Page 75 of Yearn
I trembled.
I was breathing too fast.
His next words came out in a growl. “You think I won’t know when you’re touching what belongs to me?”
I blinked again.
“You’re mine.”
Say what?
That wordminelanded low—heat and warning.
I swallowed. “We. . .have not. . .discussed all of that yet.”
“After last night. . .you are mine. Whether you say it or not.”
Oh fuck.
My chest heaved.
Water ran over my collarbone and slid along my arm. I could feel the drum of my heart in the hollow at the base of my throat.
I did not tell him to leave.
I didn’t invite him to stay.
I stood there, naked, cornered, and already undone in all the ways that mattered.
He flicked a glance toward the shelf and at the pink, obscene little flower sitting there. Then, he brought his eyes back to me. “Unacceptable.”
“First of all—”
He stepped forward, stopping me mid-sentence. “I should be furious, but God, you’re so fucking pretty when you’re guilty.”
“I am not guilty of anything.”
“You are, but don’t worry. I’ll burn that toy when I’m done.”
“Done with what?”
He ignored my question. “You won’t need this toy again. I’ll be your only mercy, your only ruin.” Next, he fucking stepped into the shower fully clothed, letting the water claim him too, and the sight punched a sound out of me I didn’t recognize.
Shock slammed into me.
His shoe on wet tile was a thin scream of rubber.
His shirt dampened visibly as the steam and warm spray of water took him.
“W-what are you doing?” I raised my eyebrows.
The water kept falling.
My breath caught.
The rose waited on the shelf like a witness.
Steam thickened around his body until his outline blurred.
