Page 49 of Watching You
I smile, a slow, triumphant grin. “This is just the beginning, sunflower.” I press a soft kiss to her forehead. “We’re just getting started.”
Her eyes widen, a flicker of fear warring with the desire still swirling in their depths. “What do you mean?”
I pull back, just enough to look at her, to see the truth of what I’m about to say reflected in her eyes. “I mean that this changes everything. That you’re mine now. Not just for tonight. Not just for this one moment. But forever.”
I see the struggle in her, the way her breath catches, the way her body tenses. But she doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t protest. Just watches me, her heart hammering against my chest like a trapped bird.
“You’re mine, Blair,” I repeat, my voice a low, possessive growl. “Every inch of you. Every breath you take. Every beat of your heart.”
I slowly withdraw, the loss of contact a sharp, sudden ache that’s both physical and emotional. I look down at where we were joined, at the evidence of her surrender, at the proof of my claim. A smear of crimson, stark against the pale skin of her thighs and the tangled sheets.
My breath hitches, a primal surge of possession coursing through me. This is it. The moment I make it real. The moment I brand her as mine, not just in her mind, not just in her heart, but on her very skin.
I look up at her, my eyes dark with a hunger that’s both terrifying and all-consuming. “Don’t move,” I command, my voice a low, authoritative growl. “Let me mark you.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
I dip my finger in the blood of her innocence, the fluid warm and slick against my skin. I look down ather upper thigh, the expanse of pale, unmarked flesh a perfect place for my masterpiece.
Slowly, deliberately, I begin to write.
M-I-N-E.
Each letter is a declaration. Each stroke is a brand. Each touch is a promise. I can feel her trembling, not knowing what to expect.
When I’m done, I sit back and admire my handiwork. The word stands out, stark and possessive against her skin. It’s not just a word. It’s a claim. It’s a promise. It’s a threat to anyone who dares to look her way.
She sucks in a breath as she raises her leg to look at what I’ve done.
“Tell me who you belong to.”
“You, Kane. It’s always been you,” she breathes.
“This is your new rule, sunflower,” I say, my voice a low, seductive rumble. “You belong to me. And only me. Do you understand?”
She nods, a silent acceptance.
I lower my head, not to her mouth, but to the word I’vejust written on her skin. I press a soft, reverent kiss to the “M,” then the “I,” then the “N,” then the “E,” my tongue darting out to taste the coppery tang of her surrender. She shivers, a delicate tremor that runs through her entire body, a silent testament to the power I hold over her.
“I’m going to clean you up,” I whisper, my voice a low, soothing rumble. “Then I’m going to take you again. And this time, you’re going to beg for it. You’re going to beg forme.”
I slip out of bed and head to the bathroom, my movements fluid and confident. I grab a warm, damp washcloth, then return to the bed, my eyes never leaving hers. I gently, carefully, wipe away the evidence of her surrender, the crimson smear that’s marked her as mine.
“Easy, sunflower,” I murmur, my voice a low, soothing rumble. “I’ve got you.”
I finish cleaning her, then toss the washcloth aside, my eyes dark with a hunger. Not because I want to consume her, but because I want to know her. Every breath. Every tremble. Every unspoken word she’s never let anyone hear.
She’s watching me now, eyes wide, lips parted, body still humming with the echo of everything we just unraveled. Her fingers twitch against the sheets, like she’s caught between instinct and surrender.
I crawl back onto the bed, slow and deliberate, like I’m approaching something sacred. Because I am.
Her.
I brace myself above her, arms caging her in, but I don’t touch her yet. I let her feel the weight of me. The heat. The promise.
“You’re mine,” I whisper again, softer this time. Not a claim. A vow.
She nods, barely.
