12. Lemon
TWELVE
LEMON
Waking up in Atticus’s arms is my new favorite thing ever.
Everything between us is moving too quickly, and I think there’s a very real chance Atticus has lost his mind.
But a part of me doesn’t care. Maybe his brand of crazy matches mine.
Or maybe it really is some cosmic force that put me in his path with the sole purpose of helping us find each other to live our happily ever after.
But right now, the only thing that feels important is this moment—being in his arms and feeling the most protected and safe that I have since my mom died.
“How was your nap, Princess?” he asks, his words vibrating through my back.
“So good,” I say, stretching and accidentally rubbing my ass against his hard dick.
“Princess,” he growls, although it’s all amusement, not annoyance in his tone.
“What time is it?”
“After five. We need to get up so I can start dinner.”
“I need a shower. I’m sticky.”
“Do you want to shower with me, or would you rather have some space?” he asks.
Blinking, I furrow my brow, then roll to face him. “You want to know if I want space?” I question.
“I don’t want to overwhelm you, and I know I’m…a lot. We should talk once we’re both wearing clothes.”
Panic seizes my stomach, instantly twisting it into a tight knot. But instead of asking him what we need to talk about, I simply nod, then tell him I’ll shower alone, regretting it the moment I close the bathroom door behind me.
Once I’m clean, I wrap a towel around myself and step back into the bedroom, finding him waiting outside the door, his expression tight and cold.
As our eyes meet, his jaw clenches, but instead of speaking, he presses a kiss to my head, then storms into the bathroom, leaving me alone and thoroughly confused.
Tiptoeing cautiously into the closet, I look at my dresses hanging beside his suits and swallow thickly. He’s been so full-on since the moment we met that his talking about giving me space now fills me with trepidation.
Is this it? Is this desire for space heralding the beginning of the end for us? Did his version of forever finish so soon?
Feeling suddenly vulnerable, I slip on some clothes, wishing that I knew where he’d hidden my underwear.
Once I’m covered, I feel marginally less exposed, but if this is it, I refuse to leave my things behind or to have him watch while I shamefully pack the belongings that he insisted I bring with me.
Opening his closet, I start to pull my dresses down from the hangers.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he snarls, his voice bouncing around the cavernous closet.
“Packing,” I say without turning my head to look at him.
“The hell you are,” he hisses, the sound of his heavy footsteps alerting me to his closeness before the dress in my hands is plucked away and thrown across the room.
“Atticus,” I squeal, taking a step forward and being thwarted by his arm around my waist.
“Settle,” he demands, pulling me back into his warm, damp chest.
“I just want to go,” I say, feeling the defeat and shame in my words. How did I let this happen? How did I get so sucked into this narrative he’s created where we live happily ever after?
“Oh hell the fuck no,” he says, lifting me off my feet and carrying me out of the closet and into the bedroom.
“Atticus, put me down,” I demand, pushing at his hands and swinging my legs from side to side in an attempt to get him to let me go.
Ignoring me, he dumps me onto the sofa, then stands over me, his arms crossed over his broad, tattooed chest. “What the fuck is going on?” he demands.
“You want me to leave,” I say, like it’s obvious.
“The fuck I do.”
“You asked for space,” I barb defiantly.
“No, I offered you space,” he corrects.
“Because you want me to leave. You said we needed to talk. That’s what you say before you ask your hookup to go home.”
Closing his eyes like I’ve said something infuriating and he’s searching for strength, he exhales, his shoulders rising and falling as he forces the air from his lungs.
“Look, I get it. This has been intense. You’ve said things you didn’t mean. But you don’t need to worry. I won’t hold you to anything,” I assure him, forcing my voice to stay calm even though it feels like my soul is weeping inside my chest.
“Lemon,” he growls.
“Seriously, Attic—”
“Stop talking,” he interrupts, speaking through gritted teeth. “You’re not leaving.”
“Well, you have to say that now.” I sigh.
“I have no fucking clue where you’ve got this stupid idea in your head, but you’re not leaving. Ever.”
“But—”
“Ever,” he hisses. “I said we needed to talk, not because I want you to go, but because it’s been pointed out to me that I need to fully explain the significance of the collar I gave you.”
Lifting my hand, I touch the gold necklace with my finger.
Inhaling sharply, his expression turns pained. “I told you that you were mine, right?”
“And now you’ve changed your mind?” I question, refusing to allow my disappointment to leak into my voice.
