“You like being a whore for me, don’t you?” he rasped. “Yes,” Atticus said, his voice a barely-there whisper. Jericho couldn’t help the almost feral sound that fell from his lips. “Just for me. My perfect fucking whore.” “Yes,” Atticus hissed. “Say it. Say it’s just for me.” Atticus’s skin grew hot. “It’s just for you. Just you.”
