The first time I truly saw E, I wanted to ruin her.
She was in a burgundy swimsuit, the fabric doing nothing to hide the swell of her hips, the dip of her waist, the full, soft weight of her chest. Water droplets slid down her sternum, and I imagined licking them off. She was laughing with Isa, throwing her head back, and I felt my jaw clench so hard my teeth ached.
*I want to bite that laugh right out of her mouth.*
She looked up. Our eyes locked. A jolt of electricity shot down my spine. She had these big, dark eyes that seemed to see right through me, and for a second, the world bled away. Then she ripped her gaze away, cheeks flushing. Shy. Deliciously shy.
But I'd already decided. She was going to be mine. Every curve, every glance, every breath. Mine to own. Mine to corrupt.
The slow burn started. Every time I saw her—at the pool, at Isa's—she'd avoid my face, mumble one-word answers, and scurry away. It infuriated me. I wanted to cage her in, force her chin up, and make her say my name until she was hoarse.
One night, sitting around while they played cards, she was so focused on not looking at me it was almost comical. Her little brother came whining, and she dismissed him with a hissed, "Go play, I'm busy." I saw my opening.
"Is he your brother?" I asked, voice deceptively lazy.
"Yeah," she said to the table.
"He's a pain. Played chess with him. He's not half bad."
Isa, bless her oblivious heart, piped up. "E plays chess! She's really good."
E's neck went pink. "I only played a few months. I'm not that good. Just occasionally. I don't really play." The words tumbled out, a defensive rush.
I leaned forward, letting my voice drop. "Your rating is still pretty high for someone who doesn't play."
She finally flicked her eyes up to me, just for a heartbeat, and I saw the spark of something sharper underneath the shyness. "Uh-huh."
*Oh, there's a little viper hiding in there. I'm going to make you bite me, sweetheart.*
The next day, the viper struck. Her brother was brawling with another kid, and E shot up like a firecracker. "Enough! If you two don't stop right now, I will personally ensure your tablets disappear for a month! Do you hear me?!" Her voice cracked like a whip, her eyes blazing, her chest heaving. The shy girl was gone, replaced by a tiny, furious goddess.
My pants tightened. I couldn't help it. *Imagine that passion directed at me. Imagine her nails raking down my back, screaming my name because of what I'm doing to her body.*
"Is he your brother?" I asked again, purely to antagonize her, a smirk playing on my lips.
"Yes," she snapped, jaw tight enough to crack. "He is my brother."
She was magnificent. I wanted to flip that switch myself, over and over, until she didn't know if she wanted to slap me or kiss me.
The transat moment was when the obsession truly crystallized. She was alone, watching a programming video, a fortress of solitude. My friends and I dropped into the chairs around her. Adam, the poor bastard, kept eyeing her like a lovesick puppy. She didn't even twitch. Two kids started fighting in front of her, and she leaped up to separate them. I got up to help, my hand accidentally brushing the small of her back as I knelt. She stiffened.
The little gremlin pointed at me. "He always hits me!"
And then, for the first time, E turned the full force of those eyes on me. Her expression softened, her voice became this sweet, pleading thing that wrapped around my spine and squeezed. "Don't hit him."
My brain emptied of everything but the image of her looking up at me from her knees. *God, I'm sick.* "I really don't hit him," I managed, my voice rough.
Later, I practically tackled the transat next to her, my cologne—a dark, amber-heavy scent—billowing around us. I saw her nostrils flare, her throat bob.
"You're studying programming?" I asked.
"Mmmmmh." She didn't look up, but a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk ghosted her lips. She was *aware* of me. She was *playing*.
I didn't push. I just let my gaze drag over her like a physical touch, imagining tearing that prim little cover-up off with my teeth. From time to time, I'd catch her looking at me, and she'd hold my gaze for a searing second before looking away, as if she was just as hungry.
The eye contact became our battlefield. Days of it. Intense, unblinking stares that felt like foreplay. I'd see her across the pool, and my mind would go dark. *What does she taste like? How would she sound if I pushed her against that wall and hiked her leg up?*
Then I saw her with her baby cousin on her hip. The little girl was giggling, pulling at E's hair, and E was beaming, bouncing her gently. My mind detonated.
