Page 12 of Sweet Doe
Not the version of her she gave to him.
Not the watered-down version she gave the world.
Therealher.
The one who bites when cornered. Who burns like a fuse waiting to catch. Who stares at me with fire in her eyes and tries so fucking hard not to flinch.
She’s mine, and I’ll carve it into her soul if I have to.
One touch, one kiss, one broken moan at a time. Until there isn’t a single part of her that doesn’t bear my fucking name.
She’ll fight me for a little while. But eventually, she’ll see it.
Sloan was always meant for me, and I was built to ruin anyone who ever tried to take her away.
I sit quietly in the corner of the room, elbow hooked on the worn armrest, fingers brushing the sharp edge of my jaw. I haven’t taken my eyes off her since I carried her in. She was half-frozen, soaked, and barely conscious. I watched as the cold drained from her limbs, as the fire bled warmth back into her skin. She’s breathing evenly now. Safe andmine.
She didn’t have the strength to fight me when I found her in the snow. But before that? She ran, convinced she was fleeing for her life. Into a death trap of her own making, all because apparently she’d rather freeze to death than stay with me. That truth should devastate me.
Instead, it makes me want her more.
Her fight doesn’t scare me. It never has. Hell, I welcome it.
Sloan doesn’t swing her fists—she bites with her eyes and cuts with her tongue. Every glare, every insult, every breath that isn’t a sobbed apology just makes me harder.Hungrier. She thinks she’s hurting me with those sharp little barbs, butall she’s doing is feeding the part of me that’s been starving for something real. Something fucking worth it.
Let her spit. Let her curse and twist and snarl like a feral animal—I’ll take it. I’ll take it all. Because that rage? That fire? That’s her truth. And I don’t want her broken. Not really.
I want her wild. I want her whole. I want her exactly as she is—just mine.
Every piece she gave to him, every piece she kept locked away, every trembling, snarling, screaming, bleeding part—I’ll take it. I’ll rip it from her inch by inch if I have to. Or she can hand it over willingly. Either way, I’ll get it.
All of it.
She thinks I’m the villain in her story. The monster dragging her to hell.
Good. Because even monsters know how to worship. And I’ll worship her the only way I know how—with blood, with devotion, with total fucking possession—until she stops fighting the truth.
She’s not meant for a golden boy with a good name and a God complex. She’s meant for someone who sees her for what she is.
A fucking masterpiece carved out of spite and survival.
Alex never got it. Never even tried. He wanted her soft. Quiet. Polished enough to parade around at Sunday brunch. A woman who’d stroke his ego and never raise her voice.
But Sloan? She came from fire. From scraped knuckles and sharp edges. From shit that doesn’t wash off with money or prayers.
And my stupid fucking brother—he tried to prune her.
Me? I’m gonna let her grow wild.
Then I’ll wrap her thorns around my throat and thank her for every drop of blood she spills. Because sooner or later, she’ll see it.
Not just what I did, but who I did it for.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. My eyes never leave her face. The fire crackles behind me, casting shadows across her cheekbones. She looks warmer now. Stronger.
Safe.
I haven’t felt safe in years.
