Page 89 of The Code of You

I breathed her in. Vanilla and missed sleep, but also my own scent still clinging to the fabric, something metallic, like the air after a storm. I had marked my territory.

"Do you know what it means,” I whispered, "when a woman wears a man’s shirt?”

My fingers slid beneath the hem. The first contact with her skin sent shockwaves through my system. So warm. So soft. So alive. Touch still overwhelmed me. Memories flickered of our first time. The way she’d spread her legs for me, taken me inside her. My body had shaken when she spasmed around me. I hadn’t known that pleasure could burn like that. That it could tear me apart from the inside.

I looked at her and forced myself back under control. "She marks herself as his property,” I murmured.

She raised her hand and shook her head. "Neo, it’s just . . .”

"Nothing is ever just anything.” My other hand settled at her throat. "You made a choice, conscious or not.” I pressed her back against the counter. "You chose me. My scent. My clothes. Me.” I gripped her hips and lifted her onto the counter. "And now,” I said, my voice dropping to a murmur, "you belong to me.”

A desperate sound came from her throat. Fuck. It hit my circuits directly. It was fear mixed with desire, the perfect sound of surrender. Immediately I was back in that moment—her lips closing around me, warm and wet. The first time in her mouth. The intensity had nearly torn me apart. No algorithm could have prepared me for that sensation. The way her tongue had touched me, the way her throat had tightened around me.

My breath grew rougher as heat burned low in my body. My fingers dug into her skin, wanting to make her produce that sound again. Again and again.

I spread her legs and she gasped. Her cheeks flushed, the red hue creating an irresistible contrast with her pale skin. Her lips were slightly parted, her chest rising and falling beneath the fabric of my shirt.

"You can’t run.” My voice was a caress, but my gaze drilled through her. "Say it,” I commanded. "I want to hear it.”

"Neo . . .” Just a breathless whisper.

"No.” My voice cut through the air. "Say it properly. I belong . . .”

Her breathing was fast. Her heart hammered. "To you,” she whispered.

"Louder.” The word came out like a threat. "Louder, Pandora.”

Her eyes closed for a moment, as if she was fighting herself. When she opened them again, I recognized surrender in her expression. "I belong to you.”

"Better.” My hands moved higher. "But not enough.” I pushed the shirt up slowly. "Say my name with it.”

"I belong to you, Neo.”

"I’m still not satisfied.” My fingers traced her skin.

"I’m yours, Neo.”

"Good.” I leaned forward, my mouth at her ear. "And what do I do with what’s mine?”

She trembled. "What?”

"I take it.” I bit into her neck. Her skin tasted of salt and vanilla, of fear and desire. Of something sweet that belonged only to me. "When I want. How I want.” My hands closed around her wrists and pressed them behind her back. "Do you understand?”

"Yes.”

She trembled in my grip. Her shoulders tensed as she instinctively moved against my hands, but she didn’t really fight. Her head fell back, exposing more of her throat. Her eyes were half closed, lashes wet. Beautiful. So beautiful in her surrender.

"Say it.”

"You use me when you want.” She swallowed down the humiliation.

"Correct.” I straightened. "And now I want you.” Control slipped from my fingers. Something primitive took over. "Here. On this counter. In my shirt.” My hands moved across her stomach. "Look at me,” I commanded. "Always.”

She obeyed. Good girl.

"You’re going to learn”—my fingers moved—"what it means to belong to me.” I spread her legs farther. "Every inch of you is mine.” My hand slid between her thighs. Her pussy was soaking wet. "This cunt”—I cupped her, feeling how swollen she was—"belongs to me.”

She gasped.