Page 41 of Redemption

DANE

Now

Over time, it became clear to me that Abigail wasn’t anywhere near ready to accept the fact that I’m the masked man who broke into her apartment. After she finally opened up to me about how she was raped by that fucker, Tom, I knew it was too soon to reveal the truth. Then Ron attacked her, and she was so distressed.

Even though she experienced intense pleasure when I forced her to orgasm under the threat of my knife, she hadn’t fully embraced the darkest aspects of our connection. And when we fucked, she’d struggled in bed a few times, but she hadn’t truly fought me.

Until she was ready to indulge in those darkest games, I knew it was too soon to tell her that I was the masked man.

But then she broke into my second home and found the skull mask in my nightstand, and the choice was no longer mine. She’d been horrified.

But after what we just shared, she’ll understand.

In her new studio, we fully realized the powerful eroticism of dancing at the edge of consent. The sensual painting that we created is proof of that. Later, we’ll both admire it.

But for now, she’s shaking and spent. And she’s covered in paint.

I gather her up in my arms and hug her to my chest. As I carry her out of the studio, I marvel at the stunning woman who belongs to me, irrevocably and completely. Her creamy skin is still flushed from her orgasms, a deeper shade of pink coloring her chest and cheeks. The lovely hue blends with the blue paint that I stroked onto her body like she’s my own personal canvas. I’ll never be an artist like Abigail, but she’s my masterpiece.

I take my time carrying her to my bedroom, admiring my work. It’ll be a shame to wash the paint away, so I etch the memory of her perfection into my mind.

She’smine.

I knew it was only a matter of time before she accepted our bond, my claim over her. She’s been thorny since she woke up this morning, but now she looks serene. Subdued.

Her eyes are closed, and her breaths are deep and even. Her long, dark lashes fan her cheeks like a sleeping princess in one of her favorite animated musicals. That enchanting freckle on her cheekbone marks her as a unique, proud woman. I sensed it in her when I first laid eyes on her. Even then, my need to possess her completely had been inevitable.

My chest aches just looking at her. I want her so badly that my craving consumes me. My cock is still hard, but I have enough self-control to spare her from my selfish lust. There will be time for that later. She needed pleasure first.

I was right to seduce her in the studio. It served as a reminder of how good it can be between us.

Her accusations of stalking and kidnapping had stung a bit—as had the shocking blows with the lamp and the table—but I’m confident that I’ve done nothing wrong. She just didn’t understand why I had to do everything that I’ve done to win her heart.

I meant what I said to her. It was the only way.

This is how it has to be between us: raw and dark and real.

Our connection is the only thing that matters to me now, the only real thing in my world.

Sheis my world.

My Abigail.

My sweet pet, my little dove.

All mine.

I step into my ensuite bathroom and carry her toward the bathtub. She’s almost completely limp in my arms, so I carefully crouch down to turn on the water while I keep her in a firm hold. When I’m satisfied with the temperature, I ease off her dress and set her down so that she’s reclining in the bath.

She’s so still, and she allows me to position her like a doll.

My stomach knots.

What happened to my fierce pet who fought me with all her might? She should be looking at me with a lazy smile and utter devotion shining in her gemstone eyes.

“Abigail.” Her name rasps from my tight throat.

She doesn’t respond in any way. Her cheeks remain rosy from her orgasms and the heat of the rising water, but her expression is frozen.

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