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Leaning back in his chair with his light-blue eyes directed at the morning light breaking across the horizon, he said:“’Tis better to have loved and lost than to never have loved before.”
When V repeated those very same words with a similar expression to Sloan, one made most surprising by her youth, it completely shook the bedrock I’d built my new resolve on.
A girl centuries younger and a man half my age seemed to recover from heartbreak and tragedy better than I did. It rattled me to think that perhaps I’d closed myself off to love out of fear and not experience. Sloan made me ponder, but V gave life to the desire to change the way I saw things. For her, I was finding I’d do practically anything to keep my position by her side.
Very little threatened my place beside her until tonight.
I’d initially brushed off Sloan’s intense fascination with V as something he’d satisfy quickly and move on from. But after hours of his prying questions and gentle smile, I realized that if anything, Sloan was growing more and more captivated by the second.
The weight in my chest was terrible by the end of the evening, and I couldn’t get rid of it.
Refusing to assign any one name to the feeling, I scrubbed a dish dry with the intention of dominating the flirtatious minx in the bedroom. She’d rushed up to the room ahead of me like I bid her to, and I slowed my movements, marinating in thoughts gone dark and confused.
After the last dish was in its proper home, I went upstairs to join the woman to blame for every single emotion terrorizing both my mind and body. I calmed myself, brushing back my dark hair and fixing my shirt, and then entered the room with a face devoid of any emotion at all.
What met my gaze was nothing short of illicit temptation.
V was already undressing, her back turned to me and t-shirt already thrown to the floor. She swished and swayed out of each pant leg, giving me a front-row seat to her perfectly curved ass before offering me a sneaky glance.
Mouthwatering enticement, this one.
The door clicked behind me and V straightened, shoulders working in eager anticipation. “Phillip—”
Rushing over, I positioned myself in front of her, a finger over her mouth to silence her. “Don’t speak.”
Any words from her and I would definitely lose control.
Taking a few steps back, I removed my shirt and tossed it to the floor, eyes staying on the woman half-naked in front of me. And the same way I never let her out of my sight, neither did she. The lust and desire beamed in her multicolored irises, and it was terrifying how much just one look from her ensnared me.
Her glorious body illuminated by nothing but moonlight was what every Greek story sang about—the rise and fall of armies, and how it was enough to make even a sensible man go mad.
Not that I was sensible by any means.
Fire-red hair, something once vilified, beamed color in a white halo around her head, and my hands slowed a little while I fought to stay in control and not tear away the rest of her clothing to ravish her like a man starved.
It was a small mercy I didn’t have to share her with anyone. Just the mere thought of it put uncomfortable tension in my stomach. People were noticing her already. It was only a matter of time before throngs of suitors lined up to have their chance to woo her. The only thing separating me from them was the fact that I deemed myself her partner.
Our casual relationship was erected on shaky ground at best, and it wouldn’t take much to sway her heart elsewhere. Someone could swoop in and steal her away if I wasn’t paying attention, and that mere thought scared me the most.
Still, no one could protect her the way I could. No one could satisfy her sexual needs the way I could.
V’s moistened lips and lewd expression settled the tension of jealousy some, but it didn’t ease it entirely.
Nothing ever would.
She slowly approached me, seemingly cautious, but it was the game we played. The space between us was nearly gone in two steps. Her flowery scent was in my nose and all around me. Her hands made their way over a vast expanse of ink, touching wherever I’d let her, and I shut my eyes and clenched my jaw, dangerously close to a loss in composure.
Over the last few nights spent together, V grew more confident and self-assured. She bloomed as a submissive bedroom partner, almost as if she was always meant to be one.
Always meant to bemine.
The spitfire shed her modesty and surrendered to me once we were inside these four walls—our sexual haven. Like a switch, she didn’t question or argue anything I said, not unless she wished to be punished. And sometimes she did. Other times, she simply followed every command, and I’d never been so satisfied by a bedroom partner.
She knew I’d take care of her. She was confident I’d give her everything she needed and wanted, and I craved seeing her succumb to my every action and demand. Without fail, I’d give her all that she could possibly want. If nothing else, I’d satisfy every longed-for and spontaneous desire she might have.
I’d reward her for trusting me.
Grabbing her around the neck, I forced her backwards until there was nowhere left to go, and she painted her back against the wall. The tension in her body instantly relaxed, and the lust of submission glittered in her hazel eyes.
