Page 75 of Possessive Ink

Pushing up out of the sofa, I stand in front of him, watching him watch me with this hopeful look in his eyes. Rising up onto my tiptoes, I seal my fate with four words. “I love you too,” I whisper as I press my lips to his.

“Wait, who is coming?” I ask.

“My friend, Gaelle, and her wife, Holly. They’ve been in Portland visiting Holly’s family, but they’re going up to Big Sky for a babymoon, so they’re stopping for a visit and to have breakfast on their way through Montana.”

“I should probably go and check that Avery hasn’t thrown all of my stuff onto the street,” I say, hoping that there isn’t too much truth in the excuse I’m giving as a reason to leave.

“After breakfast, we’ll go and pack up the rest of your stuff. You can just let your landlord know that you’ve moved out and will not be renewing the lease once it ends.”

“Wait, what? I can’t just move out. I haven’t even started looking for a new place yet.”

Lifting up onto his elbow, he peers down at me. “You’re not looking for a new place. You’re moving in here.”

“What?” I scoff. “No, I’m not. I can’t move in with you after knowing you for less than a week.”

“You fell in love with me and agreed to marry me after less than a week,” he says with a smirk.

“I did not.”

Curling his finger beneath the necklace that I haven’t even attempted to remove, he grins seductively. “Gaelle and Holly are married, but Gaelle is a Domme, and Holly is her sub. They’re currently expecting their first baby.”

“It’s weird for me to be here when your friends visit.”

“It’s not weird. They’re looking forward to meeting you.”

“They are?”

“Of course. Now while I know that neither me, Gaelle, nor Holly will care if we’re all naked, I’m guessing you’d rather put some clothes on.”

“Are you serious?” I whisper-yell.

Chuckling, he drags me to the side of the bed, lifts me into his arms, and walks us into the bathroom. Unlike last night when I showered alone, this morning, he turns on the water, then walks us beneath the stream, not putting me down until he has to admit defeat and lower me to my feet so we can both wash.

Once we’re clean, he painstakingly dries me, rubbing the towel gently over each finger, before moving down my body until I’m a standing heap of relaxed goo. Following him back into his closet, I spot my dresses in a haphazard pile on top of the counter, then glance at Atticus to gauge his reaction.

His jaw tics when he spots the pile and silently picks them all up. Instead of telling him to stop, I watch him carefully hang my dresses beside his clothes in his beautiful closet. Once he’s finished reintegrating my things with his, he turns back to me. Gathering me in his arms, he pulls me close, then buries his face in my neck, inhaling deeply. “After Gaelle and Holly leave, we’ll grab some packing boxes and start collecting your things. Do you know Avery’s schedule? Will she be home?”

“I can’t move in with you, Atticus. It’s too soon,” I tell him, ignoring how amazing it feels to be enclosed in his arms.

“It’s the perfect time,” he says, tipping my chin back and pressing his lips to mine.

I’m breathless by the time he pulls back. “Get dressed, Princess,” he rasps, pinching my chin before reluctantly pulling away.

It takes me a moment to recalibrate how to feel away from his touch, like my nervous system is rebooting. Once I feel a little closer to normal, I dry and style my hair into a loose fishtail braid that falls over my shoulder with tendrils of hair framing my face.

After rubbing some moisturizer into my skin and slicking some gloss over my lips, I open his closet door and stare at the dresses I haven’t worn since I got here. I don’t know if it’s all the wedding talk or simply because it’s so pretty, but my gaze keeps returning to the white corseted dress that screams kidnapped princess.

The boned, corseted top cinches my waist and exaggerates my already large breasts, making them period-drama-worthy main characters. The skirt is tiered, full, and rises at the front on one side to flash a tantalizing amount of leg.

Lifting the hanger off the rail, I stare at it for a moment like I’m debating wearing it. But truthfully, I’m not even fooling myself. Of course I’m going to wear it. Dropping the towel I have wrapped around me to the floor, I unhook the dress from the hanger, then untie the ribbons from the corset and drop the entire thing over my head.

With my arms in the air, I shimmy the dress down my body, lifting and positioning my breasts inside the corset before I reach behind me and grab the ribbons. There’s a technique for how to tighten a corset without help, but even after watching hundreds of YouTube videos, I still haven’t perfected it. So instead of elegantly transforming myself into a leading lady, I’m twisting like a pretzel while I huff and puff dramatically.

“Let me help,” Atticus says, placing his hands over mine and gently removing them from the ribbons. “Like this?” he asks, immediately understanding the logistics of my corset and tightening, then tying the ribbons like he’s done it a thousand times before.

Despite the boning and the way the corset shapes me, this dress is surprisingly comfortable. Smoothing down the skirt, I fluff it out, making sure the slit is sitting where I want it before I step toward the mirror to assess my appearance.

“This closet is unbelievable,” I mutter to myself as I take in my reflection in his insanely flattering mirror.