It must be the right question, because his grin turns wolfish at the word. “Because you’re mine. And I like to believe you were always going to be mine. Whether it was going to be like this, or chained up in my basement until I could convince you to like me.” I swallow hard, but he doesn’t let go. Doesn’t break eye contact while I fumble for words. “That’s maybe not as romantic as you think it is,” I finally manage to whisper. But his grin only widens, and he tilts his head to one side. “Are you sure about that?”
😏
