Page 24 of Marked for Life

He shakes his head, frustration rippling through him like a storm he can’t control, his eyes darkening as if I still don’t get it. "You still don’t understand," he says, and I feel a cold shiver of dread slip down my spine. "I’m not afraid of losing you physically, not entirely. It’s what terrifies me…what burns inside me…is that part of you is still unreachable. Still untouched. Still yours. Despite everything. Despite all I’ve done to make sure you’re mine—all of you."

His words land with the force of a blow. He knows. He knows there’s a piece of me that’s still mine. Still free. And he’s terrified of it. That piece—the one thing I’ve clung to, protected, buried deep down inside me like a secret—could be the very thing that ruins us.

"I don’t know what you want me to say," I whisper, the words coming from somewhere I can’t quite place. It’s raw. Real. And it’s breaking me apart in ways I never thought possible. "I’ve…kept parts of me to myself. No matter what you do, what you’ve tried, there are thoughts I keep. Feelings that are mine. Mine, not yours."

I brace myself for the rage, for the punishment. It’s always followed by the smallest hint of resistance. Always. But instead, I see something in his eyes—resignation. He accepts it. A sharp pain twists in my chest. "Of course you do," he says quietly, as if it were always inevitable. "You’re human. You think. You feel. And I can’t control that, no matter how much I want to. No matter how many walls I’ve built around you."

His voice cracks on the last part, and I feel it—the vulnerability that’s been hiding in him this whole time. The truth that he’s always needed something more from me than just obedience. He needed me—all of me. But I’m not sure he can handle it.

"What terrifies me," he continues, his voice breaking again, a dark confession creeping through, "is that you’ll never feel for me what I feel for you. That you’ll never truly belong to me. Not in the way I need. I’ve built this world around us. A world where nothing exists but you and me. But if part of you is still…free…what does that mean for us?"

It’s a confession I never expected. A crack in the armor. He—the one who’s obsessed with owning me—fears being owned by me. By my feelings, my emotions. It’s twisted. It’s terrifying. But it’s real. And it’s pulling me into a place I don’t want to go.

I don’t have the words. My chest tightens, my thoughts scatter, and then…"I feel something," I whisper, barely hearing the words even as they leave my mouth. It’s the truth, and it stings with a force I don’t understand. "But it’s not…simple. I don’t know what it is. I can’t explain it. Not after everything."

He pulls me close then, his hands cupping my face with a possessiveness that’s both tender and terrifying. He looks at me like I’ve given him everything he’s ever wanted, like my confession is the key to something I’m too afraid to face.

"That’s enough," he murmurs, and his lips crash against mine. The kiss is different this time—not cold, not calculating, but desperate. Vulnerable. There’s no control. Just us. And in that moment, I realize, as much as I want to fight it, I’m already his. Every twisted, dangerous part of me.

And I don’t know what comes over me, but I want to ease his pain the only way I know how.

So, I drop to my knees in front of him and reach for his belt.

He stills, holding his breath as he watches me incredulously. I’ve never iniated sexual contact between us and I’ve certainly never donethisbefore.

But I want to try. For him. For reasons that I don’t even understand myself yet.

His belt buckle clinks beneath my trembling fingers. I hesitate, unsure of my own boldness, but something in his eyes—that flicker of raw need—propels me forward. I've never done this, never even considered it until this moment, but I'm driven by an instinct I didn't know I possessed.

"Hannah," he breathes, my name a broken sound on his lips.

I free him from his constraints, my breath catching at the sight of him. He's imposing in every way, and for a moment, doubt clouds my determination. But then his fingers thread through my hair, not forcing, just touching—as if he can't believe I'm really here, on my knees, by choice.

I take him into my mouth tentatively at first, exploring this new intimacy between us. His sharp intake of breath emboldens me. I follow instinct, recalling how his mouth moves against mine when he kisses me deeply, how his tongue traces patternsthat make me forget to breathe. I mirror those movements, learning him in this new way.

"Fuck," he hisses, his grip tightening in my hair.

I look up at him through my lashes, and the sight of Dante Severino—always so controlled, so calculated—coming undone above me stirs something primal inside me. I take him deeper, encouraged by the sounds escaping his throat, sounds he'd never allow anyone else to hear.

Suddenly, his hand jerks my head back, forcing my eyes to his. Gone is the vulnerability, replaced by something darker, more dangerous.

"Where did you learn to do that?" he demands, voice like gravel. His eyes, usually cold and assessing, burn with jealousy and rage.

I blink up at him, confusion and fear mingling with the lingering desire. "I—nowhere. I've never?—"

"Don't lie to me," he snarls, his grip tightening painfully.

"I'm not," I whisper, my voice steady despite my racing heart. "I've never done this before. I just...I thought if I kissed you there the way you kiss me there..." I swallow hard. "The way your tongue moves against mine when we kiss. I was trying to do the same."

Something shifts in his expression—the rage still there but softening around the edges as he searches my face for truth. I hold his gaze, letting him see my honesty, my inexperience.

"You're mine," he says finally, his thumb brushing across my bottom lip, tender yet possessive. "Only mine."

"I know," I whisper.

He pulls me to my feet with surprising gentleness, his hands cupping my face. There's something different in his eyes now—that vulnerability returning, cracking through his armor.

"Kiss me," he says, and it's not a command but almost a plea. "Not because I'm forcing you. Because you want to."

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