Chapter 111

“Iris,” Christian says, his voice sorrowful, filled with apology. I feel his hands on my shoulders but I tear myself away. Because if he holds me, I know that I’m going to give in – that I’ll let him convince me –

“No!” I shout, spinning and dropping my hands, livid. “My answer is no, Christian, if it matters at all to you! Which it probably doesn’t! I’m – I’m not going to let you do this! I’m not going to agree to you putting your life on the line, going against these horrible men who tie people’s hands behind their back and beat them for hours, who lock them in – in boxes!” The words spill from me, and I know I’m rambling now, but I can’t stop.

“Iris,” Christian says again, his voice a little growl as he closes the distance between us, one hand cupping my face while the other goes around my shoulders. “Yes. The answer is yes.”

“NO!” I shout again, pulling hard to get away, to continue to fight.

“Yes,” he growls, his arm tightening around me, not letting me go. “Because I’m going to survive this, Iris. I will. There’s no other option than that. It’s going to work.”

I groan, my eyes closed, but he goes quiet for a moment, letting me hear him. Slowly, my eyes open, and I find his face just inches from mine, looking down into my eyes with his steady blue-grey ones. At the sight of him so close, of his beautiful face, a little of the fight goes out of me.

“How do you know?” I whisper, my voice still half a sob. “How do you know you’ll survive? How can you know that?”

“Because, Iris,” he snaps, shaking me a little as he closes the rest of the distance between us, slipping the hand away from my cheek to cradle the back of my head in his palm. “Because I just got you, didn’t I? And there’s no way I’m letting anything take me away from you – not now, not for a long, long time. Fuck that, Iris – you’re mine.”

And with those last angry words, Christian hauls me against me, and kisses me, holding me tight and bending me backwards in his arms in a way that tells me the very real truth of his words: that I’m his, and only his, and he’s going to tear the world apart if it means we get to be in it together.

Christian’s lips are hard on mine, insistent and demanding. But my mouth opens to him with an urgency I’m not sure I knew was there, and I press myself even tighter against him, wrapping my arms around his neck and letting him take control. A groan breaks from him as he kisses me, as he gives himself over to it, as his tongue slips into my mouth like he’s desperate to taste me, every inch of me. Christian – he cradles me against him like I’m something incredibly precious, like he’s scared to let me go, like I might break. But god, fuck, the way he kisses me –

It's like he’s finally untethered something within himself, and he can’t be bothered to reign in back in. Because for far, far too long he’s kept his want for me tucked neatly away and finally – finally it’s running free.

A moan slips from between my lips as Christian drops his arms lower on my body, one wrapping around my waist, the other dipping below my ass. When he stands up straight he takes me with him, lifting me high against his chest. My legs wrap themselves eagerly around his waist and I pull myself closer, kissing him with abandon as he starts to move, carrying me with him through the living room, and then in towards the expanse of clean white sheets, and fluffy duvet.

Taking me to bed.

Finally.

He turns when he finally gets to it, stumbling and sitting down hard on the mattress and taking me with him. I keep my eyes closed through it all, concentrating on Christian, on the softness of his lips even as they move rough against mine, at the way his arms wrap me up tight like they’ll never let me go.

I moan again, deeper this time, letting my head fall back when he moves his mouth from mine and presses those lips to my neck, dragging them desperately against my skin, letting his teeth graze against me as he unwraps his arms from around me and starts to tug desperately at the bottom of my stupid sweatshirt –

But then he stops, quite suddenly.

And my eyes fly open and I’m stunned as I look down into his beautiful face – those blue eyes I’ve looked into since I was a little girl, that I’ve always, always loved.

“I want you by my side, Iris,” he says softly, though his voice is strong and demanding. The voice of a warrior, a general. A king. “Is this…is this what you want?”

A shiver passes through me as his hand slips beneath the sweatshirt, moving against my ribs, sliding upwards. And I just stare at him, knowing that we’re at a crossroads here – that I’m either all in…or all out.

That Christian is offering me a place at his side, but that a very specific life comes with it.

And for a single second I wonder – is this what I really want?

But a single second is all it takes. Because I’ve known this answer since I was a child.

“Yes,” I breathe, nodding once, my arms unlinking from around his neck, my hands moving to cup his cheeks. “Yes, Christian.”

And that’s it – my decision made. And quite instantly, it’s enough.

• Christian groans again, grabbing me and twisting so that I tumble down into the sheets with him on top of me. I laugh a little, delighted, thrilled

Because this – it really is everything that I’ve ever wanted. Christian – all mine – in my arms, in my bed –

God, fuck, I’ve only ever dreamed of it. But now it’s real, and it’s mine, and I’m never giving it up.

Christian tugs hard at my sweatshirt even as he presses kiss after kiss to my mouth. “Take this fucking thing off,” he murmurs, frustrated.

I laugh a little again. “Yes, sir,” I murmur, pressing a hand to his chest so that I have a little space. He complies, backing off me, but just far enough so that I can tug the sweatshirt hastily over my head, tossing it to the floor.

When I look back at him, I’m surprised to see him smirking at me. “Why the hell,” he murmurs, “are you wearing a dress beneath a sweatshirt.”

“It’s called fashion, Chris,” I growl, a little miffed, reaching out and grabbing a fistful of his shirt, tugging him back on top of me. “Not all of us can just swagger around in Armani suits all day, looking gorgeous. Some of us have to be creative with what we find in the souvenir shop.”

“Oh, Daisy,” Christian sighs, lowering his head to my neck and dropping a kiss there, his hand traveling to the first of the buttons that travel all the way down the front of my dress. Quickly, he unbuttons the first one, and then presses a kiss to the bared chest revealed beneath it. “When it comes to being gorgeous, you’ve never, ever had to try.”

I gasp a little, a shiver running through me, as he undoes the next button and presses a kiss there too.

Christian dips then to the next button, repeating the pattern, moving ever lower.