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I didn’t want him more broken than he already was, because I loved him more than I wanted him.
I felt a pride that went beyond brotherly, beyond what a friend felt for a friend, and beyond even the pride of lovers. I loved him as a person first and foremost. No matter how imperfect he believed himself to be, there was no denying just how perfect he was to me.
“I like my men submissive with only the occasional flare of temper in bed for those moments when I’d rather take than be given. Because sometimes, I like to fight for what’s mine.”
“You’re mine. This was inevitable. And I never want his fucking hands on you again.”
“You’ve never been touched the way you touch me. You’d never understand.” “And you’ve never been loved the way you loved me, not even by me. No one is capable of the kind of love you give. So you wouldn’t understand how impossible it would be for me to move on. Or to give anyone even a fraction of what I gave you,” he promised.
