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"Never touch my wife," he snarls.
"Family doesn’t use you for their own gain,"
"You’re mine," My words are a dangerous whisper. "And I protect what’s mine. Always."
"I won’t let anything happen to you," he murmurs, his voice softer now, though no less intense, as he covers my body on the couch "Not ever."
I realize there’s no place I’d rather be—no one else I’d trust to hold me, claim me, protect me. Dominic Blackwell may be a monster, but in this moment, he’s my monster.
"You are a Blackwell now. My wife. And anyone who so much as looks at you wrong. . ." He loses his voice as if overcome by a sudden bout of violence that has robbed him of words. "I’ll fucking rip out their throat and feed it to them, Isabelle. I’ll fucking do anything for you. I’ll make the world bow at your feet."
"You’re mine, Isabelle." His words vibrate through my entire body. "This body is mine to touch, to taste, to fuck. No one else will ever have you. No one else deserves to."
"These sounds," he murmurs, his lips brushing my jaw. "These are mine too. All of them. Every gasp, every moan. Every time you come, it’s for me."
"Now I can fuck you like you deserve to be fucked."
I realize with startling clarity that I don’t care about his possessiveness. I don’t care if he treats me like his to use, to claim, to ruin. If he keeps touching me like this, if he keeps looking at me like I’m the only thing he wants in the world, I’ll gladly let him.
"Mine," he growls, his pace punishing and relentless. "This cunt is mine. This body is mine. Every fucking part of you belongs to me."
“Come to bed with me,” he says finally. “I can’t stand being apart from you.”
“I’m not letting you go,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the inside of my knee. “Not now. Not ever.
“I wanted this to be methodical, easily compartmentalized, but you are so much more than anything I could have planned on. I’m obsessed with you.”
“I’ve been a coward,” he admits quietly, his voice raw. “Pushing you away, pretending I could keep you safe by keeping you at a distance. But I can’t anymore. I won’t.”
You’re mine. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you’re safe with me.”
Dominic Blackwell isn’t just a monster. He’s my monster.
Whether Dominic views me as something to claim or kill in this moment, it doesn’t matter. I’m his.
"Take it out on me," I whisper again. "I’m yours, Dominic. Give it all to me. I can handle it."
"No, baby."
"He touched you once, but he won’t again. Not when every inch of you belongs to me now."
"You’re mine, Isabelle," he commands. "And I won’t let you back in there until you are full of my cum. I want you to feel it sliding down your thighs with every step you take, reminding you who you are here with and who you belong to.”
I bet her love feels like standing in an endless ray of sunshine, warm enough to burn away the cold of any winter.
Love might not be real to her, but this connection between us—it’s undeniable. It’s fire, scorching and inescapable, and if it’s all I’ll ever get, it will have to be enough.
Something that wants more. Wants all of her. Her soul, her heart, her love.
“That’s it. Look at you falling apart for me. My wife. My greedy little cum slut who can’t get enough.”
Isabelle doesn’t see it yet, but she’s more mine than she’ll ever admit. And as much as my wife rejects love, the irony isn’t lost on me—because for her, I think I might burn the whole world down just to see if I could make her believe in it again.
"You’re mine," I murmur, the words a vow and a promise. "And no one will ever take you from me."
She once told me she doesn’t care what anyone calls her—so long as she gets what she wants.
Dominic has only ever called me Isabelle. It was a tether, a claim, a quiet promise wrapped in syllables no one else had ever bothered to give me. But now? Now he strips those syllables away, sharp and impersonal, like he’s cutting the last thread
"You deserve it because you want it.
She isn’t dead, but this. . .this feels like a death. Hers. Mine. Ours.
I was too scared to admit the truth—to admit that I need her. Not just because she’s my wife or because she’s tied to my survival, but because she’s the only thing that’s ever made me feel whole. And now she’s gone.
At least when I die, she’ll truly be free. She deserves that much.
Belle. She’s in danger, and I’m going to find her even if it’s the last thing I do. Which it very well might be.
“You don’t get to give up on me—on us.” “I’m not giving up,” he murmurs, his voice faltering. “I’ve just. . .run out of time.”
“If I could stay, I’d show you how much I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before now.”
I’m passionately, over the cliff insanely in love with Dominic. Not because I need anything from him, but because when he is simply near I feel whole, complete, safe, and loved. I know to the marrow of my bones what it is like to be thoroughly and selflessly loved and the idea of losing that, of losing him, makes me want to die.
I once thought love was a fantasy—something spun only in the pages of a book— beautiful, completely unattainable. But this? This is flesh and blood, unshakable and true. It fills the center of my being, satisfying the deepest, truest part of me.
It feels like the secret desire in my heart was there because it was always meant for me.
My husband is hot. In every possible way. I am, without question, the luckiest woman alive.
“Dominic, I told you before. You can’t just buy me off.” I’m only saying that because I am fully bought and paid for with this gesture.
“You once told me you were a realist. But here you are, letting a grand gesture sweep you off your feet.” He presses his lips to my temple. “Don’t worry, wife. I won’t tell anyone what a romantic you are.”
For the first time, I’m not just reading the story—I’m living it. And I wouldn’t change a single page.
I may always be the Beast of Boston, but I’ll never be a beast to them. My family. My pack. My everything.
