Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine #3)(52)
I stare at him, my ribcage tightening with every word he speaks. “What…” I swallow to moisten my dry throat. “What are you saying, Peter?”
The light must’ve changed to green, because he returns his attention to the road and the car moves forward.
To my surprise, a few moments later, we stop again, and I realize he’s pulled over to the side of the road. Calmly, he puts the car in “Park” and turns toward me.
I blink, my pulse speeding up as he unfastens his seatbelt and reaches into his front jeans pocket, pulling out a small velvet pouch.
“This is what I’m saying,” he says quietly, and I stop breathing as he opens the pouch to take out a diamond ring—an exquisitely cut solitaire that looks to be at least a few karats in size. Set in a delicate circle of either white gold or platinum, it’s simple yet striking—exactly what I would’ve chosen if I had a hundred grand to spare.
Stunned, I lift my gaze to meet his. “Peter…”
“I want you as my wife, Sara,” he says softly, reaching over to pick up my left hand. His fingers are warm and dry on my chilled skin, his gaze shadowed in the dim interior of the car. It’s as if we’re all alone in the darkness, as if the rest of the world no longer exists as he slides the ring onto my left ring finger, its cool, metallic weight like a manacle clamping around my heart.
My breath escapes in a shaky exhale.
Oh God. This is happening.
It’s actually happening.
Reflexively, I try to pull my hand back, but he tightens his grip, refusing to release me.
“I want to own you, legally and in every other way,” he continues, and this time, I hear the steel behind the softness, feel the prick of the barbed wire wrapped in silk. “You’re already mine, ptichka, and I want to make it official,” he says, his lips curving in a dark smile. “I want you to marry me, and soon.”
44
Sara
I spend the remainder of the ride home in a haze, the ring on my finger both hot and icy on my skin. I didn’t respond to Peter’s side-of-the-road proposal—I couldn’t—and thankfully, he didn’t press me.
He just pulled back out onto the road and continued driving.
When we park in front of my building, Peter walks around and opens my door, taking my hand to help me out of the car. His grip is both solicitous and possessive, his gaze roving over me with a hunger that spikes my pulse and sets off alarm bells in my mind.
He’s not going to wait to take me.
He’s going to be on me—and in me—as soon as we get inside.
“Wait,” I say, suddenly desperate to slow things down. As much as I want him—as much as I physically missed him—I’m not ready for this. It’s been too long, and there are too many unanswered questions.
Pulling my hand out of his grasp, I step back until I’m pressed against the car.
His jaw tightens and he comes forward, gripping the top of the car to cage me between his muscular arms. “You think I haven’t waited?” He leans over me, silver eyes gleaming, and even though we aren’t touching, I feel the heat coming off his powerful body. “You think I haven’t been patient all these fucking months?”
My pulse shoots up at the barely contained anger in his voice, and an answering fury—one that’s been gradually building during his long absence—erupts in me. All these months of worrying and waiting to be stolen, of not knowing if he was hurt or captured, all the lies and half-truths and sleepless nights, and he just waltzes into a bar like nothing happened? Puts a ring on my finger as if after torture and kidnapping, marriage is the natural next step?
Teeth clenched, I punch up with the heel of my palms, striking the front of his shoulders. “Then where the hell have you been?” I shout as he reflexively jerks back, surprised by my outburst. “Why did it take you so long? I was also fucking waiting—and waiting and waiting and waiting—”
His lips crash against mine, his hands gripping both sides of my face as he crushes me against the car. It’s not a kiss so much as a conquest, his tongue invading the inside of my mouth ruthlessly, without mercy. I taste blood where my teeth cut into my lip, but it’s overlaid by the familiar taste of him, by the dark heat and violence of his desire.
It should’ve been too much, but my body comes alive with answering fierceness, my hands clutching fistfuls of his shirt as I kiss him back, sucking on that invading tongue, retaliating with an invasion of my own. This, right here, is what I’ve been dreaming about all those nights, what my body’s been burning for.
Why I haven’t been able to so much as look at another man, much less imagine myself with him.
After a minute, his lips soften and his hands release my face to roam over the rest of me, one big palm squeezing my breast while the other grips my ass. Despite the gentler kiss, his touch is unrestrained, unapologetically possessive—a king reclaiming his birthright. I feel the thick bulge in his jeans as he grinds it against my stomach, and waves of heat pulse through my body as his mouth trails off to my neck, branding me with hot, biting kisses while his hand leaves my ass to wind my hair around his fist.
“You are fucking mine,” he growls in my ear, arching my head back, and I shudder, gooseflesh rising on my arms as he nips my earlobe and wedges his knee between my legs, making me straddle his hard-muscled thigh. Even through the layers of my jeans and his, the pressure on my sex is sudden and intense, and as he squeezes my breast again, rubbing the fabric of my bra against my peaked nipple, the pulsing heat moves down to my clit, a familiar tension coiling deep within my core. As I helplessly ride his leg, I’m viscerally aware of the starkly male scent and taste of him, of the potent size and hardness of his body, and as his hand delves under my shirt, his rough, warm palm sliding over my bare skin, the tension violently spikes.