Page 102 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
I do.“The mind builds walls, but the heart knows the truth.”
Giselle’s words hit like a slap, stirring the memory of her knowing smile, her insistence that I’d be remade if I allowed it. My throat tightens. I want to be brave, to be the woman who doesn’t flinch, but my body feels locked, rigid with self-consciousness. The music throbs, relentless, and their eyes—Dorian’s commanding, Brennan’s steady—strip me bare in ways my nudity can’t.
“Let go.”
I take a shaky step toward the mirror, my reflection a stranger with wide green eyes and flushed skin. My fingers hover over my stomach, unsure, and I try to move, a half-hearted sway that’s horribly awkward.
“Keep going.”
I skim my fingers lower, avoiding the place where I ache the most, and I bite my lip, hating how clumsy I must look.
“Stop thinking.” Dorian rises abruptly.
He crosses to me in two strides, his presence overwhelming, all heat and spice.
Before I can react, he delivers a sharp, stinging slap to my pussy.“Fuck!”I cry, my voice cracking, torn between outrage and a twisted thrill.
The shock continues to jolt through me, pain blooming into a rush of heat that makes me gasp. My clit throbs, suddenly eager, and my body wobbles.
The pain seems to amplify every nerve, and I’m mortified that I’m drenched and leaning toward him.
“That’s for holding back.” His face is mere inches from mine, and his voice is a threatening growl. “Move like you mean it. Touch yourself like you’re starving for it—because you are.”
Brennan shifts, his low groan cutting through the music. “Let us see you, Isla.” By contrast, his voice is coaxing, and I notice that his fingers are twitching like he’s restraining himself.
The slap, their words, Giselle’s echo—it all crashes together, shattering my inhibitions.
In this moment, I burn to feel what that dancer felt.
Drawing a shaky breath, I nod, more to myself than them, and turn back to the mirror.
Dorian turns up the music, and it pulses louder, guiding me.
Eyes closed, I let my hips sway, slow at first, mimicking the woman’s fluid grace.
I trail my fingers up my stomach to brush my breasts, and I gasp at the sensitivity of my nipples.
I open my eyes, in time to see my collar gleam. My skin is flushed; my lips are parted. I look…alive.
“Better.” Dorian sinks back into his chair, his voice a velvet lash. “Now your clit. Slow. Tease yourself.”
Emboldened, I slide my hand lower, allowing my fingers to circle my clit with deliberate slowness. The sensation is electric, heightened by the approval in their eyes, the music, the memory of that slap and Dorian’s earlier pinch.
I moan softly, my hips rolling as I find a rhythm. The dancer’s confidence feels closer, like I could reach out and claim it. My reflection moves with me, a woman I’m evolving into, one who is wild, sensual, and free.
“Fuck, you’re perfect.” Dorian’s tone is rougher than I’ve ever heard, and I catch sight of his reflection. His jaw is tight, his hands gripping the armrests. Is he fighting to stay seated? The thought spurs me on, emboldens me.
I spread my legs slightly, working my fingers faster until they’re slick with my own arousal.
With my free hand, I cup my breast and pinch my nipple.
The dual sensation pulls a louder moan from me.
Brennan curses softly, and his gaze is focused on the way I’m elongating my nipple.
Suddenly I feel powerful, like I’m pulling them under with me.
Giselle was right—letting go doesn’t destroy me; it remakes me.
