"Because the second I saw you, I knew no one else would ever touch you."
The possessiveness in his words should frighten me. Should make me back away, thank him for dinner and the offer of a place to stay, but insist on calling a cab to take me to a friend's place instead.
Instead, my thighs squeeze together, trying to ease the ache his words create. I want him to prove it. Want him to show me exactly what he means.
"Is that so terrible?" he asks, reading something in my expression.
"No," I whisper. "It should be. But it's not."
His eyes darken, pupils dilating. His hand still rests at the side of my face, thumb stroking my cheek. I lean into his touch without meaning to, seeking more connection.
"You're safe here, Clara," he says softly. "I won't do anything you don't want."
It's the wrong thing to reassure me about. Because right now, standing in this beautiful penthouse with this dangerous, protective man, there's very little I don't want him to do.
six
. . .
Sabien
She's silhouettedagainst the city lights, so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at her. My jacket still hangs from her shoulders, marking her as mine. Her scent mingles with my cologne now, the combination hitting something primal in my brain. Mine. Take. Keep. The civilized veneer I've maintained all night is wearing dangerously thin. She asks why I intervened. Like she doesn't understand the effect she has. Like she can't feel the leash I've put on the beast inside me straining to the breaking point.
I move closer to her and her eyes widen, lips parting slightly. Not in fear—in curiosity. Dangerous, dangerous curiosity.
"What now?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.
God help me, she's asking for this. Begging for it. Doesn't she understand what she's doing to me? What I'll do to her if she keeps looking at me like that?
I step closer, caging her against the glass. My arms bracket her head, palms flat on the window. She's trapped between my body and the city spread out sixty floors below. I tower over her, muscle and bone and barely leashed violence. She should be terrified. Should be pushing me away, running for the door.
Instead, she looks up at me with those big innocent eyes, waiting for my answer.
"I want to own you, little one." My voice drops low, rumbling from deep in my chest. The brutal honesty spills out, unstoppable now. "I want to strip you bare, spread these pretty thighs, and fuck you raw until you're swollen with my kid."
Her breath catches. Her pupils dilate until those beautiful eyes are mostly black.
"I'm obsessed," I continue, leaning closer until my lips nearly brush her ear. "Have been since the moment I saw you on that stage. And I'm not letting you go."
She gasps—but doesn't pull away. Doesn't slap me. Doesn't run.
Instead, she presses closer.
The movement is tiny. Unconscious maybe. Her body swaying toward mine like a flower seeking sun. But it's enough. Enough to snap that final thread of control I've been clinging to all night.
My hands move from the glass to grip her waist. One slides up to tangle in her hair, tilting her face up to mine. I hold her there, making her look at me, making sure she sees exactly what she's dealing with.
"Last chance to run, Clara," I warn her, voice rough with restraint. "Because once I start, I'm not stopping."
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. The sight of it—pink and quick—makes my cock throb painfully.
"I don't want to run," she whispers.
Those five words demolish me.
I'm going to ruin her. Going to split her open on my cock until she can't remember her own name, just mine. Going to pump her so full of my cum that it leaks out of her for days. Going to mark her, claim her, make her so thoroughly mine that no other man will ever dare to look at her again.
And she's asking for it. Begging for it with those eyes, that soft body pressed against mine.