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“Because I want to wear my clothes.” “Why?” Why? Because every time I smell your scent, my brain turns to pudding and my vagina feels like it’s about to jump off the nearest bridge. Because every time I think about this same fabric brushing your bare skin, I get jealous of it and want to throw IT off the nearest bridge. Because you drive me insane whether you’re near me or not. Because I’m crazy. Because you make me that way. Because I’m falling in love with you.
His face looks as murderous as I’ve ever seen it as he leans ninety-nine percent of the way into kissing me and says, “If you tell anyone about my Pinterest page… I’ll kill you.”
“I’m not teasing you,” he corrects. “Not really. I’m claiming you, baby. I’m reminding you that you are fucking mine. All mine. This pussy is mine. Those moans are mine. That baby in there is mine. Have I made myself clear?”
“Speaking as a man who’s been inside you, it’s really fucking hard to come back out again.”
“Because I want you to carry my name, Wren. I want you to have the protection it carries. But that’s just the practical side of things. You want to know the unpractical part? That I’m addicted to you. And I’m a jealous bastard. A vengeful one. A proud one. So I want to put a rock on your finger that announces to the whale world that you are mine. That you always will be. That I love you. That no one alive has ever loved someone the way I love you.”
