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It starts to make sense now, why he brushed me off and seemed to reject me for so long. Even when I was practically begging him to fuck me. Not because I was no one. Because I was someone. Because he didn’t want me to be just another fuck that he could get whenever he wanted. He wanted it to be special. Because he thinks I’m special.
“You like it,” he says. “Being ours. You fight it because that’s what you do, who you are. You’re a fighter. But you still like it. It gets you right here.”
“I’m not letting you go,” he snarls. “I’m not letting them take you. Not going to let anyone fucking hurt you.” He ties the last knot with an almost vicious tug and then yanks on it to make sure it’s not going to come undone. “I’ll keep you locked away if I have to, but I’m not losing you.”
“You’re going to hell for sure now,” he murmurs softly. “Since you fucked a priest and all. But maybe next time, I’ll join you.”
“That’s bad for the piano,” I say mildly, running my fingers through a complicated little sequence. “Do you want me to get down?” she asks. I don’t answer. Instead, I just lean forward and rest my head on her thigh, dropping a kiss there, below the little shorts she threw on before breakfast.

