Page 145 of A Vicious Love

Marcel’s eyes moved slowly to her.

“Baby.”

“What?” she said, a little too pleased with herself. “You did.”

“You also have the option of not explaining my wife’s collar rotation to my brother at three in the morning.”

“I didn’t invite him in.”

I gestured at the collar on her throat. “So that is normally for his eyes only?”

Marcel’s gaze cut to me. “Yes.”

“And yet here we are.”

This would be under his skin burning him that I was seeing what was only for his eyes. The possessive bastard would be on fire inside.

“Because you let yourself into my bedroom.” His voice lowered.

“I’m having an emotional crisis.”

“That excuse is losing value.”

Emmie lifted her chin again. “I like my night collar.”

“I bet you do.”

She smiled. Smiled. Like the collar made her happy, and the weight of it around her throat made her feel held instead of owned badly.

“Daddy cares for me perfectly,” she said.

Marcel’s hand moved to the back of her neck, fingers resting just beneath the black metal. His thumb stroked once. Emmie leaned into him. That was when the sickness in my chest got worse.

I stood at the foot of their bed and looked at them. At the way Marcel held her. At the way she sat against him. At the collar. At the spare one on the table because of course Marcel had options for her comfort, for her mood, for sleep, for sex, for whatever her softness required from him that night.

The thought hit so hard I nearly stepped back.

I wanted that with Sienna. I wanted Sienna to lift her chin because my hand was near her throat and she trusted it there.

I wanted to know what she needed before she asked.

I wanted to be safety.

Me.

Jamison Crow. The man Harlan moved away from in corridors. Sienna had learned to flinch from. I laughed once, but it came out wrong.

Marcel noticed.

“What?”

I rubbed a hand over my jaw. “This is the problem.”

Emmie’s excitement vanished into concern. “What is?”

“This.” I gestured between them. “You. Her. The collar. The way she looks at you like you are the safest thing in the room when you are, objectively, a fucking nightmare.”

Marcel did not take offense. He only watched me.