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The days of her being a victim are gone. I’ll protect her from the world, but I want her to take her place. And it isn’t behind me.

“Sonnet.” I grab her by the hip, thrusting her to my hard cock. Biting her hard enough to evoke a scream. Finally. It’s what I’ve been missing all day. How alive she is. “Are you disappointed?”

“Disappointed?” She clutches on to my shirt. “Why would I be?”

That Topher wasn’t the one stalking you.

Jealousy is a volatile and dangerous emotion. Especially when it’s out in the open.

Especially when I’m supposed to be teaching her to defend herself and making this a safe environment for her.

I let her see it anyway. Let her hear it in my voice. “That it’d been me stalking you. Me, not my son.”

She laughs, the sound as incredulous as it is sweet. It lights up her eyes. Clears some of the fear out of them.

I’m far less amused. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“James, fuck. I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“Wrong.” I slide a hand to her back, brushing my fingers over her new, bandaged scar. “You should be telling me everything.”

A few beats pass. Her lungs expand. Her blush deepens.

“You kidnapped me. Locked me in a cell.” She licks her lips. “I shouldn’t trust you. Shouldn’t give you so much of myself.Most of all, I shouldn’t tell you what I’m going to do after you fucking shackled me today.”

“Ophelia.” Being away from her for hours has done a number on me. The fact that she withholds things from me makes life far more unbearable. I manhandle her to lie on top of the desk, kick her legs apart, and lean into her. “Talk, or I’ll make you talk.”

“I’m relieved it’s you.” Her eyes have gone wild at my cruelty. Wilder than before. Her hands are hot and demanding on my neck. “You could’ve hired a private investigator to deliver the photos to you. You could’ve ordered Topher to do it. You didn’t. It was you. You’re really obsessed with me.”

“And here I thought thirty million dollars should’ve made that clear enough.” I roll my hips, feeling her bare pussy soaking the front of my pants.

“Money means shit to me.” Her mouth. Her foul fucking mouth. I kiss it. Bite her lip until the taste of her blood soaks my tongue. “Fuck. Fuck money. It means absolutely nothing to me if I don’t have your heart.”

Now that my jealousy has been alleviated, I have a point to make. My cock to shove inside her. I need her body molded around mine.

Desperately.

While I remove my belt and pull out my cock, I tell her, “I don’t have a heart.”

We both groan when I’m all the way in her tight cunt. We both breathe hard. I want her breaths like I want every part of her.

As if she can hear me, she nods. “Take it.”

“Like you ever had a choice.”

My fingers are around her throat as I pummel into her. The world disappears, leaving me only her face and body, and fuck, that sweet cunt squeezing me.

I’m overcome by the need for her.

A mistake.

While her dark eyes have consumed me, Ophelia has grabbed a pen. A makeshift weapon she pins to the side of my neck.

“You do have a heart, owner.” The words are breathed between moans. I fuck her harder into the desk. Squeeze her throat a little tighter. Fuck, I’m hard for this. For her. “Tell me it’s mine. A part of it. That I’m your property and”—moan—“yours. Just yours.”

Telling her that she’s the only person to make me feel anything remotely close to warmth is impossible.

I try anyway.