Page 76 of Lady and the Butcher

I woke with his weight still on my skin. The memory of his mouth, his hand closing over my throat, the way he had stripped me until fear itself turned to fire. My thighs ached in a way that made me blush even lying still. My chest felt raw from how many times he’d pulled sound out of me, relentless, until I had nothing left to hide.

I should have been terrified. In some ways, I was. What scared me wasn’t what he had done, but how I had met him there. How much I had wanted it. How much my body wanted more.

Atticus came out of the shower in nothing but a towel slung low. He carried himself like a man who knew he was dangerous and didn’t need to prove it. His eyes caught mine, sharp, already reading me.

“Lady.” His voice was rough silk. “You look like you’re thinking too hard.”

“Maybe I am.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, hand curling around my ankle. His thumb dragged slow across the inside, a move so simple it burned. “Tell me.”

I swallowed. The words wouldn’t form. So instead I asked, “What happens if you lose control?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “With you?”

“Yes.”

He leaned down, mouth close to my ear. “I won’t.”

But the air around him said he could. Easily. It was the balance that both steadied me and kept me awake at night.

Before I could press, his phone vibrated on the counter. He glanced at the screen, jaw flexing. He stood, answering with a curt, “Talk.” His voice dropped lower, clipped, words too sharp to catch. Then: “No. She doesn’t leave. Handle it.”

His gaze cut back to me when he hung up. The look was unreadable.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

“That’s exactly what makes me worry.”

His mouth curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Then let me distract you.”

He dropped the towel and came back to me naked, heavy, already hard. Possession lived in the way he kissed me, pressing me back into the mattress, stealing every coherent thought until I was gasping under him.

He spread me wide, hands pinning mine to the mattress. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

“Say it like you mean it.”

“I’m yours. I mean it.”

His thrust made me cry out. He took me hard, rough, his mouth at my ear murmuring filth and praise in equal measure. “Good girl. Look at me. Take me. That’s it.”

It scared me how much I liked it. How much I needed the way he used me until I wasn’t thinking about birth charts, invoices, or my mother’s voice in my head.

Only him. Only now.

When I shattered, it felt like falling and being caught at once. He followed, groaning into my throat, holding me down like the world could break apart and we’d still be locked here.

After, when I could breathe again, I whispered, “You terrify me.”

His hand smoothed over my ribs, steady. “And?”

“And I don’t want you to stop.”

The corner of his mouth tipped. He kissed the top of my head like it was a promise.