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"I was scrubbing the floors."
"Thalia."
"I don't mind, Troy. I needed something to do."
"You have something to do," he growls. "You read or nap or knit or watch the squirrels or anything you want other than scrub floors, angel. That's not your job."
I smile despite myself. He sounds so cranky. "I miss you. Will you be home soon?"
He sighs. "It's taking longer here than I expected. I may be later than I thought."
"Oh." I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. "Is everything all right?"
"Everything is just fine, angel. There's nothing to worry about. I promise."
"Okay," I whisper.
"When I get there, I'm going to take what belongs to me whether you're awake or not, sweet Thalia," he growls, making my core clench. "I want you wet and naked, waiting for me."
"Troy," I moan, a wave of heat rolling through me.
"I mean it, angel. Be naked and ready for me."
I'm always naked and ready for him when he gets home from Stonehaven. Our game is twisted, but it's my favorite. I pretend I'm asleep, fighting not to move or make a sound while he touches and licks and fucks. Eventually, I crack, coming alive for him. Unable to pretend any longer. Sometimes, I manage to hold out all the way until I come. Most of the time, he breaks me long before then.
Maybe the things we do are wrong, but I don't care. With him, I've never felt more right or whole. If it's wrong to enjoy the dark, wicked things he does and says to me, then I'll be wrong. If I'm damned for loving him the way I do, then I'll be damned. I don't care.
I love him with every fiber of my being. My soul is his. Not because fate demanded it. Not because the curse tied me to him. Not even because the magic in Fable Forest is potent and raw. It's his because I've never felt more alive than I do with him. Because, for the first time in my life, I know what it's like to be truly free.
Here, I'm not a princess, bound by duty. I'm not a Rosewood, shackled by a curse. I'm simply a woman, desperately in love. When I left my kingdom, I thought I was running from something, but I wasn't. I was running to something. I was running to him and to this.
I have to tell him the truth. Even if he decides he no longer wants me, he deserves to know. He deserves the same choice I had, the same freedom he's given me. I have to give him that. That's what love is. It's choice. It's freedom.
"Troy, I…"
"I've gotta go, angel," he says at the same time and then pauses. "Did you need something?"
"No," I say quickly, swallowing back my confession. Now isn't the time to tell him. I don't want it to be on the phone when I spill my secrets, with miles separating us. I want him to be in front of me so I can see his face—so he can see mine. When I tell him everything, I want him to know that I love him, that I choose him, and that I understand if he can't choose me, too.
"I'll be home soon," he promises. "Be ready for me."
"Okay," I whisper. "Be safe."
"Always, angel."
Three hours later, I'm still wide awake when the front door opens. He's home. My stomach quivers with anticipation, my core clenching.
I close my eyes, rolling onto my back. The sheet slips, but I pull it all the way up to my neck, intent on teasing him a little. He said he wanted me naked and ready. He can squirm, wondering if I complied. It'll do him good. He's so commanding, so tyrannical sometimes.
It drives him crazy in the best way when I disobey or work around his orders to creatively defy him. I don't think anyone ever tells him no. Anyone except me, anyway. I run when he says not to do it. I come when he says don't. I suck when he says lick. And I watch his restraint unravel bit by bit with every order I defy.
I breathe deeply, listening to him move around the house, trying to stay completely still as he creeps closer to the bedroom.
My body is already on fire, aching for him and what he's going to do to me. God. I always ache for him. He's an addiction—powerful and potent.
The bedroom door creaks open.
My heart thuds against my ribcage.
