Page 53 of Knotted by the Psychopath
Just deep enough to brand.
I moaned—a sound that came from somewhere deeper than my throat, somewhere deeper than my chest. A sound that came from the very core of me, from the place where his knot had locked us together, from the bond that now lived in my blood.
He released the bite and soothed it with his tongue, gentle strokes that made me shiver.
Then his lips found my ear.
"You're mine, Willow." His voice was a growl, a promise, a prayer. "Mine forever. And I'm going to spend the rest of my life pampering you, protecting you, and pleasuring you."
His teeth grazed my earlobe. "My Queen. My Beloved. My other half."
Tears pricked my eyes—not from pain, but from the overwhelming rightness of this moment.
I had walked into Blackmoor State Hospital for the Criminally Insane as Dr. Willow Lark, forensic psychologist, published author, and woman so suppressed she'd forgotten what it felt like to be alive.
I had emerged as something new.
Something wild.
Something his.
And as Rook gathered me against his chest, his heartbeat steady against my ear, his arms wrapped around me like he would never let go—I knew with absolute certainty that I was exactly where I was meant to be.
Not lost.
Found.
Love: the willing surrender of sanity. The choice to fall and trust that the madness will catch you.
Rook had caught me.
And I never wanted to be sane again.
