Chapter 33

CHAPTER

THIRTY-THREE

CLINK

Dillion has been gone for a while. Instead of waiting for her to return, I go in search of her. Something hasn’t been right with her since she got here. She knows she’s in danger, she knows she needs to stay indoors, but there is something else working behind her eyes, and I can’t quite figure it out—nor do I have the fucking time right now.

Walking away from dinner, I slip into the hall and head toward the bathroom, but before I approach, the door opens, and Dillion walks toward me. I’m not sure if she doesn’t see me at first or what because she doesn’t smile or stop.

Reaching out, I catch her bicep in my hand as she brushes past me. She gasps at the feel of me, whips her head around, and then her wide eyes meet mine. Tugging her toward me, I turn her so that her back is pressed against the wall.

I close the few inches between us and press my chest against hers, shifting my face closer, my lips touching hers.

“Tell me what’s wrong, baby,” I rasp against her mouth.

I wrap my fingers around the front of her throat and gently squeeze before I run my thumb up and down the side. She purrs, then I feel her body melt against the wall, against me.

My fingers leave her throat and move to her lips. As I dance my fingertips across those lips, I can’t look away from her gaze. Tilting my head to the side, I watch her for a long moment.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Dillion.”

Her eyes slide closed slowly, then she whispers, “Nothing.”

She lies, but I don’t say that. If she wants to lie, it’s only to herself because I know the truth. Pressing my lips against her mouth, I slide my tongue along the seam before I shift back slightly.

Her whimper, her gasp, is all I need. Letting out a chuckle, I reach for the button of her jean shorts and pop it open, then push them down around her ankles and spin her around.

I shift forward, my chest pressing against her back, and my lips go straight to the shell of her ear, where I whisper to her.

“Hands on the wall, hips back. I’m going to fuck you right here, baby. Then you can tell me why you just lied to me.”

Dillion’s breath hitches. Reaching back, I open my palm before I slam it down against the cheek of her ass. I grunt, watching as her skin pinks even in this dim lighting. Sinking my teeth into her earlobe, I tug on it gently, then release it and unzip my pants, releasing myself.

I grasp her hip with one hand, then move her exactly where I want her. She does what I’ve asked. Her hands are on the wall, her hips positioned perfectly, and I position myself at her warm entrance.

Slowly, I sink inside of her. Burying myself to the hilt, I flick my gaze down, watching the way her body accepts me… stretches for me. It’s beautiful and amazing. I want this always.

Gathering her hair in my hand, I gently tug her head backward. Her neck arches impossibly. Her eyes find mine as I lean over her. Slowly, my hips roll. Feeling her cunt wet and warm around me is a feeling I wish I could keep forever.

She whimpers, her eyelids heavy as she takes what I give her. Dillion always takes everything I give her, day or night. Light or pitch black. This is my woman, and she accepts every part of my body.

But I have a feeling she doesn’t accept every part of me yet. Or maybe it’s more that she doesn’t accept her place in this world yet. I’m not quite sure. I know that something is bothering her. I just can’t figure it out.

I will.

After I come—after she comes.

“Touch yourself for me, baby. Make yourself come on my cock. I want to feel you strangle me like only you can.”

Her breathing comes out in pants, but with the way her neck is arched, she can’t say anything. Can’t even really make a sound. She is held perfectly for me. I don’t stop moving, don’t stop fucking her wet heat, then I feel her fingers between her legs.

“Play that clit for me. Come, baby.”

Her fingers begin to move. She begins to play. It’s almost too much, but it’s not. I’m not sure that too much and Dillion could be in a sentence together anyway. She is always just enough—always.

“Come for me, baby,” I whisper softly.

The demand bounces off the wall in front of us before it comes back to our ears. When she comes, I feel it before she says a word, before she whimpers, before anything verbally happens. Her pussy squeezes me, and she forces my own climax.

My balls empty, and I come hard inside of her.

Releasing my hand from her hair, I wrap my fingers around the front of her throat and collapse against her back. “Tell me what’s wrong, baby,” I demand in a whisper.

She doesn’t say anything immediately. Her breathing takes a moment for her to catch. I don’t step back from her. I have a feeling that trapping her is going to be the only way I can gain information from her ass.

“Nothing,” she lies again.

I hum, not believing her for a single fucking moment. It is not nothing. It is very much something. She turns her head, her eyes narrowing at me from over her shoulder.

I smile down at her. I fucking love the way she looks at me, especially when she’s a little pissed off but mostly satisfied. Plus, since my cock is inside of her, she could look at me cross-eyed, and I’d probably love it, too.

“Liar,” I hiss.

That’s it. That single word is what sets her off. She tries to get away from me, but I don’t let her. I’m staying right fucking here. My cock is only half-mast, but it doesn’t matter. I'm staying inside of her sweet cunt.

“I’m not the liar,” she hisses.

I snort. “This shit again. Because I didn’t tell you that I have been visiting you in the middle of the night?” I ask. “What the fuck?” I demand.

