Page 145 of No One But Me
"And?"
Her lips pressed together, a thin line of resistance, but the words came anyway—reluctant and edged with something fragile. "He was tired. And vague. And pretending everything was fine."
I hummed low in my throat, the sound dark and thoughtful, rolling through the narrow space between us. "He's lying to protect you."
Belle turned her head sharply, eyes blazing. "How would you know?"
I held her gaze, let the silence stretch until it pulled tight, until the answer became obvious without me speaking it aloud.
"Because you lie to protect the people you love."
She froze.
The truth landed exactly where I'd aimed it—buried itself deep in that soft, vulnerable place she kept hidden beneath all the defiance and rage.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked away again, throat working with words she wouldn't let herself say.
Before she could recover, she muttered—quiet but cutting—"You treat me like a prisoner. I barely know anything outside your rules."
My jaw ticked.
Heat flared beneath my ribs, sharp and ugly, because she wasn't entirely wrong and I hated that she could see it.
"You have more freedom than you think."
She laughed.
Sharp.
Bitter.
Disbelieving.
"Oh, really? What part of this—" She gestured sharply between us, to my arm behind her shoulders, to the booth trapping her against the wall, to my body caging hers in. "—screams freedom to you?"
I leaned in close, letting my lips brush the shell of her ear, feeling her breath stutter against my jaw.
"The part where you're here," I murmured, voice dropping low and dangerous. "With me. Instead of fighting to run."
Her cheeks flushed—hot and instant, color blooming across her skin in a rush she couldn't hide.
She hated it. Hated that I was right. Hated that she'd stopped fighting somewhere along the way without realizing when it happened.
Her body went still beneath my touch, but she didn't pull away. Didn't argue. Didn't deny it. Because the truth sat heavy between us now, undeniable and damning.
She was here. Not because I'd forced her this time. But because some part of her—buried deep beneath the anger and shame—wanted to be.
I leaned closer, letting my mouth brush the curve of her ear, my voice dropping to that tone I knew made her spine go rigid and her breath hitch despite every defense she tried to raise.
"By the way."
She turned her head slightly, wary but listening.
"Unbutton your jeans," I murmured. "Slide them down."
Belle straightened so fast the leather booth creaked beneath her. "What?!"
I didn't repeat myself. The command hung between us, sharp and unmistakable.
