13. CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER TWELVE

Marcus

L eighton's blue eyes gaze at me longingly.

For a second.

She blinks the next, and that's when realization dawns on her.

Awareness takes the place of sleepiness.

Horror trails close behind.

Ah, I see it. It's there.

The process is slow. The process is fucking mesmerizing.

More captivating than watching the sun rise and set each day.

More fascinating than the feel of my girl's arousal trickling down my hand.

But just because I'm arrested by her doesn't mean I'm any less mad.

The thought from before still dances in my head. There's a slim chance she gave her mouth to Milo. That she got tired of waiting for me and kissed him. Or went on her knees for him.

It's my fault for holding back. She couldn't know my reasons when I've been keeping them to myself.

Still.

Fucking. Still.

No, it's not her fault. Somehow, I manage to cling to my human side.

Because Leighton is that beautiful. Inside and out. Because life alongside her is beautiful.

Because she's mine.

"What do you want?" she rasps. Anger and accusations blend with the fear in her voice.

That gentle man?

Yeah, he's gone.

"Good morning." My eyes travel to the foot of the bed. To the glass wall and the dusk beyond. "No, good afternoon . That would've been better. Not what do you want ."

A slight tremor passes through her. I see it even when the covers hide her naked body.

"What. Do. You. Want?" Regardless of how afraid Leighton is, she doesn't let it reach her voice.

"You wound me, plaything." I twirl a lock of her hair around my finger, tugging. "We had so much fun last night, and look at you."

"Look at me what ?" Her fear is almost gone. Belligerent little thing .

My scowl deepens. Wish I could say it's all due to her words.

What she says don't get to me one fucking bit.

Her lips, on the other hand…

An underlying current of anger thrums beneath my skin. My heart is here with her. My head is on the scene I watched play out on my laptop.

Milo's obsession. Milo's possessiveness for my girl.

And her pink, plump lips are to blame. He feels like he's entitled to have her because he tasted them. I'm sure of it now.

The sensible side of me is aware I have no business being this possessive over her. I hadn't made my claim on her until yesterday.

My eyebrows scrunch together. As if any of that matters.

She's always been mine.

"Fighting this. Us." I turn my palm, my knuckles stroking the soft skin of her cheek. Slip them up and into her hair as my thumb caresses her cheek.

It's the best I can do to rein in the monster.

She doesn't cower from my touch. "I don't want this."

"Beautiful, whatever I'm asking of you, you're giving me willingly." I cock an eyebrow, daring her to deny it. She doesn't. "Save your energy for the hours I'm going to spend fucking every hole in your body."

When my gaze trails to the sweet apex between her legs, hers follows. Then her fingers. Beneath the covers, they ghost her pussy. She's moving them around. Her brow furrows when her fingertips dab the dried stickiness on her inner thighs.

The evidence of how I made her come in her sleep .

"Oh, wow," she huffs, quick to school the indignant expression on her beautiful face. "Consensual kidnapping? Is that a thing?"

Last night, I came on too hard too fast. I said things she wasn't ready to hear. I'm aware.

At least a part of me is.

The other can't stop obsessing over Milo kissing her. Shoving her face on his dick.

"You were taken, not kidnapped." To save your goddamn life.

My hand releases Leighton's hair, sliding lower to transform into a hand necklace around her delicate neck. The quickening of her pulse gets me hard. Feeds my possessiveness. My darkness. My need to have her for myself.

"Way I see it, it's the same." She curls her lip in a sneer. "You drugged me and tied me up. You. Kidnapped. Me."

"I did not kidnap you." I saved you .

"You're using the wrong words." With my voice steady and authoritative, my thumb strokes the curve of her jaw. "When you start using the right ones, it'll all make so much more sense. Trust me."

Despite the fire in her eyes—regardless of her accusatory tone—Leighton responds to me. She relaxes at my command. The rapid beat of her pulse ebbs. The tension in her throat muscles dissipates.

Receptive. So receptive.

"You're hypnotizing me again," she whispers. "You're cheating. "

"I'm talking you through this unnecessary tantrum," I correct her. The tone of my voice betrays nothing of the jealousy poisoning my heart. "I'm helping you accept this. Accept that I'm only doing this for you. I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you."

"I…" I feel her gulp beneath my palm.

One of these days, I'll feel her swallowing my cum.

Thoughts of Milo are pushed aside for the time being. In those moments where she's mine. Her spit is mine. Her throat is mine. Soon, I'll fuck her mouth so that she knows it too.

As if her body has a window to my soul, her skin prickles. There's no mistaking the goosebumps. The outline of her taut nipples under the covers.

Her body doesn't care that I was a violent bastard. That I ripped her away from her life.

Her body wants me. Correction—her body needs me.

