Page 22 of The Chains that Bind
"You need me," I finish for her, driving into her with renewed force. "Only me. Always me."
"Yes!" she cries, the admission torn from her by pleasure too intense to deny. "You, Knox. Only you."
Victory surges through me alongside desire, the knowledge that her body acknowledges what her mind still fights. I release her hands, sliding one of mine between our bodies to circle her clit, providing the additional stimulation she needs to shatter completely.
"Come for me," I command, feeling her body tightening, hovering on the precipice. "Come for me now, Seraphina."
She breaks with a cry of my name, her inner muscles clamping down so tightly it nearly triggers my own release. But I hold back, prolonging her pleasure, watching with fierce satisfaction as she comes apart beneath me. Only when her tremors begin to subside do I allow myself to chase my own completion, driving into her with abandon.
The knowledge that she's carrying my child adds an extra dimension to my pleasure—a primal, possessive edge that heightens every sensation. As my release approaches, I lean down to whisper in her ear: "Mine. Body and soul. The mother of my child. Mine forever."
I come with a growl of her name, emptying myself deep inside her, marking her in the most basic, animal way possible. Claiming what has always been mine, what will always be mine, regardless of her temporary resistance.
In the aftermath, I gather her against me, one hand splayed protectively over her stomach where our child grows. She doesn't pull away, her body soft and pliant in the afterglow, her breathing gradually returning to normal.
"This doesn't solve anything," she murmurs eventually, but there's no conviction in her voice.
I press a kiss to her temple, tightening my arm around her. "It solves everything that matters, Seraphina. The rest is just details."
She doesn't argue further, her eyes growing heavy with satisfied exhaustion. I watch as sleep claims her, her face peaceful in a way it hasn't been since I interrupted her wedding.
Progress. Not victory—not yet. But a significant step toward reclaiming what should never have been lost in the first place.
My woman. My child. My future.
All exactly where they belong.
Chapter Thirteen
Seraphina
I wake slowly,enveloped in warmth and the familiar weight of Knox's arm draped possessively across my waist. Morning light filters through the partially drawn curtains, painting golden stripes across the rumpled sheets that barely cover our entangled bodies. For one disorienting moment, it feels like the past eighteen months never happened—like I'm still Knox's woman, waking in his bed as I did countless mornings before I found the courage to leave. Then reality crashes in: the interrupted wedding, the helicopter abduction, the pregnancy revelation, and last night…God, last night. My body aches in places that remind me exactly how thoroughly Knox reclaimed what he considers his. And the most terrifying part? How right it feels to be here, how my body curves into his even in sleep, like returning to its natural state after too long forced into an unnatural shape.
I shift slightly, taking inventory of the physical evidence of our night together. My lips feel swollen from his punishing kisses. My breasts are tender, marked with light bruises fromhis mouth and hands. My inner thighs ache pleasantly, the muscle memory of being wrapped around his waist for hours reawakened. Between my legs, I feel the delicious soreness that comes from being taken thoroughly, repeatedly, by a man who knows exactly how to use his body to drive mine to the edge of madness and back.
Knox's breath warms the back of my neck, his arm tightening unconsciously around me as I move. Even in sleep, he's possessive, unwilling to let me create even an inch of distance between us. His hand splays across my stomach—protective rather than possessive, sheltering the tiny life growing inside me. Our child. The reality of it hits me anew each time I remember.
I'm pregnant with Knox Vance's baby. I'm in his bed, in his mansion, on his private island. Exactly where he wants me, exactly how he planned it. The knowledge should make me furious, should strengthen my resolve to escape his controlling grip. Instead, I feel a treacherous sense of rightness that terrifies me more than any cage.
Because this has always been our problem—not the passion, not the chemistry, not even the arguments that could peel paint from walls. No, our problem has been how easily I lose myself in him, how the boundaries between Seraphina Vale and "Knox's woman" blur until I can't tell where one ends and the other begins. How my carefully constructed independence fractures under the weight of his overwhelming presence in my life.
We'd been together for nearly a year before I found the strength to leave. A year of the highest highs and lowest lows. Passionate reconciliations after explosive arguments. Tender moments that made my heart ache followed by controlling gestures that made me feel like a prized possession rather than a partner. Knox giving me everything I could possibly want, exceptthe one thing I needed most—room to breathe, to be myself, to make my own decisions without his shadow looming over me.
Last night was more of the same—overwhelming pleasure that erased my ability to think clearly, to maintain the boundaries I've fought so hard to establish since walking away from him.
Our fingers brush as I try to gently move his hand from my stomach, and I feel a spark—static from the silk sheets against our skin, but it jolts me nonetheless. Knox stirs behind me, his body tensing slightly as he transitions from sleep to wakefulness. I hold my breath, uncertain whether to pretend I'm still asleep or face the morning-after conversation that's inevitable.
"I know you're awake," he murmurs, his voice sleep-roughened and somehow even more seductive for it. "I can feel the tension in your shoulders."
Of course he can. Knox has always been attuned to my body's signals, sometimes reading them better than I do myself.
"I was trying not to wake you," I lie, still not turning to face him.
His laugh is a warm rumble against my back. "No, you were trying to decide whether to run or stay. Whether last night was a mistake or inevitable. Whether giving in to what's between us makes you weak or simply honest."
I stiffen at his accurate assessment of my thoughts. "Stop doing that. Stop acting like you can read my mind."
"Not your mind." His lips brush the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine. "Your body. It's always been more honest than your words, angel."
