Chapter 12
twelve
. . .
The black velvet box sits on the dining table between us, innocuous in its elegance but humming with significance like a live wire.
Sutton watches me from across the table, his dark eyes intent as I finish the last bite of the gourmet dinner he arranged to be delivered from his favorite restaurant.
The wine in my glass—an expensive vintage I can't pronounce—catches the light from the chandelier above us, casting blood-red shadows across the white tablecloth.
I've learned enough about Sutton in these past weeks to recognize the signs: the carefully arranged setting, the anticipatory gleam in his eye, the way his fingers tap an impatient rhythm against the tablecloth.
He has something planned, something that means more to him than he'll admit.
"What's that?" I ask, nodding toward the box though I know perfectly well it's a gift of some kind. Another in the endless stream of presents he's showered me with since bringing me to his penthouse.
His lips curve in that slight smile that never fails to make my heart skip. "Open it and find out."
I reach for the box, my fingers brushing against his as he slides it toward me. The contact sends a now-familiar spark through my body—static electricity, I tell myself, though we both know it's something deeper, more primal. The box is heavier than it looks, weighty with promise and expectation.
The hinges open silently, revealing a bed of cream satin and, nestled within it, a choker that steals the breath from my lungs.
Diamonds—dozens of them, perhaps hundreds—arranged in an intricate pattern that reminds me of a spiderweb or a net, delicate yet unbreakable.
The center stone is larger than the others, a teardrop diamond that must be several carats.
The entire piece gleams with cold fire under the dining room lights, a fortune captured in platinum and stone.
"Sutton," I whisper, unable to find words adequate to the moment. It's the most beautiful, most extravagant thing I've ever seen, let alone been given.
"Do you like it?" he asks, though the knowing gleam in his eye suggests he's already certain of my answer.
"It's... it's too much," I manage, my fingers hovering over the diamonds without quite touching them, as if they might burn.
"Nothing is too much for you," he counters, rising from his chair with that fluid grace that still makes my breath catch. He comes around the table, standing behind me, his hands resting lightly on my shoulders. "Let me put it on you."
I nod, still speechless as he lifts the choker from its velvet nest. His fingers brush the nape of my neck as he fastens the clasp, the diamonds cool against my throat, heavier than I expected but not uncomfortable.
When it's secure, his hands slide down to rest on my shoulders again, possessive and proud.
"Look," he murmurs, turning my chair slightly so I can see my reflection in the mirrored wall across the room.
The woman who stares back at me is a stranger—eyes wide and luminous, cheeks flushed with wine and emotion, throat encircled by a collar of ice and fire that transforms her from ordinary to extraordinary.
The diamonds catch the light with every small movement, sending prisms dancing across my skin, across the table, across Sutton's hands where they rest on my shoulders.
"Perfect," he says, his voice dropping to that register that never fails to send heat pooling low in my belly. "Exactly as I imagined it." His fingers trace the line of the choker, barely touching the diamonds or my skin. "Wear it so everyone knows you're mine."
The possessiveness in his voice, in his touch, should disturb me. Instead, it sends a thrill of excitement through my body, a shameful pleasure in being wanted so completely, so consumingly.
"It looks like a collar," I say softly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. Not an accusation, merely an observation.
His smile turns predatory, seeing through my feigned nonchalance to the arousal beneath.
"That's exactly what it is," he confirms, his hand sliding from my shoulder to my throat, resting just above the diamonds in a light hold that reminds me of his strength.
"A beautiful collar for my beautiful possession. "
I should object to being called a possession. Should remind him that I'm a person, not a thing to be owned. But the words die in my throat, replaced by a soft sigh as his other hand slides lower, over my collarbone, brushing the swell of my breast through the thin material of my dress.
"Stand up," he commands softly, and I obey without hesitation, turning to face him as his hands settle on my waist. "You know what the sight of you in my diamonds does to me, don't you?"
I do know. I can see it in the darkening of his eyes, feel it in the tension radiating from his body, the barely leashed hunger that makes the air between us feel charged with electricity.
"Show me," I whisper, emboldened by the wine, by the weight of diamonds around my throat, by the knowledge that this powerful man wants me so desperately he's marked me as his in the most visible, most extravagant way possible.
His control snaps. He lifts me as if I weigh nothing, setting me on the edge of the dining table, my legs automatically parting to accommodate his hips as he steps between them.
His mouth claims mine in a kiss that's all possession and hunger, his hands bunching the material of my dress around my waist.
"I want you to ride me," he murmurs against my lips, the crude request sending a flood of heat to my core. "I want to watch those diamonds catch the light while you take me inside you."
I nod, beyond words, beyond anything but the desperate need to please him, to fulfill the dark fantasy he's just revealed.
He steps back only long enough to shed his trousers and boxers, freeing his already hard length.
Then he's sitting in the chair I just vacated, guiding me onto his lap, facing him, my knees on either side of his hips.
