Page 39 of Claimed By A Blue Eyed Menace

Breathless and trembling, I tried to regain composure. But damn if he wasn’t right. No matter how much I fought, how much I challenged him, Shooter always won. He always had me right where he wanted me.

SHOOTER

Three Months Later

F u c k i n g t h e a t t i t u d eout of Parker had become routine. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look forward to the shit. The way she tested me, pushed me and defied me only to end up clawing at my back, climbing the damn walls, and screaming my name when I finally put her in her place. It was a game. A wild, twisted game of cat and mouse where she swore she hated me, swore she didn’t need me—but every time I touched her, every time I had her pinned beneath me, her body told the truth.

She was falling. Hard. And I’d be a damn fool if I didn’t admit to myself that I was falling too. At first, shit was about making her submit. Breaking her down until she realized there was no escape, no fighting me. But now? Shit was different.Shewas different.

She was softer with me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. I’d catch her watching me sometimes, her sharp brown eyes studying me like she was trying to figure me out. She started doing wifey shit without me having to tell her. Cooking and cleaning without rolling her eyes. Calling me asking how business is going. Telling me to be safe and shit. Giving me back rubs after a long-ass day. And in return, she got exactly what she needed.

Attention. Protection. Dick. Good, thorough, keep-her-ass-in-line dick. She didn’t admit it, but I knew. The way she melted for me. The way she sighed when I kissed her. The way she let me wrap her up in my world. Parker was really mine now. Shit, her ass had me sitting in the middle of one of the best restaurants in the city, on an actual date.

Not one forced or arranged for the sake of appearances. Iwantedto take her out. “Damn, you look good,” I muttered, watching as she picked up her glass of wine. She was wearing this tight ass black dress that hugged every curve, showing just enough skin to make a nigga homicidal if someone else looked at her too long. Diamond stud earrings. No makeup on, and I swear, that’s when she was the prettiest.

Her lips curled into a smirk, brown eyes glinting in the dim candlelight. “I know,” she teased, bringing the glass to her mouth.

I shook my head, amused, letting my eyes roam over her. Her legs were crossed, one bouncing slightly as she smirked at me over the rim of her glass. Parker knew she had me hooked, and she loved it.

“You been on your best behavior lately,” I noted, leaning back in my chair.

Parker arched a brow. “Oh? You finally noticed?”

I chuckled. “Thought I was gon’ have to beat some obedience into you.”

She rolled her eyes, but the way her lips twitched told me she liked hearing it. “I just figured since I’m stuck with you, I might as well make the best of it,” she said, playing with her fork. “Besides… you’ve been less of an asshole lately.”

I smirked. “That right?”

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “You let me have my friends over. You let me spend your money even though I got my own. You don’t bark orders as much.”

I let the silence stretch between us before leaning forward, my voice dropping. “And what you been doin’ for me, Mrs. Mosley?”

Her breath hitched, but she covered it with a sip of wine. I watched her throat move as she swallowed. Watched the way her fingers tightened slightly on the stem of her glass. She was trying so hard to act unaffected but she was.

“You get fucked the way you want,” I reminded her. “You get your little freedom. You get gifts. You get my time. What do I get?”

Parker licked her lips. “You get me,” she murmured, tilting her head. “And isn’t that what you wanted all along?”

I stared at her, my jaw ticking. Because she was right and I wasn’t letting her go. Not now. Not ever.

T h e f o o d w a sgood, but the company was better. I wouldn’t tell her the shit but I liked our conversations like this. No yelling. No fighting. Just her—raw, unfiltered, giving me pieces of herself I knew she didn’t give to many. She toyed with the stem of her wine glass, her manicured fingers tracing over it absentmindedly. Then, with a sigh, she leaned back in her seat.

“I never wanted to get married,” she admitted, swirling her wine. “Not to your brother. Not to you. Not to any man.” I stayed quiet, watching her. She met my gaze, her expression unreadable. “I don’t believe in marriage. Never have. The idea of being tied to one person forever…” She exhaled, shaking her head. “It always felt like a prison sentence to me.”

I studied her for a moment, my fingers tightening around my glass. “And now?”

She sighed, dropping her eyes to the table. “Now… I don’t know.” Silence stretched between us before she spoke again, softer this time. “I care about you, Sebastian.” Something in my chest tightened. She lifted her eyes back to mine. “This… forced marriage… It was a lot. And look, I know we’re not perfect. We fight, we fuck, we piss each other off. But… I appreciate you.”

I stayed silent, letting her talk. “You protect me,” she continued. “You push me to want better for myself. And I know it’s not just about keeping me in line—it’s deeper than that now. Underneath all that crazy, I can tell that you genuinely want me to win.”

I smirked. “Damn right.” She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table. “What do you want, Parker?” She hesitated. I studied her. “Nah, like, real shit. If you could do anything, what would it be?”

She bit her lip, eyes flickering with something wistful. “I went to college for fashion.”

That caught me off guard. “Word?” I smirked.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t start.”

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