Page 270 of Love Me in the Dark
She jumps to her feet, shoulders stiff, chin tilted like defiance could become the weapon she’s seeking.
“I can,” I say evenly.
“Youshouldn’t,” she spits. “This is a mistake.”
I take the fork again and lift a piece of fish toward her.
She doesn’t move. “You’ll wake up tomorrow and you’ll know that you’re done with me. You’ll kill me then. Or you’ll get bored and you’ll set me free, damaged and broken.”
“No.” I shake my head with an indulgent smile. “Neither of those things will happen. You belong to me now, Ivy. And I take care of what’s mind.”
Stubbornly she shakes her head.
“You’ll get sick,” I say. “You’re not made of steel.”
“And you’re not made of God.”
“No,” I murmur. “But I’m close.”
She laughs. It’s sharp and raw, not amused at all. “I get it now. You’re one of those men. Obsessed with power. With ownership. You don’t love people—you collect them.”
“I don’t collect,” I say quietly. “I choose.”
“You’re deranged.”
I shrug.
She crosses her arms, then uncrosses them. Her hands are twitching with the urge to throw something—maybe the chair. Maybe herself at me. She paces once, twice, then stops directly in front of me.
“What do you want from me?”
Everything.
But I don’t say that.
Instead, I offer the fork again.
This time, she takes it.
The bite disappears quickly. She chews like it’s a betrayal. Like each swallow wounds her pride.
She leans closer, eyes locked to mine. “I’m not someone you can tame.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Studying you. Claiming you. Teaching you that you’re mine, just like I’m yours.”
I mean it.
Every tick in her jaw. Every way her mouth tightens before she snaps. Every inch of her that wants to scream but refuses to give me the satisfaction.
She sets the fork down with precision.
Then, she lifts the empty water glass and throws it.
It flies fast.
