“You’re a sweet little murder marshmallow, aren’t you?” I tease gently, and he lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a choked sob. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” “Yes, Sir,” he says again, and the certainty in his voice fortifies me. I’m ten kinds of fucked in the head and there are a million ways this whole thing could blow up in my face, but whatever happens, there’s one thing I know for sure—I will fucking kill anyone who tries to come between me and this man.
