Page 43

JAMES

C onfessing this truth to Ophelia isn’t a hardship.

That’s what’s gotten me this .

The blush creeping up her cheeks. Her jaw, slacking in semi-horror, semi-arousal.

I put those emotions there.

Having her here, like this, makes the blood pump harder throughout my body. I come alive at the sight of my prey, feral and horrified and beautiful.

I’m hard for her. Mesmerized.

Now.

That wasn’t the case when I walked into the living room to find the ankle cuff picked. The chain on the rug.

Ophelia is gone.

That was my first and only thought for a couple of soul-crushing seconds.

Until I forced myself to do what I always do when the world stops making sense.

Think logically.

My phone didn’t alert me to any of the doors opening while I’d been away. She couldn’t have left.

But for some strange reason, my stomach remained in knots. The idea that she tried the doors—even if she failed—bothered me. More than bothered. It hurt.

That deep-seated ache translated into anger.

So. Much. Anger.

Temples throbbing. Teeth grinding. Vision blurring around the edges.

I never craved to own anyone’s heart before. I don’t care about anyone else’s heart.

I cared about her, and then I came home to find that she had attempted to run away from me.

Infuriating. Unacceptable.

The dread in the pit of my stomach and the rejection, those were the worst.

They trumped over the pride I felt. She broke free from her shackles, and I admired her for it.

Too bad I couldn’t get over of the fact that she didn’t want me.

It was a weakness.

One that persisted until I reached my den.

Where Ophelia has been snooping.

She’s here, going through my stuff.

So yes, she didn’t try to leave.

My mind gets it.

My heart is having a hard time catching up.

Every bit of self-restraint I have left has been put to the test over the last few days. Every ounce of my self-control is hanging by a thread.

“You’ve been stalking me? You?” Her fingers press into the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white. “I—When? How? How come no one knew? My roommate? Neighbors? Topher?”

His name on her lips has my jaw clenching. I pull in a sharp breath. Rearrange my expression.

A predator never puts their emotions on display. It gives away their intentions.

“Simple. I didn’t want them to.” I push myself off the doorway.

I’m a live wire beneath my harsh exterior and relaxed shoulders.

I feel everything . I let none of it show.

“I wasn’t lying before. I’ve been obsessed with you.

Irrationally. Illogically so. Stalking you went against everything I believed in, just like owning you. It was a risk. I did it anyway.”

I took plenty of risks, not just one. Like driving from court to her apartment one afternoon. Like watching over her home after she returned from work or her dates with Topher.

“Only you?” she repeats what I told her. Her features harden the closer I get.

“Only me. And guess what? I’m not sorry that I stalked you.”

Her expression is shuttered. I can’t read her anymore. Maybe I’m too far, standing here, on the other side of the desk.

I have to be near her, to touch her.

I shrug off my jacket and place it over the chair behind me. Roll my sleeves up and get off on the way her eyes are drawn to the movement.

Ophelia turns around, her ass perched on my desk. She parts her legs. The tiniest shift of her body.

One she isn’t aware of.

I am. Prowling toward her, I tip her chin up and look her in the eye.

“You’re not?” Her energy wraps around me like a vise. A venomous snake. “Sorry?”

“Is that an apology you’re looking for?” Choking her would feel so good. Binding her so she’ll never leave me would be better. “You can forget about that.”

“From you?” Ophelia shakes her head, the brat. “I would never.”

Needing her like this is insufferable. I can’t hold back, and she can’t refuse me as I lean into her. As I slam both hands on my desk.

I trail my lips along the soft skin of her neck. Graze my teeth along the sensitive flesh, coaxing another wave of shivers out of her.

She fears me. Good. Fucking great.

Fear puts you on high alert. The threats are closing in on us.

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.

She deserves something because?—

Because—

Damn it.

Because she’s her. Because she’s mine.

Oh, so very mine.

She’s beautiful. Moaning and writhing beneath me. Freed from the ankle cuff, my clever little thing.

She’s open and bare, her soul on display.

I owe her something.

“I was worried. Scared.” My honesty tastes foul on my tongue.

I slow my thrusts, but I don’t back down.

Bunching her shirt up to see her breasts, I sink deeper into her.

Thicken inside her. “When I saw the cuff in the living room. When I didn’t see you.

You could’ve been out there.” I emphasize the last word.

Feel the pressure of the pen easing up on my neck.

“Away from me, which was bad enough. But more than that.”— thrust —“Hurt, Ophelia. They could’ve hurt you. ”

A few moments pass. Minutes where I rut into her, fuck my aggressions into her. Minutes that she stares up at me, tears glistening in her eyes.

“I can defend myself,” she breathes out. Presses the pen harder into me to prove it, her eyes narrowing, then softening. She lets two tears slip. “But thank you.”

“Sure you can.” I rub her clit with my thumb. Stroke her. Pinch her.

She’s done arguing, clenching so prettily around me. Her nipples are peaked and her tits bounce from the force of my thrusts.

