He chuckles. “I’m not holding a gun to your head, you know? You don’t have to be here and put up with my shit. You can leave.” He tilts his head at the door to emphasize his point, and I narrow my eyes at it. “What if I don’t?” “Then you’re mine,” he says simply, lowering his head to lick the marks on my neck. “Whenever and wherever and however I want you, you’re mine.”
