Page 91 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
“Lift your hair for me, little one. For now, I won’t add a lock.”
My hands tremble as I gather the thick waves and turn to bare my neck to him.
“Where we’re going, we want everyone to know you belong to us—in every way.”
The clasp clicks, and a shiver races down my spine—nervousness, along with a shocking flicker of heat.
“We want everyone to know you belong to us.”His words replay, sinking in even deeper, making my throat tighten.
Dorian takes his time, his cool fingers brushing my shoulders.
“Fuck.”Brennan’s approving reaction twists the knot tighter.
“I want you to see,” Dorian says, nudging me toward the mirror by the hearth.
I walk forward to where he indicates, my steps hesitant, my ridiculously tall heels clicking on the hardwood floors.
In the mirror, their reflections flank mine—Dorian’s dark elegance, Brennan’s scarred intensity.
The woman staring back at me is a stranger. Her skin is pale under the soft light, and her green eyes are wide and expectant.
Her lips part slightly, and the silver mark of their possession gleams against her throat. The gorgeous dress reveals too much, including the vulnerability she can’t hide.
She feels like a stranger, collared and claimed.
And yet…
“Own it,” Dorian urges a second time. “Your courage, your beauty, your elegance.”
Mesmerized, I lift my hand to trace the silver, my pulse hammering beneath it, and their gazes pin me there.
Maybe I’m a stranger to myself, but I’m not uncomfortable.
“The night is young.” Dorian turns me to face him, and he massages my shoulders. “Are you ready?”
Will I ever be ready for what Dorian wants?
I say goodbye to Calypso and make sure she has kibble and toys available.
Then Dorian takes my elbow and guides me from the cottage. Brennan is close behind us, and I’m finding his quiet presence reassuring, something I couldn’t have imagined even twenty-four hours ago.
Outside, the summer-drenched Louisiana air brushes my skin.
Since the SUV is running and waiting, the interior is chilled, something I appreciate.
As ever, Dorian settles beside me, his knee brushing mine, while Brennan claims the seat across.
“Something to drink?” Dorian offers.
Nearby I see a split of champagne, along with bottled water.
Because my nerves are fraying, I decide not to be sensible.
As we leave the Parthenon, I accept the glass he pours, and the bubbles tickle my nose.
I’ve finished every drop by the time we pull into an unmarked driveway about forty-five minutes later.
In the distance, the Mississippi River glints like a dark ribbon. As we slowly move forward, lush foliage seems to swallow the road, and it’s as if we’re slipping into another world.
