Surrender To Me (Surrender Series Book 1)

by Thee Tasha Marie

“What if I gave you the money?” I blinked. “What?” His expression didn’t shift. “You need funding. I have money. I could write the check.”

“Just like that? No questions asked?” “Oh, there are questions,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Along with terms and conditions.”

“You want the funding? You spend the rest of the weekend with me. No distractions. No outside world. Just us.”

“What happens after the weekend?” His gaze darkened, his smirk sharpening. “After the weekend, we go back to our lives.” A pause. Then, in a voice that was dangerously smooth, he added, “But for the next couple of days… you’ll be mine.”

“And what if I don’t accept?” He shrugged. “Then you finish your drink and go back to pitching to investors who don’t give a fuck about your business.”

“Then, bitch, you better moisturize, hydrate, and take your ass over there looking like sex.”

“You spent all night trying to impress muthafuckas who wouldn’t know real ambition if it slapped them in the face,” he murmured. “You’re so tense from working and fighting for every inch of success, you don’t even know what it feels like to just let go.” I swallowed, my breath sticking in my throat. “That’s what this weekend is,” he said, voice low and unrushed. “You don’t make decisions. You don’t stress about outcomes. You don’t plan shit. You let me take care of everything.”

“You like the way I take control," he continued. I clenched my jaw, trying to steady my breathing, but Legend wasn’t having it. He reached for my chin, tilting it just enough to make me look him in the eye. “And what you like the most,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip, “is that no matter how much I take from you, you still want more.” My breath hitched. Because… fuck. He was right.

“Well, damn,” I muttered. “This is… nice as hell.” Legend smirked, settling into one of the plush seats. “You sound surprised.” “I mean, I expected luxury,” I admitted, turning to face him. “But this is… next level.” He stretched, arms draping lazily over the back of the seat, completely at ease in his kingdom. “I’m not your average nigga,”

“You don’t dance.” Legend lifted a brow. “Who told you that?” I huffed. “You just don’t seem like the type.” “And what type is that?” I shrugged. “Too controlled. Too damn serious.” Legend chuckled, stepping closer, his hand still outstretched, waiting. “A nigga can be both.”

“I just know you’re about to put me through this fucking mattress.” Legend let out a low laugh, shaking his head as he climbed onto the bed, hovering over me, his thick arms caging me in. “That,” he groaned, brushing his lips against my jaw, my throat and my collarbone, “is a fucking guarantee.”

“You don’t believe in love?” “I believe in control,” he said calmly. “And love, the way most people define it, is uncontrollable.”

“Don’t think too much today,” he said, his voice smooth, unshaken. I tilted my head. “Who said I was thinking?” “You are,” he countered. “You’re already in your head about tomorrow. Don’t be. Just enjoy today.” I pressed my lips together, holding his gaze, something tight curling in my stomach. He was right and I hated that he could read me that easily. “Fine,” I muttered, turning back toward the bedroom. “But only because I want that spa package, not because you told me to.” Legend chuckled. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, baby.”