Talk about sending me over the edge. “You belong to me,” I grate, my jaw out of control, ticking madly. The panic in her face could send me over the edge too, but I’m saving my barely contained wrath for someone else. I grab her wrist and squeeze. “Trust me.” It’s not a request, nor is it a plea. It’s a demand.
And she can see that. Her mild nod as she swallows is almost subservient. My little warrior backing down. I don’t like it at all, but it’s what I need from her right now. I move my hand to her nape and bring her close, pressing my lips to her forehead. “Good girl,” I whisper. “Tell me you love me.”
“I love you.”
“Tell me you trust me.”
“I trust you.”
“Tell me you’re happy.”
“I’m so happy.”
I smile. So am I. “Tell me you’ll marry me.”
“What?” She dives away from my body, shock a blanket over her face.
“Not the reaction I was hoping for,” I admit.
“Marry you?”
“Is it that outrageous?”
Her arms fly up into the air in exasperation, loosening the towel around her. It drops to the floor. She leaves it. “It kind of is, Danny.”
“Rose, I can’t have a serious discussion with you when you’re standing there naked like that.” I reach down and do the unthinkable. I cover her up, re-wrapping her in the soft white towel while she stands frozen and uncooperative. When I’m done, I move back, out of touching distance, forcing my eyes to her startled face. She looks utterly thrown. It’s endearing, if a little worrying. “Well?” I ask.
“You want to marry me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I fucking hate you,” I quip dryly, making her huff a disbelieving puff of misplaced laughter. “With a passion.”
Her lips purse. “I hate you too.”
I move in, unable to refrain from touching what’s mine any longer. Snaking my arm around her waist, I tug her forward, her palms lifting and resting on my chest as she leans back, keeping my eyes. “Then we’re perfect for each other,” I whisper, licking from one corner of her mouth to the other. “Don’t you think?”
“I think you’re crazy,” she whispers.
“I think you’re mine.”
“I think you’re a murderer.”
“I think you’re mine.”
“I think you’re depraved.”
I take her nape and apply pressure, and she inhales sharply. “I think you’re mine,” I murmur, my gaze burning into hers. “So you’ll marry me?”
“Do I have a choice?” she asks, a small curve lifting the edge of her mouth.
“What do you think?”
“I think I want a crazy, murdering, depraved husband.”
“Whose name is Danny Black.”
“Whose name is Danny Black,” she confirms, jumping up to straddle my hips, attacking me full-force with her mouth. “I’ve never been so happy to not be given a choice.”
It’s the best yes I could have hoped for. If she’s going to be mine, she’s going to be mine in every way. “Forced my arse, Miss Cassidy.” I return her kiss and carry her to the bed, ready to consummate our agreement. I toss her on the covers and crawl up to join her, pushing her hair back off her face and grabbing the box from the bedside drawer.
She stills when she spots it, her lip disappearing between her teeth. “What’s that?”
I raise my eyebrows and nod at the box, silently encouraging her to open it. Her eyes flick constantly from mine to the small black box, her lip getting a punishing chew. “Hurry up, Rose. I want to fuck you with this ring on your finger.”
Her lip slips from her teeth as a smile breaks, her hands tentatively reaching for the box. Gradually lifting the lid, I watch as she slowly pulls in air too. I’m mesmerized, but my dick is becoming restless. So I reach forward and yank the box open, pulling the ring free and shoving it onto her finger. “Done. Deal.” I rip the towel from her body and shove her legs apart as she laughs, but it turns into a sigh when I slip into her. Jesus Christ, is there a better feeling in the world? I tense my muscles, ready to withdraw.
“Wait,” she gasps, and I still, scowling at her. Wait? Smiling knowingly, she holds her hand up in front of her and studies the square-cut diamond that’s sitting pretty on a platinum band. Her smile is epic.
“Is madam happy?” I ask sardonically, knowing damn well that any sane woman would love the ring I chose. And not just because of the price tag.
“Madam is very happy.”
“Good. Then madam can open her legs wider and let her husband-to-be fuck her hard.”
“With pleasure.” She reaches for my hair and yanks it, her eyes narrowing playfully. “So what are you waiting for?”
She’ll regret that. The first smash of my body into hers drenches the whole mansion with her scream.
There’s never been room in my life for a woman. At least, that’s what I thought. There’s always been room, just never the desire to take on the responsibility of loving someone. Of protecting them. Of making them my life. Rose is very easy to love. She made me love her without me realizing. And protecting someone you love is natural instinct, therefore very easy. What’s not easy is loving someone in my world. What’s not easy to deal with is the fear that my life and how I’ve lived it could trump all of my intentions to keep her safe. And on top of that, her life and how she’s lived it, though how Rose came to be where she is today wasn’t through choice. She was forced into debasement, whereas I walked into it willingly.