I’m focused on pleasuring her. Addicted to watching her, then us, the spot where our bodies connect. Despite the pen. Despite the constant threat hanging over our heads.

“Look at you.” My eyes find hers. Lock on them. “Making a mess of my cock. Crying for me like I actually care. Like I’ll save you.”

I let go of her throat, flattening my hand on the desk. Just in time. A second before she comes all over me. The fresh wave of air heightens her climax, and she gasps, screaming my name, her pussy squeezing me.

“Break the skin,” I demand over her moans. Over my lust. Over the sounds of our bodies slapping together. She has to do it. Has to be violent and ready to fight, no matter what. “Break the fucking skin, Ophelia.”

Her lips part in shock. “Why?”

“Because I said so.” Because you have to be ready to kill. Soon.

My command is enough for her. While I thrust into her, I feel it. A tiny prickle. A sting that hardly registers.

Warm liquid drips down the collar of my shirt.

The pen drops to the desk.

The clattering sound is muted. Distant.

I’m so turned on that the world ceases to exist. I bring my throat to her mouth. Her lips brush over my wounded skin while I plow into her.

“Suck.” I’m leaving her no choice. I’m being rough. A bastard. She won’t regret hurting me. I won’t let her. “Suck. Now.”

“You’re insane.” Finally, her lips press. Her mouth sucks. Teeth latch on to me.

Ophelia makes a hungry, feral sound.

That’s my girl.

“Enough.” I straighten, towering over her.

My focus rests entirely on her. On how good it is to be wrapped up by her body. Be lost in her deep, dark eyes. Her plump, crimson-red lips. The tears that have almost dried. Her pussy that’s so goddamn sweet.

She’s a sonnet the universe wrote for me. A property I’m never selling.

I’m her owner. Her man. And I’m about to teach this beautiful innocent thing a lesson.

I move my hand from her clit up to one cheek, swiping her tears off it, and shove them in her mouth. Drag two fingers in and out of it as harshly as my cock pounds into her.

“I’m so proud of you.” I groan from having her clench around me. Her heels are pinned to my ass, as hard as her desperation for me. “For fighting me. For picking the ankle cuff.”

She moans and gags every time my fingers hit the back of her throat. Grabs the edge of the desk so she can lift her hips to mine.

“But you’ll need more than that to survive.” The pressure on my cock intensifies. She sucks my fingers harder. “God. Fuck . Your body, Ophelia. Jesus.”

I can’t get distracted. Have to finish this.

My hand is wet from her mouth when I reach for one of the pictures that I took of her. She’s in her underwear. Adorable and fucking oblivious. “You see this?”

“Yes.” Her eyes darken.

“This can’t happen again. You have to be vigilant. Ready to kill. At any fucking time. Do you understand me?”

“I’ll do anything you say,” she growls.

Her insanity speaks to my dick. To my cold heart and colder mind. The urge to come inside of her possesses me to the point I can’t see straight. I throw away the photo, pulling out of Ophelia.

“No,” she screams. “Don’t you dare leave me like this.”

“Don’t plan to.” I’m already manhandling her, flipping her and bending her over the desk. The first spank always makes her cry out the hardest. I have a hand in her hair, another on her hip.

“Fuck.” Back inside her pussy. Her warmth. Her body that’s so completely mine. I tug on her hair, pulling on the roots until she looks at me. “Who do you belong to?”

“Who do you belong to?”

I laugh. Shove her pretty face to the desk. “Brat. Talking back like that. Are you trying to get me riled up? Fuck you harder? Punish you?” I slam into her. The folders fly off to the floor. “Is this”— thrust —“not”—she screams to her God—“hard enough”— slam —“for you?”

“Please. Yes. It’s everything.”

“Good girl.” Up she goes. I lift her so her body is flush against mine, my hand on her clit. Mouth on her neck. Sucking. Leaving my mark. “Come for me. Come all over my cock.”

“Can’t.” Her hands rise to my neck, her eyes pinched. “Too…I’m too sensitive.”

“Is that so?” I shove deeper into her, rubbing her just the way she likes.

“Oh—Oh, no. Oh, please, no. Please, don’t stop.” Her head falls against my chest, and I devour her parted lips.

She shivers and spasms on my cock the moment the second orgasm takes over her. I hold her to me, an arm around her waist, drilling into her. Grunting her name with my own release.

“My girl. Mine.” My hand is on her throat as I empty my cum inside her. “You’ll be so beautiful. Swollen with our babies. Take every fucking drop. Take. It.”

She shudders around me. Her dark gaze burrowing into mine. “I’m more than just a womb. I’m more, James. I’m more than that.”

It’s a plea. A statement. A line she draws in the sand.

“You are. You’re so much more.”

I’ve accepted the fact that she’s taken over my life. That she’s laid claim to my rotten soul. There’s no going back from this.

She lowers a hand down her body, taking mine with her. Flattening it against her pussy. “Then yes. I’ll take it,” she says like she has a choice.

She doesn’t.

Neither do I.