“No,” he snaps. “For fuck’s sake, no. I’ll never change my mind. You’re mine. Now, tomorrow, forever. But collars are a sign of commitment, and wearing one is the equivalent of a wedding ring in the kink community.”
An involuntary gasp slips from my lips. “A what?” I ask, unsure if I heard him right.
“Usually, there would be a collaring ceremony. Our friends would attend and watch us commit to each other.”
“But you gave me this the day we met, literally a couple of hours after we met?” I question.
“I know. I had it made years ago, thinking that I’d give it to my sub. I assumed I’d meet someone in the lifestyle and that we’d commit to each other by her agreeing to wear it.”
“But I’m not in the lifestyle. I’m not a sub. We barely know each other,” I say, the words coming so quickly they’re barely coherent.
“Lemon, you may not realize this about yourself, but you’re incredibly submissive.
But honestly, I don’t care about any of that anymore.
I don’t care that you don’t have experience with the kink community.
Honestly, I’m grateful that you don’t because the idea of you kneeling for anyone else makes me feel sick.
I knew you didn’t understand why the collar was important to me, but I wanted you to wear it because it means you’re mine.
It means that I want to show the world that you belong to me, and when you asked if I would wear one too, I was totally serious that I would, even though that’s not what Doms do.
I want everyone to know that we belong to each other and that nothing and no one will change that.
I’ll wear your collar around my throat and my dick and get ‘Property of Lemon’ tattooed over my heart because I’m yours now.
” Inhaling shakily, Atticus’s stormy eyes fix on me, willing me to hear and understand what he’s saying.
“But as much as I wanted to claim you in a way everyone would see, it was wrong of me to give it to you without explaining what it means to me. I spoke to a friend earlier while you were sleeping, and she reminded me that it wasn’t okay to do that.
And she was right, because I don’t want to claim you without you realizing how I feel about you. ”
“And how do you feel?” I whisper.
“I’m in love with you, Lemon. You’re mine. In six weeks, we’re going to get married, and then we’re going to spend the rest of our lives living happily ever after.”
I should be freaked out. I should be running for the hills. I should say no and deny this crazy whirlwind, but I can’t, because I think I want him just as much as he wants me.
“So you love me, and this necklace is basically a wedding ring?” I ask, needing to say the words aloud to make sure I heard him right.
“Yes.”
“And you were so sure about us, that less than six hours after meeting me you basically married me?”
“Yes,” he says, calmly, easily, honestly.
“What would you do if I took this off right now?” I question, touching the cool metal with my fingers again.
“I wouldn’t let you get close enough to even touch the clasp,” he growls, his eyes narrowed into slits.
“How would you stop me?” I question breathily.
“I’d pin you beneath me and worship you over and over again until you passed out from the pleasure.”
“So you’d fuck me into submission?” I question, unable to hide the grin that’s curling at the sides of my lips.
“Yes,” he agrees, his expression softening as he closes the distance between us. “But you’re not going to try to take it off, are you? Because you love me too.”
My answer isn’t as decisive as his, even though I think we both already know what I’m going to say.
“I don’t understand the Dominant/submissive lifestyle—”
“I know,” he says quickly, speaking over me. “I should have explained what it meant to me before I put it on you.”
I wait for the apology, but it doesn’t come. “Are you sorry?”
“No.”
Blinking, I wait again.
“I’m not sorry, Princess, because even if you didn’t understand the significance. I did. I wanted—no, needed you to wear it. I needed to claim you in a way that meant something to me, even if you’re not into kink and didn’t really get it.”
“I’m not a sub, Atticus. Fifty Shades of Grey freaked me out.”
“And yet you get turned on by calling me Sir while you kneel at my feet.”
Heat fills my cheeks so quickly that I look away, no longer able to look him in the eye.
Sighing, he hooks my chin with his fingers and lifts my head up to look at him again.
“Lemon, I don’t give a fuck if you think you’re submissive or not.
I don’t care if I’m a Dom or not. I never plan to take you to a club or be part of a kink community.
I want you. I want to make you come. I want you to call me Sir.
I want you to get on your knees and let me pet you and feed you and love you. ”
“And that’s it?” I ask.
Smirking, he shrugs. “I think we both want you to crawl into my lap for a spanking.”
“Atticus,” I squeak.
As he arches his eyebrow at me saucily, I blush even deeper.