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But since I’m neither kind nor decent…

“When I say come here, I don’t mean raise your voice at me. What I mean is come. Here.”

“Don’t you dare hit me.” She passes the threshold into the kitchen, wielding her makeshift weapon. “I’ll kill you. I swear. I can take a lot of things, James. I enjoy many things.” Her breath catches. What embarrasses Ophelia gets me really fucking hard. “Beat me up, and I’ll ruin you.”

The space that she’s put between us is only there because I allow it. I hold very still, feeding off her fear. I never possessed anything as remotely as mouth-watering as Ophelia.

“Come. Here.”

Her nipples peak, chest heaving. “James.”

The flames crackle in the fireplace, a background noise to my pounding heart.

“Sonnet.”

Lightning flashes in the sky. The burst of light illuminates her determined face for a second. Then comes thunder.

“I bet you’re wet.” Raindrops patter against the window. Picking up speed. Sleet joins them. “Soaked. Why deny yourself of this?”

“I don’t know whatthisis, but I’m not wet for it.” Shadows hide her from me as she backs further into the kitchen. Still pinning her body to the wall.

“What is it, dirty girl?” I take two steps forward having to be near her. “Is it the metal handle? It is, isn’t it? You just lost your virginity and now you’re imagining this”—I tap it against my leg—“in your tight cunt. Open your legs for me. Let me see how right I am.”

“You’re sick.”

I’m done playing games; that’s what I am.

She shrieks as I pounce toward her. I’m silent and determined, prying the metal tongs out of her grip. I hook anarm around her naked waist and drag her to the living room, her back pressed to my chest.

“James.” Arms and legs fly in the air. I get a kick in the shin. A finger—almost—in my eye. “James, let me go.”

“You’re mine.” The simple fact silences her. She still kicks me. “I’m not going to hit you. I’m going to make it official.”

The kicking stops too. We’re a few feet from the fireplace when she turns her head to me. “You haven’t proposed.”

Christ, she’s adorable. I bet she would’ve said yes. If I were any other man, I probably would’ve asked. The thought jars me, but there’s nothing to do about it.

“Marriage is overrated. A wedding even more so. Calling in a priest. An official. Couple of witnesses. Ridiculously big ceremonies.” Truth is, I never cared to think about my wedding day. I knew I wouldn’t have one. “A commitment before God, the city hall or the government. A farce that ends with fifty percent of them getting divorced.”

She remains silent for the few seconds it takes us to reach the fireplace.

Then I stop, glaring at her in complete silence.

“What do you want?” Her question is a frustrated scream when I say nothing.

My cock jerks at her new wave of terror. I turn her around then tighten my grip around her while.

“What do you want?” Again, this time, it’s more of a sigh.

“You.” I twist us together until she’s facing the fireplace and so do I, thrusting the branding iron into the fire. “You’re an obsession. A snake. A terminal illness.”

“I hate you.” Tears streak down her cheeks. Some land on my arm.

“No, you don’t.” I press my lips to her neck and groan at her raging pulse. “What we have is sick, unnatural. Obsession is a mild word for it, isn’t it?”

Her sobbing recedes. The tears slow.

“Talk to me.”