Page 26 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
The spotlight catches him mid-jump as he leaps onto the stage.
His grin is triumphant, the microphone in his hand might as well be a scepter.
“He’s never met a stage he doesn’t want to be on,” Brennan says.
“Or a fucking microphone he doesn’t want to make love to.” Dorian shakes his head.
“All right, you beautiful people!” His voice booms through the speakers, deep and rough-edged, slicing through the murmurs like a blade. “Welcome to the night of your lives! We’re here to celebrate the unholy union of Dorian Vale?—”
Embarrassment claws at me. Had he really said that?
“And his stunning bride, Isla.”
Dorian touches my knee. Reassuring? Or warning me to stay put?
“Two souls bound by fate, fire, and sin.”
Who hired him? It couldn’t have been my sister.
“The day has been one to remember. Let’s make tonight one to envy!”
Some guests cheer; others laugh nervously. A few just shift uncomfortably. I’m grateful I can’t see my parents from where I’m sitting.
As always, Jaxon is as outrageous as he is unapologetic, and I have to respect that he’s had the courage to call out the chaos of our forced union, saying what everyone is thinking.
Jaxon energetically paces, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Now, before we get to the good stuff—because trust me, it’s coming—I’ve got a job to do. It’s time for the first dance, folks. So, Dorian, time to show off your bride and your dancing skills.”
A spotlight hits us, and I will the floor to open and swallow me whole.
Next to me, Dorian stands and offers his hand.
Once I’m by his side, he slides his hand from mine to the small of my back, his heated palm firm and possessive as we make our way across the ballroom.
Once more, I’m forced to resist my self-preservation instincts and instead stay with him.
The music shifts, a slow, pulsing beat filling the room—something raw and contemporary, not the stuffy waltz I’d feared. After a couple of seconds, I recognize “Tennessee Whiskey,” but it’s a remix with a sultry, modern edge. It wraps around me, and for a moment, I wonder what it would be like to actually be with a man I wanted, instead of one I was forced to marry.
We reach the center of the dance floor, and a much larger spotlight hits us.
“Relax, little one.”
Though Dorian’s voice is low his words aren’t an encouragement—they’re a command.
He slides one hand to my waist. Then he captures my hand and lifts it to his shoulder.
I hold myself stiff, and he grins as he locks his storm-gray eyes onto my face. Oxygen vanishes from my lungs as I’m caught up in him.
“Everyone’s watching and taking pictures.”
As if I don’t know that.
“You’ll want this to look believable,” he reminds me.
Like he had earlier, he pulls me close until my body is flush against his, the hard planes of his chest. My heart races as if I’m a wild thing trapped in a cage. I’m drowning in his masculine prowess, overwhelmed by the scent of him—sandalwood, leather, and the threat of ruin.
His breath brushes my ear as he leans in, his lips grazing the shell just enough to make me tremble. “This is where you are meant to be,” he whispers. “Every step, every breath, every thought—they belong to me.”
I want to push him away, to scream. But my body betrays me, softening against him, and all I can do is let him lead—across the dance floor, into the unknown, and straight into the shadows of whatever comes next.
