Chapter 13 #2
“It’s not just the guards,” I say quietly. “It’s the new locks you installed without asking. Clients backing out after you ‘talk’ to them. You telling customers what photos they can take. It’s like my whole life’s under your management.”
He stays silent, but tension rolls off him like heat.
“I’m trying to take care of you,” he says finally.
“No, you’re trying to control me. There’s a difference.”
“I don’t see you as a possession.”
“Then stop acting like I’m one.” I turn to face him fully. “I need a partner, Alex. Not a protector. Not a handler.”
He exhales hard. “You have no idea how many threats there are. I can’t just—”
“Love me or own me. You can’t do both.”
The word love hits him like a hit to the gut. He flinches, the mask slipping.
“Everything I’ve done was to keep you safe,” he mutters.
“Then let me decide what safe looks like.” I take his hand, squeezing. “I know you think you’re helping, but when you make every choice for me, you take my freedom with it.”
He looks down at our joined hands. “I don’t know how to do this any other way.”
“Then learn,” I whisper. “Because this—what we have—it’s not a business deal. It’s supposed to be love.”
He swallows, hard. “I’m trying, Clara.”
“I know. But trying’s not enough if you won’t change.” I steady my voice. “I love you, Alex. But I won’t let you manage me. I need space. I need to make my own mistakes.”
He’s silent, eyes searching mine. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying if you can’t love me without controlling me, we’re done.”
The words hang there like smoke.
“I don’t want to lose you.”
“Then don’t make me choose between my independence and your love,” I say softly.
He spears his fingers into his hair and curses, “Damn it, Clara, I will not risk your safety!”
Tears blur my vision as I turn and walk away from him.
I don’t make it five feet before he’s on me.He grabs my arm, spins me around.
The world tilts, and before I can gasp or curse or run, his hands are in my hair and his mouth is on mine.
The first kiss is unhinged, teeth and heat and the taste of desperation.
I’m fighting it—god, I am—but he’s stronger, and my body’s not even pretending to resist. His hands are everywhere, greedy and rough, pulling me to him so hard my feet leave the ground for a second.
I hear myself make a sound—half sob, half moan—and that’s all the permission he needs.
He crushes me to the nearest tree, hips pinning me in place, and I feel him, hard and urgent, pressed against my stomach through two layers of winter clothes. My heart is pounding so loud I can barely hear his voice, but he’s talking, words a low growl at my ear.
“Stop fighting us,” he says, voice breaking on the last word. “You think I want to control you? I’m trying to keep you, Clara. I can’t—I won’t—lose you.”
He’s trembling, and I realize I am too. My hands fist in his coat, pulling him closer when I should be pushing him away. He kisses me again, savage and hungry, tongue parting my lips, and I let him. I want to. I want this more than I want to breathe.
He pulls back, just enough to look me in the eyes. He’s wild, unguarded. “I love you,” he says, the words so raw they’re barely sound. “I love you and it’s fucking killing me. I want to take care of you. Just le me take care of you for once.”
My mouth is dry. I can’t speak, so I just nod, and that’s all it takes. He lifts me, one motion, thighs around his waist, and slams me back into the tree. His hand finds my jaw, tilts my head, and he kisses me like it’s the last time, like he’s drowning and I’m the only air left in the world.
I kiss him back. I kiss him with every ounce of anger and fear and hope I have. I taste salt and realize I’m crying, but I don’t let go. He devours me, bites at my lower lip, and then his hand is under my coat, under my sweater, palm hot against my chilled skin.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to say, “You are not leaving me. Not tonight. Not ever.”
I want to argue, to say it’s more complicated than that, but his thumb circles my nipple and all I can do is gasp.
He grins, feral, and does it again. I’m melting, knees gone, soaking wet and shivering with need.
If anyone walks by, we’ll be in jail, but I don’t care.
All I want is him, right now, right here, consequences be damned.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he rasps at my ear. “Do you even fucking know?”
I shake my head, biting his shoulder to keep from screaming.
He laughs, a sound half-mad and full of wonder.
“You’re going to ruin me, Clara. You already have.