*Her belly swollen with my child. Her in my bed, wearing my ring, looking at me with those exhausted, happy eyes. I'd get her pregnant again and again. Keep her full of me. She'd be so beautiful, my wife, my babies' mother. No one else would ever get to see her like that. Only me. I'd chain her to my side.*
My hands were shaking. I had to adjust myself under the water. The thought wasn't just possessive; it was primal, obsessive, a need carved into my bones.
The security guard fight was a blur of adrenaline. Voices raised, postures aggressive. And then I saw her, rising from her seat, her face pale, craning to see *me*. Not the fight. Me. Our eyes clashed amidst the chaos, and in that moment, I knew. She was just as far gone as I was.
But the aftermath? That's when her sass truly unsheathed its claws. She passed me on the path and looked right through me, chin high, as if I was nothing. It made me see red. And then I saw Adam cornering her, leaning in with that hopeful smirk, and my sanity snapped cleanly in half.
I walked up behind her, wrapped my arms around her front, and pulled her back against my chest so hard she gasped. I dropped my chin to her shoulder, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. Adam's face went slack, and he stumbled backward, muttering excuses.
E twisted in my arms, glaring up at me with magnificent fury. "What bro? What exactly?"
"Give me your Instagram."
Her eyes glittered. "Didn't my male cousin tell you that even if you tried, I wouldn't reciprocate the small talk nor the attempt? He was supposed to. Maybe he forgot you're not that memorable."
The sass. The goddamn sass. I wanted to devour it. "You don't look like you won't reciprocate," I murmured against her ear, letting my lips catch the skin. "Especially after all those eye contacts. You gave me your consent when you looked at me like that. You even avoid eye contact with others. You're a liar, and a bad one."
She shivered, and I felt the vibration against my chest. "Alright," she said, voice dripping with mock surrender. "At least I can give it to you. It's not that difficult to get mine, it's literally on both my cousins' accounts. So I guess." She pulled away, patting my cheek twice, condescendingly. "Good boy."
I almost snapped then and there.
"Are you bipolar?" I asked, voice low. "You ignore me when I talk to you because you're shy, then you yell at your brother like a drill sergeant. Then you pat me like a dog." I stepped closer, caging her against the back of a transat. "I like your dominant side. But if you ever pat me like that again, I'll show you what dominance really looks like."
Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip. "You're weird. I'll add you so I can block you. It'll be a fun two seconds." She jabbed a finger into my chest. "Last time you touch me. Do it again and I will hit you in the balls."
"Feisty," I breathed, but my mind was racing. *I dare you to try. The moment you put your hands on me, I'll have them pinned above your head.*
Possessiveness became my shadow. If any friend sat next to her, I'd appear, a dark cloud, and they'd vacate the seat without a word. I'd settle beside her, thigh pressing against hers, and just exist in her space. She'd ignore me, but I'd see the tiny quirk of her lips.
When her little brother refused to fetch her jacket, I was up before she could blink. I went to my house, grabbed my hoodie, and draped it over her.
She immediately pulled it off and handed it back. "I said I wanted a jacket to keep it open. This is closed."
The insolence. The sheer, bratty insolence. I wanted to throttle her in the best way. I texted her instead: *Get up. I'll go before you. Come to my house. Family's gone. Choose what you want.*
She came. I pulled her up the stairs by the wrist, opened the door to my empty house, and led her to my room. I sat on my bed, legs wide, hands gripping the edge to keep them from grabbing her. "Choose one of my jackets. Whichever one you want. I'll wait."
She looked at me, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her face. *Devil.* She walked to my closet, her hips swaying just a little too much, and pulled out my cousin's jacket—a gaudy thing with a logo she knew I hated. She held it up, examining it. "This one is nice. It's not yours, is it? Belongs to someone more… stylish?"
The leash on my control snapped. I was on her in a heartbeat, spinning her around and pressing her front against the closet door, my body a wall of heat behind her. I buried my face in her neck, my mouth open and wet against her racing pulse. My hands found her hips, then slid up, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her waist, her ribs, just under the swell of her breasts. A husband's touch. A claim.
"I'm sorry," I rasped into her ear, my voice a ragged mess. "I lost control. Please change out of his clothes before I actually cross a boundary that shouldn't be crossed." My hips pressed forward slightly, letting her feel exactly how much she'd provoked me. "Before I do something that would make you block me out of your life. So please, *please*, wear mine."
She went still, her breath coming in short gasps. "Okay," she whispered, and it was a victory song.
