Page 59 of Sadistic

She turns it back on me, lawyer-sharp, even tipsy. "What do you want, Doran? Really want, not what your father expects or what the business demands. What do you want?"

The question strips me bare.

No one's ever asked me that—not in a way that mattered.

My whole life has been about duty, legacy, taking over the empire my father built.

Personal wants were luxuries I couldn't afford.

"You," I say simply. "I want Sunday mornings without surveillance reports. I want to know what makes you laugh without having to read it in a file. I want to buy you things because you'll smile, not because I'm marking territory. I want..." I stop, already too exposed.

"What?"

"I want you to choose me. Not because of this arrangement or the alliance, but because you want to."

She's quiet for a long moment, processing this.

The bar is nearly empty now, just us and the ghosts of conversations that happen after midnight.

Somewhere in the background, jazz plays softly—something smooth and sultry that fits the mood.

"You scare me," she admits finally.

"I know."

"Not just the violence or the control. You scare me because I can see how easy it would be to lose myself in you. To become another possession in your collection."

"You could never be just a possession." I reach across the table, give her the choice to take my hand or not. She does. "You're too much yourself for that."

"Am I? Or is that just what you tell yourself to justify how much you’ve watched me?"

"Both," I admit again. "I'm not going to lie to you, Revna. I am possessive. I do want to own you. But I also want you to own me back. Equally. Completely."

The bar announces last call, the bartender's voice apologetic but firm.

We're both drunk enough that the edges of the world have gone soft, inhibitions dissolved in whiskey and truth.

Her lipstick is mostly gone, worn away by the glass, and there's a flush to her cheeks that makes me want to trace it with my fingertips.

"I should get you home," I say, though it's the last thing I want.

"I don't want to go home."

The words hang between us, loaded with what could possibly happen tonight.

"Revna—"

"I know what I'm saying." She meets my eyes, and there's heat there that has nothing to do with alcohol. "Do you?"

"You've been drinking."

"So have you." She slides out of the booth, steady, even though she has drunk quite a bit. "I'm making a choice, Doran. Don't insult me by pretending I'm not capable of it."

I stand, towering over her even in her heels. "If we do this?—"

"If we do this, it's because I want to. Not because of Njal or revenge or too much alcohol. Because I want to know who you are when you're not watching from a distance."

"You might not like what you find."