Page 94 of The Thief
She looks at me sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Means you're mine now. Whether you like it or not, whether you stay or go, you're mine. And I don't give up what's mine."
"You can't just claim ownership of another person."
"Watch me."
There's something dark in my voice, something possessive that should probably scare her. Instead, I see heat flicker in her eyes. Recognition of something primal, dangerous, real.
"Freddie—"
"I love you," I say, cutting her off. "More than I've ever loved anything or anyone. If you think I'm just going to let you walk away because you're scared, you don't know me at all."
"This isn't healthy."
"Probably not. But it's honest."
She stares at me for a long moment, seeing something in my face that makes her breath catch. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying you're not going anywhere. I'm saying this family's fought too hard to bring you home to let you disappear into the night. I'm saying I'll tie you to this bed before I let you run back to Belfast."
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
The challenge hangs between us, loaded with tension and want and something that feels like inevitability. She's looking at me like she's seeing me for the first time, recognizing the predator underneath the careful control.
"You're serious," she breathes.
"Dead serious."
"And if I told you I was leaving anyway? What then?"
"Then I'd convince you to stay."
"How?"
Instead of answering, I move. Fast and urgent. My hands lock around her wrists, pinning them above her head, pushing her back into the pillows. Her gasp is sharp, breath catching, eyes wide and wild.
She doesn’t struggle.
She arches.
"Like this," I say, voice low, gravel-thick with hunger.
Her pulse pounds under my fingers. Her body’s taut, trembling. But her gaze—steady, fierce—is locked on mine. There’s fire in it. Need. Defiance.
"This is insane," she breathes.
"Yeah. But you like insane."
"Do I?"
"Your body does."
I press harder, feeling the way she reacts; how her thighs tense, how her lips part. When I graze my mouth down her throat, her breath stutters.
"Tell me you want to leave," I murmur against her skin. "Go back to Belfast. Back to dodging drunk hands. Back to being safe. Tell me you want to walk away from all this, walk away from me."