She chose a soft black hoodie and pointed at a band t-shirt I owned. "I want that top too." I nodded, throat tight. The moment she pulled my hoodie on, I grabbed my cologne and sprayed it all over her—hair, neck, the front of the hoodie, even the backs of her knees because she was *mine*. She coughed, laughing, but I just yanked her into a hug so tight she squeaked. I ground my nose into her hair, breathing her in mixed with my scent.
"There. Now everyone will know you belong to someone."
We went down separately. The moment Isa hugged E, she jerked back, eyes narrowing. "Why do you smell like him?"
E's voice was smooth as silk. "Probably a coincidence. He was probably just standing here a moment ago. You know how his cologne is violent."
I watched from the shadows, pride and terror warring in my chest. But then Isa's voice cut through the air, loud and teasing.
"So, E, how is your situationship with that guy going? You two still sneaking around?"
Everything stopped. E's face went blank, then she was walking away, fast, toward her house. A red haze descended. *Situationship? Another guy?* My mind flooded with images of someone else touching her, making her laugh, making her wear *his* clothes. I wanted to unalive him. I wanted to burn the world.
"Sorry guys, bathroom," I choked out, and then I sprinted.
I caught her in the narrow alley, slamming my hand against the wall beside her head so hard the brick bit into my palm. The other hand was on her hip, then her thigh, gripping, hitching her leg up around my waist as I crowded her, my body a furious furnace.
"Who is he?" The words were a guttural growl. My hips pinned hers, my hand leaving the wall to tangle in her hair and yank her head back, exposing her throat. I latched my mouth onto her pulse point, sucking hard enough to bruise—a mark only a husband should leave, a mark of ownership. My other hand slid from her thigh, over her ass, squeezing possessively, then around her waist, fingers dipping just under the waistband of her jeans, teasing the bare skin there.
"I will lose my mind, E. I see you with someone else and I will end him. You're mine. This body," I squeezed her ass again, hard, "is mine. Your throat, your mouth," my thumb traced her lower lip, pushing in slightly, "mine. You've been mine since the first time you looked at me. Say there's no one else. Say it before I tear this hoodie off and find out for myself how untouched you are."
I was breaking every boundary, touching her in ways only a lover, a husband, should dare. My hand beneath her shirt, splayed on her bare back, pulling her closer. My hips grinding subtly against her core, letting her feel the threat and the promise.
She didn't flinch. Instead, her fingers curled into my hair and pulled my head back, meeting my wild eyes with a feral calm. "Baby," she said, the word a sweet poison. "Do you think I would wear your clothes, me who doesn't talk to anyone, if I wasn't interested? I have no situationship. Isa was provoking you. And you," she tugged my hair, making me hiss, "reacted like a rabid dog."
The rage ebbed, replaced by a desperate, aching need. I slumped against her, my face in her neck, my arms wrapped around her so tight I might break her. My hand was still under her shirt, resting on the small of her back, a burning brand.
"Don't ever scare me like that," I whispered, my voice broken. "I can't think straight when it comes to you. I want to lock you up in my room and throw away the key. I want to put a baby in you just so no one can ever question who you belong to. It's sick, I know, but I don't care."
She softened in my arms, her hand stroking the back of my neck. "Then stop thinking and make it happen. But if you ever mark me where everyone can see without asking," she pinched my side, her sass resurging, "I will make good on that threat to your balls."
From that night on, I was unhinged and unashamed. I became a shadow, a barnacle, a lovesick tyrant. I'd wrap myself around her in public, my hand always possessively on her neck or hip. I'd glare at anyone who looked at her too long. I texted her a dozen times an hour, needing to know her every thought. Once, I saw a guy ask her for directions, and I walked up, kissed her long and deep in front of him, and said, "The only place she's going is home with me."
At night, I'd sneak her into my room and just hold her, mapping her body over her clothes like a sacred text, whispering all my darkest thoughts. "I want to see you in white, walking down an aisle toward me. I want to see you round with my baby. I want to wake up every morning with the taste of you on my tongue. You're my obsession, my religion, my damnation."
And E, my viper, my shy girl, my fierce goddess, would look up at me with those impossible eyes, a smirk on her lips, and say, "You're so dramatic. But you're my dramatic. Now shut up and kiss me."
I did. I always would. She was my heartbeat, my madness, my forever. And I was her possessive, boundary-crossing, utterly devoted disaster.