His hands push my dress higher, finding the edge of my panties, tugging them aside rather than removing them entirely. His fingers test my readiness, finding me already wet with anticipation.
"So eager," he murmurs, satisfaction heavy in his voice. "So ready for me. Always so ready."
I whimper as his thumb circles my most sensitive spot, teasing but not giving the direct pressure I crave. "Please, Sutton."
"Please what?" he prompts, his free hand coming up to tangle in my hair, pulling just hard enough to make me gasp. "Tell me what you want, Cecily. Be specific."
"I want you inside me," I manage, heat flooding my cheeks despite how many times we've done this, how many ways he's had me. "I want to ride you while you watch me."
His smile is triumphant, predatory. "Good girl," he praises, guiding me up, positioning himself at my entrance. "Now take me. Show me how much you want this. How much you want to be mine."
I sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch, the stretch and fullness making me gasp despite how ready I am. When he's fully seated inside me, I pause, adjusting to the sensation, my hands resting on his shoulders for balance.
His eyes never leave mine as I begin to move, finding a rhythm that makes us both gasp.
His hands grip my hips, not guiding, just feeling the movement, letting me set the pace.
It's a rare moment of control for me, this position, and I savor it even as I recognize it's still him allowing me this power, him dictating the terms of our pleasure.
"Look at you," he murmurs, one hand leaving my hip to trace the line of the choker, fingers brushing against the central diamond. "So beautiful. So perfect. Mine."
The word sends a fresh wave of arousal through me, my inner muscles clenching around him, drawing a groan from deep in his chest. His hand slides from the choker to cup my breast through my dress, thumb circling the nipple until it pebbles beneath the fabric.
"The diamonds," he says, his voice rough with desire. "They catch the light every time you move. Like stars around your throat." His hips thrust up suddenly, meeting my downward movement and hitting a spot inside me that makes me cry out. "A constellation marking you as mine for everyone to see."
I increase my pace, chasing the pleasure his words and body promise. His hands return to my hips, helping me now, guiding me into a rhythm that has us both gasping. The room fills with the sounds of our breathing, our moans, the obscene wet sounds of our bodies joining.
"Look in the mirror," he commands suddenly. "See what I see."
I turn my head, catching our reflection in the mirrored wall—me in his lap, my dress bunched around my waist, his hands gripping my hips as I rise and fall on him.
But what captures my attention, what I know has captivated him, is the choker.
With every movement, the diamonds shimmer and flash, sending prisms of light dancing across our skin, across the table, across the walls.
It's beautiful and obscene all at once, this visual reminder of his ownership while he's quite literally inside me.
"Perfect," he groans, his rhythm faltering as his control begins to slip. "So fucking perfect."
One of his hands leaves my hip, sliding between us to find that bundle of nerves that makes me see stars. His fingers circle it mercilessly, pushing me toward the edge faster than I'm prepared for.
"Come for me," he demands, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. "Come around my cock with my diamonds around your throat. Show me you're mine in every way possible."
His crude words, combined with the relentless pressure of his fingers, send me hurtling over the edge.
I cry out his name as pleasure crashes through me in waves, my inner muscles clenching around him, pulling him deeper.
He follows a moment later, his release hot inside me as he groans my name against my neck.
We stay like that for long moments, connected in the most intimate way possible, his arms around me, my face pressed into the crook of his neck. I can feel his heartbeat gradually slowing, matching pace with mine. When he finally lifts his head, the tenderness in his eyes almost undoes me.
"You're extraordinary," he murmurs, one hand coming up to trace the line of the choker again. "More precious than any diamond."
The compliment warms me in ways his more explicit praise never could. I lean forward, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that's gentle, almost chaste compared to the passion we just shared.
When I pull back, he's looking at me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
"The choker isn't just about marking you as mine to the world," he says, his voice softer than usual. "Though I won't deny I want that. It's about showing you your worth. About giving you something as rare and beautiful as you are."
The sentiment, unexpected from this man who usually expresses his feelings through possession and control rather than words, brings tears to my eyes. I blink them back, not wanting to ruin the moment with emotion he might not understand.
"Thank you," I whisper, my fingers coming up to touch the diamonds at my throat. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever owned."
A slight smile curves his lips. "Just like you're the most beautiful thing I've ever owned."
And there it is again—that possessiveness that should offend me but instead makes me feel secure, cherished, essential. I've come to understand that in Sutton's world, ownership isn't about diminishing value but about recognizing it, protecting it, treasuring it.
As he helps me off his lap, adjusting my dress with surprisingly gentle hands, I catch our reflection again in the mirrored wall. The diamonds still gleam around my throat, a visible manifestation of the invisible bonds between us—beautiful, valuable, unbreakable.
And for the first time, I feel worthy of such adornment, such devotion. Worthy of being owned by a man who sees possession as the highest form of appreciation.
Worthy of being his.