Page 44 of Blood & Snow
He finally eases back, pulling free, his cum slick on my thighs, his belt still locking me to the bed.
He studies me, then leans down and kisses me again—slow this time, claiming, sealing what he’s taken.
“You belong here now,” he whispers against my mouth.
His words frighten me, but they also send a thrill through my exhausted body.
The possessiveness in his voice, the certainty with which he claims ownership—it awakens something primitive in me that responds to his dominance.
"I'm not a possession," I say, though my protest sounds weak even to me.
"You are now."
He lies down on his side facing me and pinches one of my nipples.
"You're mine,Ptichka. Your body, your mind, your secrets. All of it belongs to me."
Part of me wants to argue, to assert my independence and autonomy.
But a larger part thrills at his declaration of ownership.
In his world, being claimed by the apex predator means protection and power.
It means no one else can touch me without facing his wrath.
I'm just not sure if that's something I want.
I tug at the restraint and his eyes flick up to see how he's tied me down.
A dark smirk crosses his features as he pinches my nipple again, and I wince.
"Ass," I hiss, but I smile at him and he reaches up to undo the belt.
As soon as my hands are free, I rub my wrists and then turn on the bed to face him too.
"What happens now?" I ask.
"Now you stop pretending this is temporary. Stop acting surprised when I call. Stop lying to yourself about what you want."
His finger drags down the side of my face and he holds my jaw in his hand.
"You accept that this is your life now."
"My sister will know something's changed. She reads people too well to fool indefinitely."
"Then we'll handle that when it becomes necessary."
He pulls me closer, until our legs are tangled and his thigh is slicked with the moisture from between my legs.
"For now, sleep."
I rest my head on his chest as he pulls the blanket over us, but I still feel uneasy about this whole thing.
Irina will be so ashamed, so heartbroken over this.
But I don't even know if I have a choice in all of this.
The previous cleaner, the first man whose body I helped dispose of—he died just for wanting to buy his way out of this.
