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“You’re hurting me.”
How could I have let them get so fucking close to her? How? I grip her arm to hold her steady as I scrub.
“I’ll do it. Jesus, stop! You’re going to take my skin off.”
She wrestles the loofah and soap from me. I see how red the skin I scrubbed is and watch as she washes herself. By the time the water has filled about half the tub, I can’t stand the noise anymore and switch it off.
“Who are they?” she asks.
I shake my head, lost in thought. “Harder. More soap. It’s not enough.” Their particular evil is vapor. It seeps into your pores, gets inside you. It turns any good inside you to ash and leaves darkness where light once was.
“You’re being crazy,” she repeats more quietly, and I know I must appear insane to her. I get it. I close my eyes. They only had a few minutes. “Satisfied? Can I get out now?”
Her skin is flushed red. The water is hot. I get a towel, and when she stands, I wrap her in it and lift her out of the tub. I set her down, dry her front, then turn her to dry her back. All the while, she stares at me in the mirror, her forehead furrowed. But she remains still when I drop the towel and look her over.
“You’re mine. Not theirs. Do you understand?”
I run my fingers up along her back, then hold onto her shoulders and bend her over. I slide my feet between hers, urging her knees apart.
“Mine, Madelena. Not theirs.”
“Santos…”
I drag my hands to her ass and spread her open. She gasps but remains bent over, her knuckles turning white as she grips the edges of the counter. I can still see her face in the reflection, see her watching me. I undo my belt and slacks, take myself out.
“Mine. Say it.”
Pushing her knees wider, I look at her.
“I don’t under—”
I spank her ass once, and she yelps. “I said, say it!”
“I’m yours!” I push into her as she says the words.
“Say it again.” I draw out, thrust again.
“Yours,” she says, the word a breath forced from her.
“Again,” I whisper roughly.
“You’re scaring me,” she gasps.
It makes me stop momentarily. I lean over her. “I’m not the one to fear,” I growl. “Say it. Say it again.”
“Yours.”
“Good.” I grind against her, then draw back to swat her ass until both cheeks quiver, demanding she repeat one word and one word only again and again until she is trembling from the effort. “Mine,” I add, punishing her with each thrust. “Say it.” Because she needs to know it.
“Yours.”
Mine. Not theirs. Not anyone else’s.
I pour my rage into her with each thrust until that rage morphs into an all-consuming desire to protect her, to keep her safe as she repeats that one word over and over and over—a mantra. Only mine, not theirs, I repeat in time with her until I come, my hands kneading the flesh of her ass as I empty inside her because she’s fucking mine. Mine. Only mine. If anyone tries to take her from me, I swear I will do what I warned Liam I’d do. I will tear them limb from limb with my bare hands. I will rip them to shreds. I will bring all that the Commander taught me to rain down on my enemies.
