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I have to forcibly tell myself that what just happened between Damian really happened because otherwise, I feel like I’m going to flit off into fantasy land.
It was so freaking hot, the way the beast inside of him came out like that, the way he stared at me, at my body, like I was the only woman in the universe.
I’ve never been looked at like that.
“Dakota?” he murmurs now, reaching across the table and taking my hand in his.
He’s hot, physically burning up.
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “So I kind of had some crazy thoughts, too. When I first saw you, I imagined having kids together. I imagined us being together. I can’t really explain it. It just felt right. No, more than that. It felt like any other path would be absolutely wrong, the biggest mistake of my life. Obviously, I was going to keep all of this to myself.”
“But when I told you that you’re mine,” he says, voice tinged with wonder, “you knew it was true. You knew that fate led us together.”
“Wait, you believe in fate?” I ask.
He laughs grimly. “I never did, never even gave it any thought, to be honest. But when I saw you standing there with that bloody letter opener, all brave and fiery despite how scared you clearly were … I don’t know, something just clicked in me. I can’t explain it. Something woke up. And then I felt – I knew – that I was there for a reason. I think you were that reason, Dakota.”
His words send flickering starlight through my body, tickling my soul, tickling my everything. I reach across the table and grab his hand, feeling the strength of him in the simple touch.
“I feel the same,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry I’m not ready for—”
His hand tightens and he grimaces. “What did I say about apologizing? When you’re ready, I’m going to fucking maul you. I’m going to claim you and make you cream and shiver and cry out for me. But until then, I’ll keep the beast in the cage. But …”
“But what?” I urge, when he trails off, my heart thudding like a drum-beat welcoming me home in my chest. “Damian?”
“I don’t want to scare my little virgin,” he teases, reaching across with his free hand and pinching my cheek playfully.
I slap his hand away, giggling.
“I may be a virgin,” I laugh. “But I’m not little.”
“You’re five-five, at the most,” he growls. “How else is a big bastard like me supposed to describe you?”
I shoot him a look. “I’m not talking about my height, Damian.”
“What, then?” he says, tilting his head at me as though he’s genuinely confused.
Even Sparky, who’s now finished eating, pads over and tilts his head up at me, imitating Damian. I look between them, my mouth falling open.
He can’t be serious, can he?
“Well, just think,” I snap. “If it’s not my height, what else could it possibly be?”
He stares.
“For God’s sake, Damian. My big fat—”
“Nope,” he snarls, cutting me off with a look of pure fire. “I won’t stand for that, Dakota. I’ll never fucking stand for that.”
I flinch at the force of his words.
“I mean it,” he goes on. “With a body as curvy and smoking as yours, you have no right to have such a low opinion of yourself.”
“So being fat is a bad thing?” I counter.
“I don’t care about the word,” he snarls. “I care about how you sounded when you said it like you were dirt. And you’re not dirt. You’re the furthest thing from it. Your body is gorgeous. I love how plus size fucking perfect you are, with that ass made for grabbing, those big round tits. Your face, your full healthy-looking cheeks … everything about you. You look like a woman who’s ready to take on the burden of carrying a child, not like some billboard model who’ll blow away when a strong gust comes along.”
I gasp, staring at him as he sits up in his chair, so much passion seeping out of him that even Sparky is on his hind legs, aware that something’s happening here.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For saying that.”
“Thank me by believing it,” he snarls. “You’re beautiful. Never forget that.”
Something warm and homely dances in my belly, as though I don’t have to constantly be aware of how different I am to other, so-called prettier girls. I’ve always had this chip on my shoulder, and hearing the fierce conviction in Damian’s voice has gone a long way to making me see myself through his eyes.
For the first time ever, I wonder if I am sexy if I have that inside of me, the capacity to compel with my looks.
“What were you going to say?” I mutter. “Before you called me little and I got distracted?”
“Oh,” he says, smirking like a predator. “I was going to tell you that the longer you make me wait, the more beastly I’m going to be when I finally get to plunge into that hot cunt. I’m being a gentleman by waiting … so don’t expect me to be a gentleman in the bedroom. I own you. You’re mine. And I’ll treat my fucking property how I want. Do you understand?”
