Page 192 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim

Dorian closes the door and locks it, then turns to face me fully. Still, he doesn’t move forward. Instead, he waits, the quiet stretching between us until my insides are pulled so tight they feel as if they will snap.

Slowly, achingly slow, he moves toward me, stopping short.

He’s close enough that if I lift my hand, I’d brush the fabric of his shirt.

His gaze flickers over my face, searching for permission before taking that final step.

“Isla…”

My name on his lips is the final fracture in my resolve, and it splits me wide open.

My breath catches, sharp and shallow. My chest aches like it’s been forcing back a dam. And it can’t last a moment longer.

Heat blooms low in my belly, and I hate that my fingers twitch with the urge to reach for him. I feel stripped down to nothing but the truth I recognized when Margaux said it aloud. I love him with every part of my being.“Yes.”

And then he moves.

Not a rush, not a lunge—just that measured step forward that closes the last of the distance. His scent wraps around me, clean and warm with a layer of passion and something darker underneath. My body remembers it like an ache.

My knees go weak.

Gently he brushes my cheek with his fingertips. “I…Fuck.”His voice cracks. “Fuck, Isla. I need you more than air.”

“Dorian…” It’s a plea.

With a groan, he kisses me.

It’s not tentative, not testing—it’s a collision, the sharp inhale of relief and hunger meeting in the same breath.

My hands are on him before I think about it, clutching his shirt like I need him to stay right here. The taste of him hits me all at once—heat, salt, and a sensation of coming home after too long in the cold.

My world narrows to the press of his lips, the tilt of his head, the quiet sound he makes when I open to him. I’m falling—really falling—when?—

There’s a knock.

Demanding. Sharp. Too loud.

I jerk back, breathless, my hands still fisted in his shirt.He keeps one hand on my jaw, but his eyes cut toward the door, narrowing.

From the other side comes a voice I know almost as well as my own heartbeat.

“Isla!”

Brennan.

Now I’m certain that he called earlier. No doubt the security personnel informed him that Dorian was at my house.

The knock is sharp enough to pull me away from Dorian. I’m still holding his shirt, still breathing him in, when Brennan pounds again.

“Open this damn door!”

“I need…” I pull back from Dorian, but not far.

Dorian’s hand stays at my jaw, his thumb still resting lightly against my skin, as if letting go too soon would erase everything that just passed between us. His eyes flick toward the door, narrowing for just a second before they come back to mine.

“Open up!”

Dorian steps back, giving me space to respond to Brennan. It’s a small thing, but I feel it—the choice to let me control this moment.