praises, his hand sliding under my skirt, fingers finding the damp spot on my panties. "So honest for Daddy."
I whimper as he strokes me through the thin fabric, my hips bucking into his touch.
"Anyone who even looks at you wrong will regret it," he promises, his voice a low growl. "You belong to me now, Wren. Body and soul."
And as his fingers push aside my underwear, as he drops to his knees and buries his face between my thighs right there against his office door, I know with absolute certainty that I do belong to him. That I never want to belong to anyone else.
That I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.
nine
. . .
Calvin
She's a fuckingvision in blue silk. The dress I picked out hugs every curve, modest enough for a corporate event but tight enough that every man in the room knows exactly what they can't have. What's mine. Two weeks since I first brought Wren into my world, and the sight of her still hits me like a physical blow to the chest. She's across the ballroom, charming a group of investors' wives with that genuine smile that first caught my attention. She doesn't realize her power. Doesn't understand that in a room full of plastic surgery and designer labels, her natural beauty and sincerity shine like a beacon. My beacon. My little bird, about to be permanently caged.
I sip my scotch, tracking her movements through the crowd. The annual Mercer Industries Gala is the social event of the business calendar, five hundred of the most influential people in the city gathered in one room to congratulate themselves on their philanthropy while making backroom deals over champagne. Usually, I find these events tedious. Tonight, I'm vibrating with anticipation.
The weight of the ring box in my pocket is a constant reminder of my purpose. I'd planned to wait—to take Wrenhome tonight, lay her out on our bed, and propose while buried deep inside her. But watching her now, seeing the way other men's eyes linger on her despite the possessive way I've kept her at my side all evening, I'm reconsidering.
Why wait? Why not stake my claim now, in front of everyone? Let the world see who owns Wren Calloway.
She excuses herself from the group of wives, heading toward the bar. I intercept her halfway, my hand finding the small of her back. She startles, then relaxes when she sees it's me.
"Having fun, little bird?" I ask, bending to speak directly into her ear.
Her cheeks flush that delicious pink I can't get enough of. "Everyone's being so nice," she says, sounding genuinely surprised. "Mrs. Hamilton invited me to join her charity committee."
I smile, knowing exactly why Elaine Hamilton is suddenly so welcoming. The old bat wants access to me through Wren. Everyone in this room has figured out that Wren is my weakness, my obsession. They just haven't realized yet that she's also my strength.
"You're charming them all," I tell her, my hand sliding possessively lower. "Just like you charmed me."
She laughs, the sound light and musical. "I spilled champagne on you and panicked. Not exactly charm."
"It worked, didn't it?" I guide her toward a quiet corner, away from prying ears. "I have something for you."