” His mouth is on mine again, gentler this time, but no less possessive.
He kisses away the tears, the fear, all the words I can’t say.
My breath fogs between us, mixing with his, and when he finally sets me down, I’m not sure I can stand without him holding me up.
We walk the rest of the way back to my apartment in silence, fingers tangled, both of us raw and trembling. At the door, he stops, leans his forehead against mine, and whispers, “I don’t know how to do this. But I want to learn. For you.”
I nod, throat too tight to answer. I pull him inside, locking the world out behind us. In the dim light of my hallway, he looks different—less god, more man.
He kisses me again, slow and reverent this time. “If I fuck this up,” he says, “tell me. Don’t run. Just tell me.” He drags his hands down my sides, cupping my hips. “I’ll do anything for you, Clara. Even if it kills me.”
I believe him, and I realize now I can’t throw what we have away. Maybe it’s messy and imperfect, but it’s us. Why am I fighting so hard for independence? Because I think I am supposed to? Why can’t I just submit and let him take care of me?
I drag him to my bed, stripping off layers of winter and pride until there’s nothing left but skin and need. He makes love to me like he’s apologizing for everything, every thrust a plea for forgiveness, every kiss a promise to try harder. I let him.
But then he becomes rougher than usual, as if some fuse has burned out in his self-control.
He pins my wrists above my head, mouth devouring every inch of me, his body caging mine so completely that I couldn’t escape even if I wanted to.
I don’t. I want more. I want all of him, even the parts that scare me.
He slides down, drags his mouth over my collarbone, my breast, my stomach, biting hard enough to leave marks. Marks that will be his for days, proof to the world that I’m taken, that I belong to him. The thought should terrify me; instead it makes me arch up, desperate for more.
He spreads my legs and kneels between them, tongue and teeth and fingers working me until I’m shaking, until I’m pleading, until I’m so far gone that dignity is a foreign country.
He doesn’t let up even when I come, writhing and gasping, tears wet in the corners of my eyes.
He keeps going, keeps me right on the knife edge, holds me there like he’s determined to break me open and scoop out everything inside.
“Alex,” I whisper, voice hoarse, “please—”
He lifts his head, eyes wild, mouth slick. “You think you can just leave me?” His voice is savage. “You think I’ll let you walk away after this?”
“I never wanted to leave.” It’s a lie and a truth, both at once. I needed space, but I need him more.
He pushes inside me in one brutal thrust, and all the air leaves my lungs. He bites my shoulder to keep from shouting, hands fisting the sheets on either side of my head. He’s trembling, every muscle bunched and vibrating with restraint.
“I’ve tried to be good,” he says, each word punctuated by a thrust. “I’ve tried to give you space. But fuck, Clara, I can’t. I can’t do it anymore. You have no idea what you do to me.”
I wrap my legs around him, drag him deeper, and meet him stroke for stroke. “Then don’t,” I say, “don’t let me go.”
His hand finds my face, thumb rough against my cheek as he forces me to meet his gaze. “You’re mine,” he says, “mine, Clara. Say it.”
“I’m yours.” The words are a surrender and a challenge, and something in him snaps when he hears them.
He moves faster, harder, as if he’s trying to fuse us together.
All the anger, all the love, all the need—he pours everything into me, and I take it, greedy for every piece.
When I come again, it’s with his name on my lips, a confession and a prayer.
He follows, collapsing on top of me, body shuddering as if he’s been exorcised.
We lie there, tangled and panting, my face buried in his neck, his arms locked around me like a vise.
“I can’t lose you,” he says into my hair, voice ragged.
“You won’t.” I kiss his shoulder, taste the salt of his sweat.
He rolls us so I’m on top, still joined,and I watch his face, every flicker of doubt or joy or pain.
That’s when I know I have him— really have him, in a way no one else ever will.
I lean down and kiss him, slow. His lips are swollen, bruised with wanting.
We stay like that, close, until the world comes back into focus.
“I want to take you away for Christmas this weekend,” he says, voice still raw. “Just us. No guards. No work. No one but you and me.”
I search his eyes, and my heart melts at what I see there.
“Okay.”