I eased my legs together, and he lifted his gaze slowly up my body to meet my eyes. And they were filled with tears.

“Are you good now?”

I blinked and the tears fell down my face. “A-are you m-mine?” My lower lip quivered.

Fisher owned me. Maybe it was stupid and childish … maybe it made me a weak woman, but Fisher Mann owned me. And the thing that scared me more than absolutely anything in the world was that he wasn’t mine.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pair of wire cutters. After clipping the ties and tossing the rags aside, he bent down and snagged my panties off the floor, sliding them back up my legs and lifting me off the stool to finish pulling them over my butt. Next, he put my jeans back on.

Tug.

Zip.

Button.

Finishing with my boots, he tied them with expert precision like he did the day he bought them for me.

There I stood, limp, my heart lodged in my throat, and an unattended stream of tears on my cheeks. Fisher stood again and met my gaze. He slid my foggy safety glasses onto my head, then his thumbs took care of my tears.

“You know the answer to that.” Ducking his head, he kissed me.

Not hard.

Not demanding.

Not like he did when he tied me to the chair.

He kissed me like … I was his and … he was mine.

“Go get ready for dinner. I have to clean up.” His knuckles caressed my cheek. It was my favorite gesture.

So tender.

So endearing.

It made me feel unequivocally special.

I nodded before turning my head so his palm brushed my lips, and I kissed it. “Fisher …” I grinned.

“Yeah?”

My hand ghosted over his, guiding it so my lips met his wrist. I closed my eyes for a second, feeling his pulse—that heartbeat that I wanted to claim as mine. I wanted it to beat for me.

“I’m good,” I whispered.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I took a quick shower and put on my nicest sheer blouse and fitted jeans. Then, I plugged in my curling iron and applied a little makeup.

“You about done?” Rory poked her head into my bathroom.

“Yeah.” I glossed my lips.

“It’s casual. You don’t have to get all dolled up.”

I shrugged. “Yesterday, it was fun having my hair curled. And with my day job, I rarely get to look dolled up. So … why not?”

I smiled at her reflection in my bathroom mirror.

“You’re absolutely right.” She took my big comb and ran it through my hair. “It took me awhile, after I was released, to feel like I wanted to make the effort. But sometimes we do. Even if it’s just for family and close friends.” She grabbed the curling iron and nodded for me to sit on the toilet seat. “Even if it’s just for ourselves.”