Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
I could see it in her eyes, the resentment, the anger, the jealousy.
She hated the thought, and that was exactly what I wanted. She could deny it to herself all she wanted, but I knew the truth. The idea of another woman taking her place was unbearable to her. No matter what she thought of me now—whether as her captor or something darker—she couldn’t stand the thought of losing me to someone else.
I almost smirked but kept my expression even. “Rest assured,” I promised, “there will never be another woman. No one else will ever have what you do. Not while I breathe.”
She exhaled softly, clearly fighting the conflicting emotions roiling inside her.
“I think we’re done for now,” I said, my fingers brushing along her jaw, feeling the quickened pulse under her skin. “No need to overwhelm you tonight. You’ll understand everything... in time.”
The glass clinked softly as she set it down, and I let the silence linger once more, the tension between us thick, almost tangible.
I watched her closely before finally breaking the quiet with a casual, almost offhand remark. "I think now would be the right time to mention that I added something to your drink. A sleep aid to help you rest."
Her reaction was immediate. Her eyes widened in shock, a flash of betrayal flickering across her face. "You drugged me again?" Her voice wavered between disbelief and indignation.
I tilted my head, barely suppressing a smirk. "I told you I would, didn’t I? I'm simply keeping my word, carissima." I let the words sink in, my tone almost playful.
She blinked, staring at me as though trying to process what I'd just said.
"Don’t look at me like that," I continued softly. "It’s for your own good. You need rest. You’ve been through enough."
Her gaze faltered, her expression torn between resistance and reluctant acceptance. I could already see the change—the subtle drop of her eyelids, the way her breathing began to slow, muscles loosening as the sedative took effect. She tried to fight it, her hands gripping the edge of the table as though that would anchor her, but it was useless. Slowly, inevitably, the tension melted away from her body, her fight fading like a dimming flame.
Satisfied, I stood, walking around the table to help her up. My arm wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her steady as her legs wobbled beneath her. When we reached the bottom of the stairs, I didn’t bother letting her try to make it on her own. I lifted her into my arms, cradling her against my chest. She didn’t protest, her head resting against my shoulder as I carried her up the stairs, her body light as a cloud.
When we entered the bedroom, her eyes lazily scanned the room. She blinked slowly, her voice light and already slurring slightly. "You prefer the left, don’t you?"
"I do.” She had picked up on that rather quickly. Before her, I never cared about which side I slept on—sleeping alone had its own rhythm. Now, everything had shifted. I needed to be closest to the door. It was natural, protective even. One day, when we had children, it would matter even more. I set her gently onto the bed, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she blinked up at me, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. "Relax," I told her, my tone soft but commanding. "I’m going to shower."
She murmured something unintelligible, her lips barely moving as the sedative took full hold. I turned on the fireplace, its soft glow filling the room, then dimmed the rest of the lights, leaving just the small bedside lamp on. I watched her for a moment longer, her body sinking into the sheets, completely under my control. I turned and walked toward the bathroom, leaving her to rest. I took my time showering, reluctantly scrubbing her off of me.
When I returned to the bedroom, the steam from the shower followed. All I wore were my boxer briefs, the salve for her mark in hand. I paused, watching her for a moment. She was lying on her side, facing the balcony doors, already asleep. She was more beautiful than ever, her delicate features framed by her long, dark hair fanned across the pillows. Now that it was close to dry, the golden undertones were visible again. Her light pink sleep shirt was slightly rumpled, and her breathing was soft and steady.
I climbed up onto the bed, careful not to disturb her too much. Slowly, I lifted her shirt, exposing the mark beneath her shoulder blade. I could see that the skin around it was still tender, the edges already healing but sensitive. She stirred slightly under my touch but didn’t wake. I applied the salve with gentle fingers, tracing the outline of my refreshed crest etched into her flesh. It was more than a mark—it was a symbol of our bond, our connection.