EMMIE
He stares at me with intense dark eyes that make it hard to breathe.
I came in here with two intentions: get some honesty and get off.
I told myself that I was going to leave the second both of those missions were complete. But I’d be lying if I said that leaving right now was even an option.
“I-I can’t, Theo.”
His entire body sags at my confession.
But it only lasts for a beat, because the second his eyes find mine again, that dangerous determination is back.
“You will. Maybe not today, or tomorrow. But you will.”
I suck in a sharp breath as the point of his knife teases my nipple.
“Theo,” I moan as he scratches down over my full breast, the bite of pain shooting straight to my clit.
Danger shouldn’t feel this good.
“You might not be able to say it, but I can fucking well make you look like mine.”
The point of the knife drops lower until it’s resting over my ribs, his eyes laser-focused on it.
My heart thunders in my chest as all the things he could be about to do to me flicker through my mind.
My breath catches in my throat when he finally starts to move.
He drags the knife down, the sting of the shallow cut following in its wake.
It’s not until he moves over and starts on a second letter that I realise what he’s doing.
“Oh my God, you can’t—”
Without thinking, I push up onto my elbows to watch. But as my eyes find my ribs, I breathe out a sigh of relief when I don’t find I’m covered in blood. Instead, the T and the H he’s now working on are nothing but slightly raised pink scratches. Scratches that will totally heal.
He pauses, his eyes finding mine once more. There’s a fierce possessiveness that I’m not sure I’ve ever seen in them before, and I’m instantly aware of just how much he’s holding himself back right now.
Given half a chance, I think he’d have carved these letters as deep as he possibly could, and somewhere everyone who looked at me would see.
That thought does weird things to my insides, and strangely enough, the whole idea doesn’t completely freak me out.
Would belonging to Theo so blatantly be so bad, anyway?
“Mine,” he whispers.
I swallow thickly at the seriousness in his tone.
Our marriage might be a total sham, but he’s more than happy to continue with it.
That knowledge should terrify me. But lying here at his mercy, all I feel is exhilaration and desire.
It’s wrong. Oh so fucking wrong.
Focusing back on the task at hand, we both watch as he continues to scratch the E and O across my ribs.
“Mine,” he says once more, tracing the marks with one fingertip.