“Dacre,” I whispered, my fingers tightening in his hair, my chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “I don’t trust myself.” His gaze snapped up to mine, dark and wild, his lips still glistening from me. “Then trust me.” His hands slid higher, pressing into my waist, his fingers flexing as if to remind me that he was here, that he was unshaken. “I have never feared you, Verena. And I never will.” His voice was rough, steady, a vow carved from stone. “You are mine.” His grip on me tightened. “And I will not let you go another second thinking you are anything different.”
