Page 15 of Bound in Matrimony
"Say it," I demand, setting a punishing pace that has her gasping with each thrust. "Tell me who you belong to."
"You," she moans, her back arching. "I belong to you, Knox."
"And I belong to you." The admission tears from me unexpectedly, making her eyes widen. I've never said those words to another living soul. "Only you, Seraphina. Only ever you."
Something shifts between us then—the atmosphere changing from purely carnal to something deeper, more profound. I release her wrists to cradle her face, my movements slowing but becoming deeper, more deliberate.
"I'll give you the world," I promise against her lips. "Anything you want. Everything you deserve. But I'll never give you up. Not for anything."
Tears spill from the corners of her eyes, sliding into her hair. For a moment I freeze, terrified I've hurt her, but she wraps her legs tighter around me.
"Don't stop," she pleads. "Please don't ever stop."
I reclaim her mouth as I reclaim her body, my rhythm becoming relentless again. I slide my hand between us, finding the spot that makes her shatter beneath me. She comes with my name on her lips, her body clenching around me so perfectly that I follow her over the edge, marking her from the inside with my release.
Afterward, I hold her against my chest, listening to our heartbeats gradually slow. I trace patterns on her bare back, unwilling to break contact even for a second.
"You're quiet," she murmurs against my neck.
"I'm memorizing." I press my lips to her forehead. "Every detail. Every second. The exact way you feel in my arms right now."
She shifts to look up at me, her expression serious. "I meant what I promised yesterday. And today. I'm yours forever, Knox."
"I know." And I do know. I've always been able to spot a lie, to sense hesitation. There's none in her. "But I'm still going to spend every day of our marriage making sure you never forget it."
Her smile is slow, seductive. "Is that a promise, Mr. Vance?"
I roll her beneath me again, ready to claim what's mine for the second time tonight. "It's a guarantee, Mrs. Vance. And I always deliver on my guarantees."
As I sink into her again, watching her eyes glaze with renewed pleasure, I know with absolute certainty that she'll never forget who she belongs to. Just as I'll never forget that the most valuable acquisition of my life wasn't a company or property.
It was her.
Chapter Eight
Seraphina
Sunlight spillsacross the rumpled sheets, warming my bare skin as I slowly wake. Every muscle in my body aches in the most delicious way, testament to Knox's thoroughness last night. I stretch carefully, cataloging each twinge and soreness like the most exquisite exhibit I've ever curated. The sheets beside me are empty but still warm. Knox's scent—expensive cologne mingled with something purely male—lingers on the pillow where I press my face, inhaling deeply. Mrs. Vance. I test the name in my mind, finding it fits more perfectly than I could have imagined.
I sit up slowly, wincing slightly as my body reminds me of exactly how many times and in how many ways Knox claimed me last night. The mirror across from the bed reflects a woman I barely recognize—honey-blonde hair a wild tangle around my shoulders, lips swollen from brutal kisses, delicate bruises blooming across my collarbone, my breasts, my inner thighs. Evidence of possession. Of belonging.
When I first met Knox Vance at that gallery opening, critiquing that hideous installation, I never imagined I would end up here—marked by him, changed by him, utterly and completely his. I was Seraphina Vale, respected art director, known for my impeccable taste and cool professionalism. I built my career on maintaining control, on making calculated decisions.
But Knox took one look at me and decided I was his. And now, as I examine the physical proof of his claim on my body, I know with complete certainty that no one else could ever make me feel this way.
Standing on slightly unsteady legs, I make my way to the bathroom, catching more glimpses of myself in the mirrors that seem to multiply my reflection. My feet press against cool marble as I lean closer to the vanity mirror, examining my face. My eyes are different—still green, still mine, but somehow altered. Like an artist has added depth with a single brushstroke, changing the entire composition.
I turn on the shower, letting steam fill the enormous bathroom as I step beneath the hot spray. Water sluices over my skin, but it doesn't wash away the memory of Knox's hands, his mouth, his possession. I close my eyes and instantly recall his voice in my ear, rough with desire as he whispered exactly what he wanted to do to me. How he planned to make sure I never forgot who I belonged to.
"I'm going to mark you tonight," he had said, his eyes dark with promise. "So that every time you move tomorrow, you'll feel where I've been."
He kept that promise. I feel him everywhere—in the pleasant soreness between my thighs, in the tender spots where his mouth and hands branded me, in the echo of fullness that my body still remembers.
What strikes me now, as I let the water soothe my pleasantly abused muscles, is that no one else could ever compare. No previous lover came close to making me feel the way Knox does. And no future lover—not that there will ever be any—could possibly measure up to the standard he's set.
He's ruined me. Utterly and completely. For anyone else.
The realization doesn't frighten me the way it once would have. Before Knox, I valued my independence above all else. I kept partners at a careful distance, never allowing them too close, always maintaining my separate identity. I had watched my parents' marriage become a polite arrangement of separate lives and vowed never to lose myself that way.
