35
Peter
Sara squirms in my arms as I carry her up the stairs, her pale face flushed—presumably with anger and embarrassment. “Let me down,” she whispers furiously as soon as we reach the second floor. “Peter, put me down right now.”
I don’t put her down until we enter our bedroom. I’m still high on bloodlust, the adrenaline from the fight making my heart pump in a hard, furious rhythm. Anger and primal jealousy roil my insides, and underneath it all is a deep, demanding hunger, a need to take and claim her, to make her mine so completely she’ll never smile at another man again.
I know what I’m feeling is irrational, verging on pathological, but seeing her tonight in this dress—this red, tight, and way-too-low-cut dress—made me lose whatever semblance of rationality I possessed. Over t
