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“You’re going to enjoy it,” he continues. “Even knowing what happened here. Because all you’ll be able to think about is my dick in your pussy, spreading you wide. Hitting every. Fucking. Nerve.”
“I’ll swear to God, Margo, I have the urge to kill whoever touches you. I don’t give a flying fuck if they’re a friend, because all that matters is how I can possess you. My touch. My words. You’re mine.”
“You might think so, little lamb, but you’re mine. No one else’s. Stop fucking testing me.”
“You’ve always been mine,” he says against my lips. “This just fucking confirms it.”
“Did you mean it?” I shake my head. “Did I mean what?” “That you wanted to marry me. When we were nine.” “We were eight,” I murmur. “And yes, I did mean it. As much as I could’ve at eight years old.”
