Chapter Eleven — Mine
803 Words
Chapter Eleven
Naomi sat on the edge of the bed, her pulse still erratic, her breath coming too fast.
She could still taste him on her lips.
Rhys.
Goddamn Rhys.
She wanted to hate him. She should hate him.
But the memory of his mouth against hers, the way he kissed her like he was marking her, like he would never let her forget who she belonged to— it sent an unbearable heat curling through her veins.
He had humiliated her father. Had thrown him to the ground like he was nothing. Had claimed Naomi in front of everyone like she was a prize that no one else could touch.
And the worst part?
A dark, twisted part of her had liked it.
Naomi shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away. She couldn’t think like that.
She wasn’t his.
She couldn’t be his.
A soft knock on the door made her stomach tighten.
She knew who it was before she even looked up.
The air changed before he even stepped inside.
And then—he was there.
Rhys.
Tall. Dark. Dangerous.
His presence filled the room, swallowing the space around them, making it impossible to breathe.
"You didn’t eat." His voice was low, unreadable.
Naomi lifted her chin. "Not hungry."
Rhys shut the door behind him.
Locked it.
Her stomach clenched.
She shot to her feet. "What are you—"
"Do you think I didn’t see it?" His voice was smooth, deliberate. Dangerous.
She swallowed. "See what?"
Rhys stepped closer.
She stepped back.
He kept coming.
Until her back hit the wall.
Until there was nowhere left to run.
"You thought he came for you," Rhys murmured, reaching up to trail a single finger along her jaw.
Her breath hitched.
"You thought your father actually gave a damn."
Naomi squeezed her eyes shut. "Stop."
"Look at me."
She didn’t.
His fingers tightened around her chin, tilting her face up.
"Look at me."
She opened her eyes.
Regret.
It was written all over her face.
But Rhys only smiled.
"He sold you," he whispered, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. "And you still thought he would save you?"
A lump formed in her throat.
He was cruel.
But he was right.
Her father had never cared about her. Not once.
And yet, for a brief, desperate second, she had let herself believe in the impossible.
"I would have let him die for that," Rhys said.
Her stomach clenched. "You were going to kill him?"
Rhys’s fingers trailed down, brushing over her throat.
She shivered.
"I still might," he murmured.
Her pulse pounded against his touch.
"Why?" she whispered.
His gaze darkened.
"Because you are mine."
Her breath caught.
"I didn’t ask to be yours."
"But you are."
She shook her head. "I hate you."
Rhys chuckled, low and deep.
"Lie to me again," he said softly.
Naomi’s hands curled into fists. "You don’t own me, Rhys."
His fingers ghosted down her throat, to the delicate fabric of her dress.
"Don’t I?" he whispered.
And then—he gripped the fabric.
Tugged.
And the dress ripped.
A gasp escaped her lips as silk tore apart like paper, slipping off her shoulders, pooling at her feet.
Leaving her in nothing but the soft lace beneath.
Her body betrayed her, heat rushing to her cheeks, her skin burning under his gaze.
Rhys took a step closer, his lips barely brushing her ear.
"You sold yourself to me, Naomi."
A shudder ran down her spine.
His fingers traced down her arm, slow and deliberate.
"You let me take you," he murmured, pressing a kiss against her throat.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"Let me remind you exactly what that means."
And then—he kissed her.
Hard.
Deep.
Like he was staking his claim all over again.
Naomi gasped into his mouth, but he didn’t give her a second to think.
His hands gripped her waist, dragging her against him, until she felt the hard lines of his body pressing into hers.
"Say it," Rhys growled against her lips.
Her nails dug into his shirt. "Say what?"
"That you’re mine."
She shook her head.
He bit her lower lip.
Naomi gasped, pleasure and pain tangling together in a way that made her knees weak.
"Say it," he ordered.
She refused.
So he kissed her harder.
Deeper.
Until she was drowning.
Until her body betrayed her all over again.
Until she hated how much she loved this.
"Say it," he murmured against her throat.
Her breath came too fast.
She was going to fall apart.
"Rhys—"
His lips moved lower.
"You’re mine," he said again.
She was.
And they both knew it.
But she couldn’t say it.
Not yet.
So she did the only thing she could.
She kissed him back.
- Writer
