Please, call me Auntie
That heat slid down my spine, biting the inside of my lips to keep from moaning.
I set the book aside. “And which am I? The problem or the possession?”
In two strides, he was at the bed. His hand landed beside my hip, caging me in without touching close enough that I felt his warmth, his tension, his control straining.
“You,” he said, voice rougher now, “are mine.”
My breath hitched not in fear, something much more powerful.
I tilted my chin. “Maybe someone else thinks I deserve attention.”
His jaw flexed. His free hand came to my waist, not gentle, not rough.
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