He leaned into her neck, and pressed his lips against her skin. There was nothing gentle in the kiss. His lips were hot and angry, and she felt his teeth nip her skin. A sting of pain raced through her, but it was a good pain, a pain that made her long for more.

“I didn’t mean to make you so jealous,” she said, playing along, sounding contrite, sliding into the roles they’d assumed. She raised her hand to his chest, and trailed it up to the top buttons that were undone. His breath caught in his throat as she spread her fingers over his warm skin.

He looked her in the eyes. His seemed to be on fire. “It made me crazy. Absolutely fucking insane. Sometimes a man is wildly jealous when he thinks other men are looking at his woman.” He dropped his hand to her waist, gripping her hip, and digging his fingers into her bones. “His woman,” he repeated.

She nodded. “His,” she said, like she was in a trance.

“And sometimes a man has to touch her, and mark her,” he said, returning to her neck to trace the faint imprint of his teeth, “to make it clear she belongs to him, and to remind her that he’s the only one allowed to touch her.”

His words were heady. They hypnotized her. She was so used to handling everything, to devising the plans, giving the sign-off, managing and making all the final decisions. Here, with him, she didn’t have to think. She only had to feel.

He cupped her face, grasping her. “I can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching you,” he said, his gaze pinned on hers, his warm breath painting her skin.

She swallowed dryly, tried to speak, but could only manage a few words. “I can’t either.”

She wasn’t sure if they were playing roles. If he was talking as himself, as the jealous lover, or as someone else. And honestly, she didn’t care.

She ached.

All over.

She ached for him everywhere. Her lips longed to be kissed. Her hair craved to have his fingers threaded through it. Her skin begged for contact. Her body needed to be filled. The desire for him was profound. It dug trenches all throughout her mind and heart.

“And I want to remind you that you’re mine. That’s why I came back for you,” he said, his hands tighter now on her face. He could have squeezed her, could have hurt her, but he didn’t. She was safe with him. Always.

“I wanted you to come back,” she whispered, her chin tipped up as she kept her eyes on him. She couldn’t look away. The spell he’d woven was too strong.

“I couldn’t take it. I can’t have you send me pictures of clothes you’re going to wear for someone else.”

She shook her head. “I won’t. I won’t wear it for anyone else. I’ll wear it for you.”

“Wear it for me,” he said, and inched his face closer. God, he needed to kiss her soon. He needed to touch her. She was about to go up in flames.