Then he f**ked her in a way that she could make no mistake he was claiming her as his. It was like their first time, hard, quick, out-of-control and pure magic.
Elle, being Elle, after it was over, and their breath had slowed, mistook him.
She tried to exit the bed.
He caught her and pulled her back into his body.
“Where are you going?” he growled into the back of her head.
“I need to go to my bed. The children –”
His arm got tight and she stopped breathing. He even heard her breath going out of her lungs in a whoosh.
He didn’t care.
He was not letting her go.
“You sleep here, with me.”
She made a noise he couldn’t decipher.
He didn’t try.
Wishing to be certain she was clear and made no further mistake, he repeated, “From now on, you sleep here, with me. You sleep nowhere else, no’ in this house. If you sleep somewhere else but this house, I’ll be there too and you’ll still f**king sleep with me.”
She was silent, her body tense then she asked, “Has… um, has something happened?”
“Aye.”
She was silent again then she asked with a tinge of incredulity, “Erm… how can something happen? It’s the middle of the night.”
He didn’t answer; he just gave her a squeeze.
Elle, being Elle, didn’t let it go.
“What happened?”
“I’m not f**king around anymore, that’s what’s happened.”
“You… um,” she paused then carried on, “you just woke up and decided you’re not f**king around anymore?” This time there was more than a tinge of incredulity.
“Aye,” he lied.
“Fucking around about what?” she asked.
He decided not to answer.
When she spoke again, she was whispering, “Pren, are you okay?”
There it was again.
She asked like she cared, like she was worried, like she wanted to take care of him.
Like she took care of f**king everyone.
But herself.
He gave her a gentle squeeze this time.