My body stretches to take him.
I need it.
Even though it hurts.
More because it hurts.
"You're mine." He keeps me pinned. "I'll decide what you need."
"Yes," I breathe.
"I'll do whatever the fuck I want with you."
Mmm. It winds me so fucking tight.
I can't believe I have more, but I do.
He keeps me pinned to the bed as he drives into me again and again.
He pushes me closer with every steady, deep thrust.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Then he tugs at the chain binding my wrists and he pushes me over the edge.
I groan his name as I come.
My sex pulses. My senses flood with pleasure. That beautiful, pure white light of bliss.
And that sweet sense of submission.
Knowing I'm his.
Knowing I'm bound.
Knowing he can hurt me.
Overpower me.
Destroy me.
I love it and I don't care how wrong it is.
My toes dig into the floor.
My fingers dig into my palms.
Then he's there, growling as he comes inside me, thrusting through his orgasm.
His cock pulses as he comes.
It's fucking perfection.
It's everything.
When he's finished, he pulls back. Does away with his clothes. The rest of mine.
Then he's on the bed. Undoing my bindings.
Wrapping his arms around me.
Holding me like he'll never let go.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Indigo
He runs his fingers through my hair as I catch my breath.
That other Ty. The soft, gentle caretaker.
He murmurs something about shifting back to reality. Asks if I'm okay.
I only manage to nod.
Okay doesn't cover it.
I'm fucking fantastic.
After I come down, I move into the master bathroom.
Door closed. Space to myself.
New purple robe hanging outside the shower.
Exactly like the one in my fantasy. Exactly how I described it.
After I clean up and towel dry, I slip into the robe. Soak in the feeling of the space.
Our space.
Does he see this as ours too?
Between the massive shower, the bare white wall, the hard countertop, the wide mirror—
There are plenty of places to fuck me. Plenty of ways for him to tease me or wind me tight.
Our space to fuck.
I run a comb through my hair. Reapply my lipstick. Wipe my sweat-smudged eyeliner.
It's not enough. I still look just-fucked. This isn't a hairstyle that stands up to sex.
But I like seeing satisfaction in my reflection.
Does it drive him crazy too? Seeing what he did to my hair, lips, wrists, neck?
No hickies today.
He was careful today.
Or maybe it didn't fit the scene. I don't know.
I don't care. I only care about getting more.
Can I really ask for harder, rougher, more brutal?
I take a deep breath. Move into the bedroom.
My clothes are neatly arranged. Wedges at the foot of the bed.
The rest folded.
Jeans.
Top.
Bra.
A ring box on top of my black thong.
Ty steps into the bedroom. "I thought you'd want to add it to your outfit."
He's in his slacks and shirt. His tie is still on the bed. His jacket is still on the dresser. His sleeves are still rolled to his elbows.
A side of him only I get.
He crosses the room to me. Picks up the ring box.
Drops to one knee.
"Indigo Simms, will you marry me?" He peels the lid back.
The ring is beautiful. Bold. Intense. Me.
"Ty…" My heart catches in my throat. My mouth gets sticky.
He's there, on one knee, looking up at me like I have his heart in my hands.
Like he'll die if I don't agree to spend the rest of my life with him.
He's not pretending.
Maybe he doesn't love me. Maybe he'll never love me.
But he needs me.
And that's something. It's so close to everything.
"I'm wearing a robe." The words fall off my lips.
He smiles. "I know."
"Am I supposed to tell people you surprised me after you fucked me senseless?"
"How else could I be sure you'd say yes?"
A laugh falls from my lips.
It's so beautiful and perfect, him on one knee, surrounded by the soft blue light of dusk, looking up at me like I'm the only thing he needs.
I am.
Here.
Maybe not anywhere else, but here.
"Yes," I whisper. "Of course."
He slides the ring onto my finger.
Rises.
Wraps his arms around me.
My hands go to his neck. I can feel it. The pressure of the ring between us. Metal against our skin.
This time, he's gentle as he lays me on the bed.
Undoes the sash of my robe.
Slips between my legs and licks me until I come.
After I slip into my wedges and a deep purple dress, I take pictures of the ring.
Normal pictures. With my cell. Like we're a normal couple, excited to post news on social media.
He poses with me for a dozen selfies.
Then he takes a few of me, in front of the window, so we have natural light.
It's so normal. Asking my fiancé to take pictures of me.
He knows photos better than Noah. He's good at cell pics for a guy, but he's still a guy.
I have to tell him how to hold the phone, how to cheat the camera, how to find the light.
It's so strange, being the one to explain something to him, seeing him take instructions.