It's In My Possession Novels & Stories

Standing inside the house looking all bold and confident like he owned the place. The fact that he had found his way inside my house should have startled me, or at the very least surprised me, because I knew for a fact that the door was clearly locked and Minho didn't have the passcode to it. But I wasn't surprised nor was I startled even in the slightest. I guess I was too numb to start thinking of how that was possible and my mind wasn't in any position to process much of anything for me to bother with it anyway. Instead, I just sat motionless right there on the couch as Minho slowly walked over to where I was and then pulled me into his arms.

I gathered the courage to speak. His lips curled into a wicked smile as if he derived pleasure from seeing me tense. “Since you say I don't own you. You think you can just leave? You think you can walk out of my life and I’ll let you? You’re mine, Lillian. You’ve been mine since the moment I laid eyes on you.” “I am not your possession.” I spoke gently, my body already giving in to his grip. I used all of my strength to press his chest, but it didn't move him. Instead, his grip tightened on my waist. My body became immovable.

I've been preserved in amber, I am one with the sheets, I am zen. Back at the plush bed, I sink even further into comfort, soft sweet smelling fabric pushing against my cheek. My limbs are pliant, every muscle in my face relaxed, each breath in and out is evenly spaced. Relaxed back into the same fucking position I collapsed in last night. This guy is a FUCKING IDIOT. Does he really think I am his actual pet and not a woman planning violent, glorious murder.

" Not far from you. From the information I can gather here, it is currently in platinum hotels." " Alright. Just keep your eyes on it. Never let go." " Got it."

The complete and utter possession. I should have been disgusted with myself. Instead, I was... what? Confused? Angry? Aroused? No. Fuck that. I shoved the thought away and swung my legs over the side of the bed. That's when I saw it. The collar. It sat on the nightstand like a coiled snake. Black leather. Silver buckle. Simple. Elegant. Unmistakably a claim. "Since you came to me on your own accord, you belong to me now."

I asked. " I guess it didn't. My jealousy got the best of me." He says. " Alpha's and their possessions. It's pretty f**king pathetic." I say. " What do you mean possessions?" He asked. " Well, that's all I am to you. Isn't it?" I asked. " No. You are not my possession. I don't own you. We belong to each other. That's the way it is meant to be." He says. " Well, it doesn't feel like it sometimes." I say turning back to look at the clothes in the wardrobe.

I inhaled deeply, letting the cold air fill my lungs, hoping it would calm the beast inside me. *Mine. She’s mine.* The thought echoed in my mind, relentless, and no matter how much I tried to push it away, it clung to me. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. The possessiveness that had always simmered beneath the surface was now a full-blown fire, consuming everything in its path. I couldn’t deny it any longer. She was mine.

"Kelly can't touch it." "Exactly," I confirmed. "The property is held in a private trust. I am the sole owner and trustee. It's not a Vosper asset. It's mine. She can't claim it, she can't sell it, and she can't set foot on it. It's the one place she can't reach us." He studied my face, a slow smile spreading across his lips. It wasn't a mocking smile, but one of genuine admiration. "You're brilliant."

However, one part of his sentence stands out to me. “I don’t belong to you. I’m not a possession.” “No, you’re not a possession, that would imply that I own you. What you are, is precious to me. You are mine to love, mine to protect. That’s what I mean when I say you are mine. Well, that and I have no intention of ever letting another man have you. So in that instance, I guess it is rather possessive. But I’m an Alpha, you’ll have to get used to it.”

Trapping you? I don't know what to think anymore. My voice cracked. A month ago, I had nothing. Now I have everything, but none of it's actually mine. It's all yours–the apartment, the clothes, even this dress I'm wearing. And I'm starting to wonder if that includes me too. "You're not a possession–" Then why does it feel like one? Tears burned behind my eyes. Why does it feel like I'm slowly disappearing into whatever version of me you need? Your assistant. Your date. Your project to fix.