Page 151 of Double Standards

When he presses his forehead to mine, smiling so hard it makes my heart beat double time, I know I’ll never need to question this man again. Not his love. Not our future.

And then he says the words that make everything fall into place.

“I’ve belonged to you since the second I laid eyes on you,” he whispers. “This just makes it permanent.”

He leans in again, forehead against mine, his voice like gravel soaked in heat. “But you belong to me, too. Doesn’t that scare you?”

I shake my head, knowing the truth deep down is more than I can ever put into words.

“No,” I breathe. “What scares me is how lost I was before you found me.”

His fingers curl around mine, firm and grounding, as if to sayhe’ll never let go. And in his silence, I hear everything—his loyalty, his darkness, his vow.

We’re not perfect. We’re not safe. But we’rereal.

And that’s the kind of forever I’d choose, every time.

Chapter Fifty

“Cassie, we’re going to be late.”

My words are more out of habit than concern, because I already know she’s not listening. Not when her eyes darken with that look when she reappears from the bathroom. Not when she steps into my space, fingers curling around my tie and dragging it from my neck like a fuse being lit.

“Hands,” she orders.

I comply, because fuck, I live to obey her when she turns like this. A grin carves across my face, slow and dangerous. She brings out something in me I didn’t know existed, something that purrs under her command, even as the predator in me lies coiled just beneath the surface, waiting.

She knots the silk around my wrists and pushes me back onto the bed, tying me to the headboard like she’s trying to restrain the devil himself.

“Cassie,” I growl, testing the bonds. They won’t hold. We both know that. But I let them, let her, because I want to see what this side of her does when she thinks she’s in control.

I’m already hard. Of course I am. She’s straddling me in nothing but that wild fire in her eyes, and every inch of my body is burning for her. Her two month bump is showing already andknowing that I did that only sparks the primal urges inside of me.

“You asked me what was on my mind,” she shrugs, all fake innocence. Then she gestures to my restrained body, eyes glittering with mischief. “This.”

I stare at her, teeth clenched against the wave of need clawing at my spine. She thinks she’s teasing me. And maybe she is. But more than that, she’s feeding something animalistic inside me. I’d devour her if she let me. And if she doesn't? I’ll still take my fucking time getting there.

She looks down at me like she can’t believe I’m hers. Like she’s the one who’s lucky.

If only she knew.

She doesn’t understand that every moment I spend with her, I’m doing everything in my power not to ruin her completely. Not to claim her so violently, so thoroughly, that nothing else in her life feels real.

“We’ll be late,” I try again, but my voice lacks conviction. Every word is a lie, and we both know it. I don’t give a damn about the clock, or the doctor that’s waiting for us with his clipboard and clinical questions. I don’t care about any of that besides knowing my Cassie and our baby are healthy.

All I care about is the way she looks right now—flushed cheeks, parted lips, hunger simmering in her eyes like she’s starving for me. And fuck, I want her to beg. I want to watch the defiance melt off her tongue and be replaced with need. I want her voice to crack around my name, want her thighs to tremble with anticipation, want to own her so completely that she forgets everything but how good it feels to unravel in my hands.

Her mouth crashes down on mine, cutting off my warning. She tastes like everything I’ve ever wanted and never thought I deserved. The second her tongue brushes mine, I groan, hips bucking, straining against the tie.

She pulls back, smiling down at me like she’s wonsomething. My cock twitches in my pants, a pulse of desperation that only she can draw from me.

Her fingers explore me, reverent and greedy at once. And when she bites her lip—that fucking lip—I know I’m done for.

“You know what that does to me,” I tell her, voice low and ragged.

“Tell me,” she teases, blinking those lashes.

Oh, she wants a confession? Fine.