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“No.”
My eyes are drawn to the pants sticking to the lower part of his body. To his bulge.
“Leighton.” He’s scowling. “None of this is funny to me.”
“You smiled.”
He moves on top of me. Muscular arms brace by my head. Insistent knees push my legs open. He gets off on caging me. The idiot I am, I don’t put up a fight.
I let him handle me.
Maybe I am becoming his doll.
“So pretty, Leighton. More progress. That’s good.”
“What are you even talking about?” My curiosity gets the better of me. My curiosity crushes my need to put Marcus in place.
“Your subconscious is begging for me to come get you.” That’s the only answer I get. The reason for his happiness. He’s sick. Wonderfully sick. “A part of it knows you’re my woman.”
Of course, a part of me does. A lot of fucking parts of me are his.
Years of adoring him. Moments of sneaking up to his room. The heartbeats I lost whenever his muscles flexed as he swam.
What’s it been like for him?
No, I don’t care.
I care about clinging to my anger. I care about telling Marcus that his next words should be an apology, or he can go fuck himself.
But my curiosity wins again. I want him to analyze me. Eager for him to explain himself. Talk to me like the adult I’ve always wanted to be in his eyes.
“What does being yours mean?”
Marcus doesn’t answer for a while. He just drags his finger along my jaw, slides it across my cheek and into my mouth. Rubs my tongue.
“It means everything.” In and out his finger goes, insistent like the tone of his voice. Sending a thrill through me. “You’ve been mine for years, Leighton. I’m very serious about what’s mine.”
I should remind him that he can’t just take something—a person—and claim it as his. But he’ll see through my lie.
He’s right. I am his. Have been his. I’ve never gone any further than kissing a boy in ninth grade. And the only reason I did that was so one day when I kiss Marcus, it won’t be awkward.
Fuck.
He doesn’t have to ask for my consent. It’s been his for as long as I can remember myself.
“You’re going to fight me on this. I can see it in your eyes. I don’t care.” Remorse doesn’t register in his confession.
I’m the one who’s going through a change. On these harsh stone tiles, something transforms inside me. The longer Marcus talks, the more my resistance weakens. He’s talking to me while doing something to my mind, and I’m helpless to stop him.
“You belong to me.” His lips skim across my cheek. His finger keeps fucking my mouth, the repetitive action putting me in some kind of trance. “You love me. I’ll just have to drag it out of you.”
“No.” Yes.
“We should’ve had more time back home. It would’ve made it easier for you.” He breathes against my damp skin, rocking his erection on my sex. “I wish we had more time. Unfortunately, we don’t.”
More time? Despite the haze he’s putting me under, I manage to raise my hand and pull his finger out of my mouth.
“You’ve had plenty of time.” I’m angry with him. I’m sad too. I was always there. So available for him. “We’ve been talking about Rylan and I moving to New York forever. This house, you started building it years ago. Stop making excuses.”
