Page 26 of Taken in the Tree Farm
"Now?" I press a kiss to the top of her head. "Now you sleep. And in the morning..." I trail off deliberately, letting anticipation build.
"What happens in the morning?"
"You'll see." I tighten my arms around her. "But for now, rest. You've earned it."
She's quiet for a moment, then: "Will you still be here? In the morning?"
The vulnerability in the question cuts through me. She's asking if I'll disappear like a nightmare at dawn, if this was just a one-time thing, if she'll wake up alone and confused.
"I'll be here," I promise. "I'm not going anywhere, sugarplum. You're stuck with me now."
I feel her smile against my skin. "Is that supposed to be comforting?"
"It should be." I run my fingers through her hair. "Because I take care of what's mine. And you're mine now. Completely."
She doesn't argue or protest the possessiveness in my words. She just nestles closer and lets her eyes drift shut.
Within minutes, her breathing evens out into the deep rhythm of sleep.
I stay awake longer, watching her in the firelight. Memorizing the way she looks right now—sated and safe and mine. The marks on her skin will fade. The memories of tonight might blur with time.
But this? This connection we've reinforced tonight? This is permanent.
Tomorrow we'll talk about the night, relive the best moments, laugh about her attempts to escape.
But tonight? Tonight she's my captured sugarplum fairy, and I'm the predator who finally caught his prey.
I pull a blanket over both of us and settle in for the night, her body warm against mine, the Christmas lights I removed earlier still glowing softly from where I left them on the nightstand.
Perfect.
Everything went exactly as planned.
CHAPTER 9
SERAPHINA
Morning light filters through the workshop windows, turning the room soft and golden.
I wake slowly, awareness returning in stages. The warmth of the fire, now just embers. The weight of the blanket over us. The solid presence of the man wrapped around me from behind, his arm draped possessively over my waist.
And the soreness. Oh god, the soreness.
Every muscle aches. My wrists throb where the velvet rope and lights held me. My throat feels tender from the lights. Between my legs, I'm deliciously sore in a way that makes last night's activities impossible to forget.
But more than the physical sensations, there's this overwhelming feeling of satisfaction. Of contentment so deep it fills every cell of my body.
I can't maintain the act anymore.
I can't pretend to be the terrified victim when I'm this stupidly happy.
A smile tugs at my lips—the kind I've been suppressing all night, the one that would have broken character and ruined the fantasy. But now, in the soft morning light with the game officially over, I let it spread across my face.
Behind me, his breathing is steady and deep. Still asleep.
I shift carefully in his arms, turning to face him, and take in the sight of my husband in the morning light.
Luke Morrison. My brilliant, creative, completely insane husband.