And that's not the only thing her body needs. Leighton's stomach rumbles, slicing through the heavy tension in the room.

"You're hungry." My palm drags the covers down her body, below her belly where I stroke her.

Her eyes drift to my erection, which I don't bother fixing. Even the sight of me hard doesn't have her wrenching out of my touch. All it'll take is a little push, and…

"Am not." Leighton presses her lips together, snapping out of the calm space I guided her to.

"I don't plan on roofying you, if that's what you're worried about. No use when I can say one word and—"

"No." She seethes, the resistance on her face remaining firm. "Don't you dare."

"I'll dare whatever I fucking wish." My eyes pinch shut as I shove down the rage. Remembering my love for her. How she deserves affection and not just the vile parts of me. "Leighton, be reasonable. It's been over a day since you've eaten. Almost two."

The snarky woman she is, she levels me with a Whose fault is it? gaze.

"You know damn well why I've been keeping you in this room." I splay my palm on her stomach, rubbing her soft flesh. "You wanted to run. Then you had to sleep."

Nothing. Not a word. I have a sneaking suspicion I know why. She has me figured out. My obsession with hypnotizing her. With having her silent and at my disposal.

She's playing me as much as I play her. Hoping to get something out of it.

Maybe even get away from me.

Someone should've warned her earlier in life that her cleverness would get her in trouble.

"I see. You're being my little doll. I guess I can appreciate it." I move on the bed to undo the knots around her ankles, massaging the rope burns. "But I need you to eat. Would you stick to your silence if I told you I made your favorite ravioli? That it's waiting in the oven?"

"Dinner?" Leighton's eyes widen. "How late is it?"

She shifts her gaze from me to the glass walls for the first time today. To the darkness of the night that slowly swallows up the dusk .

"Late afternoon."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"For almost a day." I mentioned how long she's been without food, but she's exhausted. It's understandable. She'll wake up soon. "I'll feed you. Come on, I made your favorite ravioli."

I pause, getting a sick kick out of watching her war with herself. She wants to eat, not be fed. Not by me.

Not yet.

She won't want what I have to say next, either.

Don't care.

Running my palm up her thigh and to her breastbone, I hover over her. "I'll feed you, as long as you answer my questions over our therapy session."

That draws a reaction out of her. Her eyebrows shoot up, the same as her pulse.

"You can't force me to talk to you." The sound of her stomach grumbling says differently.

I grin.

She groans, crossing her arms on her chest. Tries to close her legs. I don't let her. "I'd rather starve."

Leighton's resistance is adorable. It's a farce. She's here. In bed. Remains in her place instead of attempting to flee and lock herself in the bathroom. She doesn't kick me in the balls or tries to claw my eyes out.

She loves me.

It won't be long before she stops fighting this. The shock of being taken will fade. She'll get used to me. She'll admit to loving me .

All I have to do is give her a little push.

Just in case I'm wrong, I straddle her, caging her beneath me. My eyes burrow deep into her mind, and my beautiful doll freezes for me. Waiting for my instructions.

This time, she's not manipulating me. This time, it's because she's mine.

"You're going to be good for me, aren't you?" My suggestion makes it appear like Leighton has a choice. She doesn't. I'm saying it to infiltrate her mind. She'll respond better to a line of suggestions than if I bark out an order. "You'll stay here, wait for me to pick an outfit for you, then wear it. Isn't that right?"

"I don't want to…" she trails off, sinking deeper. "Yes."

"Good girl."

I stalk into the walk-in closet I had stocked for her and me. For us.

The fit of everything is perfect, thanks to years of adding her laundry to our load. And other methods.

Anyway. She could've washed them at her parents'—anyone else would—except I insisted on washing them. We always had more than enough space in the washing machine. That way, I explained, Leighton could stay with Ry for days without going home.

For years, it was an honest explanation. I liked how happy Ry was around her best friend. Genuinely happy.

Then Leighton turned eighteen. That was the first time I allowed myself to sniff her panties. When I set out to build this home, I still sniffed her underwear. And checked the labels of her shirts, dresses, and jeans. I couldn't leave anything to chance.

I strip off my jeans and T-shirt and slide into a pair of charcoal gray pants and a pristine white button-down shirt. A smirk teases my lips while I do. When I look around the room, Leighton will see what we have in our closet, other than clothes. Soon.

"Marcus?" Leighton calls out from the bed, her voice unsure.

Enough of fucking around when she's in a suggestible state. I have to focus on my mind games, on ways to get into her head. On doing it without harming her.

Despite looking the part of a psychiatrist, I don't want Leighton to feel comfortable. I want her rattled. I want her to stop fixating on the past for us, to be able to start our future together.

I pick one of my white T-shirts that'll reach just above her knees. A new one.