She tries to get away from me again, and this time, I let her. She spins around, tugging her shorts up at the same time. I pull my jeans up my hips as well. Her eyes flick up to meet mine. I can see the anger resonating behind them.

Then she speaks, and when she does, I feel guilty, but just for a fleeting moment.

“You are an asshole. I’m pissed at you for a million different reasons. You played me. You lied to me. You pretended to be something you weren’t. Then I find out that you don’t even really like me. I’m just something that was basically won in a war. A war that I wasn’t even involved in. So, what the fuck is fucking right,” she says, her voice rising with each word she says, and by the end of her tirade, she’s yelling.

I’m not sure what the fuck I’m supposed to say to that. I did win her. She’s my prisoner of war. But I’m happy about it, and I like having her at my side. I like having her with me in general.

“I didn’t play you,” I snap. “I kept the truth from you because I didn’t want you to feel like I fucking took you and you were a prisoner. I wanted you to actually fucking like me because I like you. I like the woman you are. I think you’re cute as fuck. I like the way you feel around me. I want to keep you.”

“What if I don’t want you to keep me?” she growls. “What if I want to be my own person and have my freedom and live my life?”

Tears well in her eyes. I cup her cheek. Dipping my chin, I touch my mouth to hers. “I refuse it because you’re who I want, baby. You’re it for me. You’re mine.”

Her breath hitches, she hiccups, and she takes a step backward. Then she lifts her eyes to meet mine. I can tell she’s straight-up pissed the fuck off, and I’m sure I should feel a certain way about it, but I don’t.

She’s mine.

Simply.

And wholly.

She.

Is.

Mine .

“Why?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why am I it for you? Because you feel like you have a claim on me?” she asks.

“No,” I grunt. “Because I’ve never felt this way before. Because I fucking love you.”

DILLION

Love.

That is something I didn’t think I’d hear from him. That he loves me. Humble stares at me, appearing pissed as hell that he said those words. I’m too shocked to have a response immediately. Watching him, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to think.

“How can you love me when you feel like you own me?” I ask.

He chuckles as if this is funny. Nothing about this is funny to me. In fact, it does nothing but piss me off more and more. I want to scream at him. I want to tell him to leave me alone. I want to turn around and run.

I do none of those things. Instead, my eyes flick up and connect to his. His gaze searches mine. Then he clears his throat before he speaks. When he does, I am surprised by his words.

“I don’t own you, baby. It was made very clear to your brother that you would be mine when he died. But that was mostly a threat. I was in prison. I couldn’t do shit.”

“But…” My words trail off.

I’m not sure what I’m going to say. What I’m going to do. Because I want to believe him, but I don’t. I just can’t. I know what I’ve been told, and he’s trying to twist that around. He can say that he doesn’t feel as if he owns me, but it’s simply not true. He feels that way, even if I don’t agree—he does.

“The club thinks I own you, and I let them think that. It’s something that they brokered and announced. But the simple fact is that I fell for you. It’s why I didn’t just take you. Sure, it was fun to sneak into your house, but at the same time, I wasn’t ready to claim you in front of the club yet.”

“Why?” I ask in a whisper.

I’m not sure how I should respond to his words. I don’t buy them completely yet. I want to because my heart wants him. My body does, too. All of me wants him, and I’m angry with myself for falling for him.

“Because I wanted to get to know you. I wanted you to fall for me. The way I fell for you the moment I laid my eyes on you the first time I saw you.”

“Humble,” I breathe.

I’m not sure what to say. If I believe him or not. I want to. I really want to. My gaze slowly slides to my feet. I know the truth. I know there isn’t anything special about me. I know I’m nothing to look at, and if anyone wanted me in any capacity, it had to be in this one—given, owned, taken… traded.

“Baby?” he calls out softly.

My heart slams against my ribs as I stare at him. I don’t know what I’m going to say. I know what I want to say, but I don’t want there to be an argument. I know what and who I am. He doesn’t need to feed me anything extra about myself and build me up with some kind of false hope or narrative.

“You don’t have to sell me anything,” I whisper. “I’m part of this life,” I say, lifting my hand and waving my fingers around the hallway.

He doesn’t say anything immediately. He watches me for a silent moment. My breath hitches as he leans forward and touches his mouth to mine. I can feel his breathing against my lips. It’s sexy, and I have to press my thighs together.

“I ain’t selling a fuckin’ thing, baby,” he whispers against my lips. “It’s the fucking truth that I fell for you. I have fallen for you. You’re beautiful, sexy, funny, and kind. I think the kind part is what holds me more than anything else.”

I almost call him a liar, but I don’t. I watch him, unsure of what to say or how to feel. What to think. I don’t have the opportunity to say a single word. He applies a bit more pressure against my lips. Then I feel his tongue slide across the seam before it slips inside of my mouth and tastes me.

“You’re mine, Dillion, but not because I own you. Because I fucking love you and want you to be mine. You don’t want me, you can walk away, but I'm not sure I’ll be able to let you go anywhere.”