“Who did this to you?” I growl, desperate for confirmation before I put his body in the ground.
The dark mascara is smudged around her eyes as she stares blankly in front of her. “No one.”
I wrench her hand from the switch, flick it on, and inspect the damage again. The fingerprints are purple and blue against her ivory flesh, fanning my fury until all I see is red.
“Who did this to you, Mia?” I repeat.
She shakes her head but doesn’t look at me. “No one.”
I grab her chin again, more gently this time, and force her to look at me. “We both know I always get what I want. Tell me.”
Her numb gaze locks on me, but her bottom lip trembles. “I need to shower his touch off of me.”
“What else did he do?” I seethe. My teeth gnash together. The last of my restraint slowly slips away as all the possibilities of what might have happened while I was sitting on my ass in her hotel room filter through me. “If he––”
“He didn’t rape me. He might’ve if he had enough time,” she mutters. The distance between us grows as she steps into the glass shower and flips the faucet on. “But he didn’t. He only wanted to prove a point.”
“What point?” I demand.
Waiting for the water to heat up, she steps back onto the tile floor beside me and closes her eyes. It’s as if the weight of the situation is more than she can bear. “I want to shower. You should go.”
“I’m not leaving you, Mia.”
And I’m not.
Not ever again.
Carefully, I lift the hem of her shirt and pull it off. A lacy black bra covers her breasts, but I don’t remove it. Instead, I reach for her pants and slide them down her long, lean legs.
When I catch a glimpse of her back in the mirror, my molars grind. Her smooth, flawless skin is covered in differing shades of black, blue, and purple. Slowly, I spin her around, examining the damage along her back and ass. More bruises. The one above her tailbone is the size of my palm. Another angry mark runs along her shoulder blade. Shifting her hair to the side, I lean forward and brush my lips against the closest bruise.
“Tell me it wasn’t Shorty,” I murmur against her heated skin. I already know the truth, but I need confirmation. And I need it now.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Tell me it wasn’t Shorty,” I repeat.
She glares up at me. The same familiar shame swirls in her gorgeous eyes. “It. Doesn’t. Matter.”
With a dark laugh, I growl, “You’re mine, Mia. You might not want to admit it to yourself, but it doesn’t change the truth.” I wrap my arms around her middle and hold her gaze in the mirror’s foggy reflection. “No one touches what’s mine.”
“What if I don’t want to be yours?” she whispers. Her eyes are full of fear. But she isn’t scared of me. She’s scared of submitting to me. Of giving up her control willingly when we both know it has been ripped away from her more times than she can count.
Resting my chin on her shoulder, I slowly sway us back and forth. “I’m never gonna hurt you, Mia.”
Her watery smile greets me, and she shakes her head. “If only you knew how many times I’ve heard that statement, Professor.”
“Not from me.”
Her hesitation is louder than a siren, and she sniffs quietly.
“I’m sorry I broke our rules.” I place another kiss on her bare shoulder. “I’m sorry I made our rules in the first place when I’ve wanted you from the beginning.” My lips brush against where her shoulder and neck meet. “I’m sorry I didn’t step in when you were dating Shorty the first time. I’m sorry I didn’t claim you the way I wanted to in the beginning.” I place another kiss on the bruises marring her throat. “But I’m not sorry for claiming you. For pursuing you.” I kiss her jaw. “For showing Shorty, and the rest of the world, you’re mine. Because you are mine, Mia. For as long as you’ll have me.”
“You don’t want a girl like me, Professor.”
“You’re right,” I agree, “I don’t want a girl like you.” My arms squeeze her softly, careful not to hurt her or aggravate her sore body. “I want you. Mia Rutherford. The sassy brat who crawled her way under my skin whom I refuse to let go.”
She sniffs again. Her eyes are cloudy as she looks down at my arms wrapped around her torso, avoiding our reflection.
“Did you hear me?” I press. “There’s only one you, Brat. I’m not letting you go.”
“Promise you won’t let me down,” she whispers.
I twist her around and clutch her cheeks, rubbing my thumbs along the moisture and smudged makeup making her look beautiful and broken and mine. All mine.
“Not a fucking chance.”
46
MIA
My mind reels as Henry’s words wash over me.
“I want you. Mia Rutherford. The sassy brat who crawled her way under my skin whom I refuse to let go.”
I’ve never been wanted. Or maybe I have, and I never recognized it. But this? His words? His determination? His sweet kisses and strong hands? It’s like I’m being torn in two. No, it’s like I’m being sewn back together again. And it hurts. The needle pushing through raw flesh, promising to make me whole. But it’s a good hurt. A cleansing hurt. One I want to grab hold of. One I never want to let go.
“Did you hear me?” he pushes. “There’s only one you, Brat. I’m not letting you go.”
“Promise you won’t let me down,” I beg.
Henry turns me around and runs his calloused thumbs along my cheeks. They’re wet. I’ve been crying. I hate crying. But it feels good to stop fighting it. To stop shoving my emotions down until they’re choking me.
“Not a fucking chance,” he rasps.
Then, his lips are on mine, devouring me whole as he blindly opens the glass door and pushes us into the shower. Water floods from the showerhead in hot rivulets, making me shiver as I wrap my arms around his neck and press my front to his. He’s so warm. So hot.
But the crazy part?
He’s still in his clothes. Fully dressed from head to toe while I’m in nothing but my bra and underwear. I wouldn’t think anything of it if I hadn’t witnessed his quirk the first night we shared a hotel room. But instead of calling him out on it, my fingers fumble with the buttons on his white dress shirt as I kiss Henry back, undressing him as quickly as I can. Because I need him. I need him to hold me. To love me. To accept me. The water warms even more, heating my skin. Our clothes hit the marble floor beneath our feet with a wet plop, soaking up even more water. He presses my back against the glass wall, carefully keeping the pressure off my bruises. He tangles his fingers in my hair. I wince when he grazes the goose egg along the back of my skull, and he tears his mouth from mine.
“You hit your head too?” he seethes.
I shrug one shoulder. “I’m fine.”
“I’m gonna kill him.” His lips are on mine again in an instant, but he’s careful not to touch my injury as he shoves his tongue into my mouth. I moan. The steam billows around us as one of his hands trails down to my breast, tweaking my nipple into a bud and traveling lower. Cupping my sex, he rubs the heel of his hand against me, and I gasp at the pressure.