“What the fuck are you doing here?” “I’m yours, remember?” I look back up at him. “Couldn’t stay with him all night—alone. I was afraid of what you’d do to me if I did.” I shoot him a playful pout, and his eyes narrow. A hand lands on my hip, and he pulls me closer. “You might be mine, Zara, but I’m not yours, and you’re really cramping my style.”
