Page 78 of Tempt

She makes a thinking sound. “I probably wouldn’t write it like that.”

“This isn’t your story anymore. It’s ours.” I inhale the sweet scent of her, then slide down to one knee. “What about you, Hazel? Would you be my wife? Let me keep you safe forever?”

She inhales sharply, and it’s foolish to do this in the dark, when I can’t see her face properly, but then I lift the ring into the faint light, and the gold rope strands and the brilliant diamond glitter.

“You make me feel whole,” I tell her. “And nothing brings me more joy than being an earnest partner for you. To explore life and love with you would be the greatest gift.”

“Oh, Sam.” She reaches her fingers out, pale and delicate, and gasps again as she touches the ring. “Yes. I want that, too.”

“Will you marry me, then?”

“Yes.” She nods and falls into my arms. “Yes.”

I cradle her against my body and sink to the floor.Yes.

The birdcage is deliveredthree weeks later, while we’re in Stratford. I don’t tell Hazel, and the thrill of that surprise, the deep, intoxicating secret, makes me realize that I am not merely following her happily through this kink exploration we are on.

I am all in. I am a dirty fucking bastard.

She has no idea how deeply it pleases me to hold her captive. To know it is my choice if she is ever allowed to leave.

At least on some level—until she safe words out, which we’ve started to talk about, too.

I am jacked up with excitement when we head back that night. It has to show in how handsy I am, how fucking horny I am for Hazel, but she doesn’t let on if she has realized something is up.

She’s talking about some piece she read on the news when we walk into the loft.

She stops talking immediately when she sees it.

It’s dark outside, the loft full of shadows, but the shape of it is clear. I swear we can smell it, too. Bare metal. Greased up hinges on that door.

But I got her the velvet cushions she wanted, too.

She breathes my name as she twists into my arms. I lift her up, holding her tight, and carry her across the room. Our bags are forgotten at the door.

All that matters is this. My fiancée in my arms, the way she shivers when I open the birdcage door. The way she hesitates when I set her down and order her to undress.

Her hesitation thrills me, too.

I grip my hand around a bar, blocking the doorway. “Hazel.”

She twirls away. “I love it,” she says dreamily. “It’s just so much.”

“I want to take you here. Now.” I follow her in, the door clanging shut behind me.

Hazel slides off her shirt.

I watch, gaze hooded, as she peels off her clothes. When she’s naked, I put my hand on her shoulder. Heavy. Commanding. I push her to her knees, remembering what she said to me our first night together. I should have known then, and maybe I did on some level, but nothing like this.

I didn’t understand how powerful this could be. For her to ask me to force her, to share this fantasy.

To make this fantasy a reality for the woman I love.

“Do you like your cushions?”

She wriggles on them. “Yes. They’re beautiful.”

“Good. Make sure you stay on them. If any part of you gets bruised tonight, I want it to be from my hand, not the floor.”

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