"Time to get dressed." I take the place on the edge of the bed beside her, helping to sit her up.

"Thank you." She sighs, thinking this is some kind of truce.

Far from it.

Milo .

The name alone injects rage into my veins.

She won't admit that she's in love with me, and she does. In the past, present, and future. Regardless of what side of me comes out to play. She loves me .

But if she can't admit to that, she'll never admit to sucking off Milo.

And I need to know now. I need to know so I can…

So I can do what?

For no fucking reason. I have to know, period.

"You're going to talk to me, little doll." My dick jerks when my eyes roam down her breasts and her soft, beautiful stomach. The rest of me is a composed mask, as though her nakedness doesn't interest me. "You could cooperate, or I could force the words out of you. Either way, I'm having my answers and you're having your dinner."

The shirt drapes along the length of Leighton's upper body. It's a few sizes too big, hiding most of her other than her tits. They stretch the fabric of my T-shirt, the pink of her erect nipples only mildly obscured under the rich fabric.

"This is wrong on so many levels." I didn't put her in a trance. Just in a suggestive state. And the more I move her around, the more it wears off.

Standing up, I outstretch my hand for Leighton. "Do you need to use the restroom before we start?"

"And pee what? The sip of water I had last night?" She cocks an eyebrow. "The pool water, maybe?"

Her out-of-nowhere sass catches me off guard. I have to stifle a laugh, grinding my molars.

The day she'll stop fighting me, that's when I'll laugh.

Today's not that day.

"I take it you don't." I curl the fingers of my open palm, gesturing for her to give me her hand.

She does, but only puts her fingers in my palm. Hesitant .

"Your ethics, Marcus." Leighton appeals to my sensible side.

That does it. She doesn't want this session because she's hiding something from me.

A vein thrums in my temple. Goddamn Milo.

"Let me worry about those." On the outside, my fa?ade is icy. On the inside, a storm begins to rage. "Come."

I grip Leighton's hand, tugging her out of the room. She's silent. Obedient.

Doing her best to fool me.

"Sit down." I escort her to an armchair—the therapy couch will come later. Then I move around the room, switching on the floor lamp beside her. "Be a good girl, Leighton—"

"And stay here, yes, yes. I get how this works." She smooths the shirt, pulling it over her thighs. "I won't talk, though. You can forget about that."

Ignoring her taunting, my gaze fixates on her hands that she wrings in her lap. On how she shakes her head lightly and her pink hair falls on her front, right over her breasts.

She's hiding from me. Covering up what's mine.

My jealousy and possessiveness reach an all-time high. I bend, brushing every single strand behind her back. Push each of her hands to her sides and shove her shirt up her thighs.

"Leighton June Irvine." My fingers clasp on her chin, my face inches from hers. "Be a brat all you fucking want. Do your best. I can take it. But you will bend for me. You're already broken. Now, we have to put you back together again. Help you be that woman who wanted me so bad she risked getting caught masturbating in my hallway."

"You had her. I'd been her," she whispers. "Until you kidnapped me."

"No, you hadn't." My heart twinges at her dried lips. I dip my tongue out, wetting them, devouring the moan she's struggling to keep buried. "You've given up on us. There, in my garage. I couldn't take a…"

Chance. A motherfucking chance of you being killed.

Another surge of anger pulsates through me. I'm more than her savior. I'm her lover. She has to realize that first.

Victory gleams in her eyes. She knows I talked too much. "Take what?"

"I took you to show you where and to whom you belong." I storm out of the room.

"You said no lying." Her voice carries behind me.

Technically, I'm not lying to her. I've been feeding Leighton partial, uncomfortable truths. Which I'll do more of. Still do.

When I reach the kitchen, I remove the plate of ravioli from the oven. The food's still warm. The scent of her favorite filling—ricotta cheese, spinach, nutmeg, and black pepper—reaches me as soon as I peel off the foil.

Next, I grab a water bottle, unsnap the top, and dump a paper straw inside before returning to my study.

I pace myself when I get back to her. I'm on edge. The hate for Milo and whatever the fuck he did to her burns strong. I have to control myself.

Sucking in a deep breath, I linger in the doorway. "You stayed where you are. Very good, little doll. "

She doesn't bother masking her hunger anymore. Her tongue swipes across her lips, her body leaning forward. My insides churn. The violence from within begs me to rip the T-shirt off her and fuck the truth out of her.

Fuck food. Fuck everything.

No. No. I have a plan. Projecting my anger toward Milo onto her would be wrong.

Tonight, she's my patient.

After placing the plate and water on the end table between the two armchairs, I take a seat.

"Afternoon."

The change in my attitude has her eyebrows flying up her forehead.

Good.

"Miss Irvine." I level her with a piercing gaze, crossing an ankle on top of one knee. "How would you say you're doing today?"