“You were in New York,” she stated, her hands folding in her lap. “At my show.”
“Opening night,” I confirmed.
She stared at me, waiting for more.
“You were beautiful.” So goddamn beautiful, it’d hurt to look at her when she’d walked out on stage in a revealing white dress. But then she’d started to sing. The crowd went insane, and I’d lost my fucking mind. I’d never been more proud of her, but I couldn’t watch twenty thousand people scream her name. I couldn’t watch the men in the audience staring at her, knowing what they were thinking.
“You didn’t come see me after the show,” she accused.
I didn’t make it though the first song. “I never would’ve gotten past security.” Halfway through, like a coward, I’d left.
“You could have told anyone who you were and you would’ve gotten backstage.”
It was my turn to stare at her.
“Your name has always been on my all-access list for every single concert. All you would’ve had to do was show your ID.” Her hands perfectly still in her lap, her shoulders proud, she’d slipped back to professional Sanaa.
I hated it. “I’m sorry.”
She stared at me a beat longer, then she leaned back in her seat and looked out the windshield. “You didn’t know.”
I wasn’t sure if she was stating a fact or looking for confirmation. “I didn’t know.”
She looked back at me. “Would it have made a difference?”
“I’m not going to answer that, and you’re not going to ask it again.” Either answer was shit. “If we do this, we move forward.”
“If?” she asked.
This was one of the things we needed to talk about. “Yes, if.”
She immediately turned away from me.
I caught her chin and brought her back to me. “This is one of things we need to discuss, Sanaa.”
“Sanaa,” she snorted, pulling out of my grasp and turning toward the window. “You only call me that when you’re being distant.”
“Look at me,” I demanded.
Spinning on me, she threw her hands up and spit hurt masked as anger. “Why? So you can give me every reason why we shouldn’t be here?”
I didn’t hesitate. My hand was on her throat, and my thumb and forefinger held her jaw firm. I dropped my voice. “I did not give you reason to doubt me. I said if. That implies choice, and I’m going to give you a choice, right now, this one time.” I held her gaze. Then I forced myself to give her the goddamn choice. “You give yourself to me fully or not at all.”
Her breath hitched, and her mouth opened.
“I’m not finished,” I warned.
Her mouth closed, but her pulse sped up.
I wanted to dominate the hell out of her. I wanted to fuck her hard for hours until she was begging me to come, writhing for it. Then, after she was satiated and boneless in my arms, I wanted to make love to her for the rest of the night. But we now had closer to six hours, she needed a shower and sleep, and I didn’t have enough goddamn time to show her what it would be like between us. All I had right now was my voice, my tone and a promise.
“If you give yourself to me, then that’s it, Sanaa,” I warned. “You will belong to me. I’ll take you back to my place, bathe you, give you a release, then put you to bed. In the morning, I’ll fly back to London with you. On the flight we’ll discuss logistics for after the concert.” Inhaling, I gave her the alternative. “If you’re not all-in, then I’ll still take you back to my place, you’ll shower, then you’ll sleep in your own bed. I’ll take you back to London, make sure you get situated with your security there safely, then we’ll say goodbye.” That was it. She was either in or out. I wasn’t doing halfway with her. “Make a decision.”
Her throat moved with a swallow. Then her voice came out in whisper. “I know how you feel about me being famous.”
“No, you don’t.” She had no fucking idea how proud of her I was. Nor did she fully comprehend that she probably would not be where she was today if we had been together, because she would’ve given up opportunities for me. But that wasn’t what she was getting at. I knew exactly where she was going with this. “I said discuss. I’m not asking you to give up your career.” I just hoped like fuck I could deal with whatever she decided.
“You want control.”
“Yes, I do. In the bedroom and when we’re alone.” And every other goddamn time she’d let me. But that would take time between us, and discussions about boundaries and what she truly wanted outside closed doors. “No matter what, I will always respect you.”
“Even when you’re spanking me?” she barely whispered.
My cock hardened to the point of pain, and my hand tightened on her. “Especially then.”
Her breath came shorter, and she licked her lips.
It took all my self control not to drag her into my lap. “Decide, Sanaa.”
“Will you be mine?”
I already was. “Without question.”
Her gaze dropped.
I gave her a slight shake. “Eyes on me.”
She lifted her gaze back to mine and whispered, “Do you love me?”
I was merely a man.
She was a goddamn goddess.
I didn’t deserve her. I didn’t deserve a single fucking minute with her. But I got a gift that day I heard her sing for the first time. Before I even saw her, I heard something special in her voice—raw talent, innocent beauty, desperate hope, and above all, determination. It’d gripped me by the throat and stolen my fucking breath.
I fell in love with her before I knew what she looked like.
And I hadn’t stopped.
She was it for me. She always had been.
“Give me your answer, Songbird,” I demanded, selfish and on edge and refusing to acknowledge her question and give her any more of myself before she gave me an answer.
“Tell me you still love me,” she ordered, issuing her own demand.
“I don’t have to.” Losing control, I leaned closer. “I never stopped.”
His mouth crashed over mine, and his tongue demanded entrance.
Still holding me dominantly by my throat, he kissed me fiercely. Like the winds outside, he blew through my defenses, and he claimed me. My heart sung, my core wept and I wanted to lose myself in his demands.
But just as abruptly as he’d surged, he retreated.
His thumb swept across my bottom lip, rough and possessive as his eyes burned into my soul. “Decide,” he ordered, his voice thick and guttural.
“I don’t have to.” I smiled. “I already have.”
His nostrils flared, and he issued a single warning. “Songbird.”
I took his beautifully austere face in both of my hands. “Yes. A thousand times yes.” I gave him words to one of the few songs I had written that my label let me perform live. “I am you. You are me. We are one.”
He stared at me for a long moment, and I knew. He recognized the lyrics.
Inhaling sharply, a slight shake overtaking his shoulders, he kissed my forehead reverently. “Thank you,” he rasped.