Page 40 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
“Guess we need to prove it to her,” Brennan says.
Has this been part of their strategy to get women into bed with them? Flattery?
Dorian shrugs out of his jacket. “Finish undressing me.” His voice lacks the command that it usually has; instead, there’s a quiet intimacy in it.
Will he expect this in the future? Part of my wifely duties? Though I’ve had no experience with BDSM, I’ve read plenty of books that contain it. No literature degree is complete without it. And so I know that some Dominants have acts-of-service expectations for their submissives.
It’s one thing for me to do this tonight, but I don’t want to do it on a regular basis.
My hand shakes as I reach for his bowtie.
I tug on the silk, and I drop it on the end of the bed, a splash of pure black on the pristine white duvet cover.
“Keep going,” Dorian encourages.
My pulse skips around as I undo the next button of his shirt, revealing more of his taut chest—smooth, golden, a faint scar curving beneath his collarbone.
I blink up at him. I’m not surprised by Brennan’s eyebrow scar, but seeing such a large one on Dorian’s body catches me off guard.
Unthinkingly I reach to trace it, and he captures my wrist.
“That’s…”
“A reminder of my misspent youth.” He doesn’t elaborate further. “Please continue with what you were doing.” With that, he releases me.
I blow out a small breath and unfasten the rest of his buttons.
Once his shirt is hanging open, revealing the perfect smattering of chest hair, I have to force myself to focus. Really all I want to do is drink him in.
“Plenty of time for that in the future.”
This time, I’m not surprised that he’s read me so completely.
I fumble with his intricate cuff links. Small gems catch the overhead light, and I freeze when I see the small owls with bright green emeralds glinting as their eyes. The Zeta Society’s symbol. The arrangement between him and my father suddenly makes more sense. “You’re a Titan.”
Dorian’s expression never changes. “Mmm.” His response isn’t an agreement, nor is it a denial. Which means I’m right.
I’m now moving in a world I know little about.
Realizing he won’t say anything else, I remove the second cuff link and drop both onto the nearby dresser.
Then I return to him to peel his shirt from his shoulders. My fingers brush the hard muscles of his biceps, sending skitters of awareness through me.
Hardly paying attention to what I’m doing, I toss the garment toward the bed. It misses and flutters to the rug.
Since I’m riveted by the sight of him, I don’t even try to pick it up.
Dorian is breathtakingly powerful and lean. Even though I’ve never thought of a man’s body this way, he’s gorgeous.
“Now mine,” Brennan says, his tone patient but firm.
God help me, is he a Dominant too?
Unable to believe any of this is actually happening, I unbutton his shirt.
As I had guessed, his body is even harder than Dorian’s—broader too. Dozens of scars mar his skin.
“That’s it,” Brennan tells me, his voice a soft purr.
