Lunch was…quiet. Strained.

I don’t know where the hell we went wrong, but I can’t get her back. She’s not smiling as freely as before. She’s barely speaking. We’ve made eye contact twice—to which she immediately broke it.

If not for every charged touch when I grasp her hand, I’d think our chemistry was all in my head. But my cock won’t go down, my blood boils for her to pay me just a tad bit of attention, and I can’t picture her not being next to me.

And the thought of her leaving in a week? Don’t even get me fucking started. I’m not impressed. In fact, the idea of tying her to my bed has crossed my mind more than once. I’ve been carrying her bags for an hour now without complaint—and I never will—but I want her fucking attention. I want her vivid blue eyes staring into mine. I want to be able to tell what she’s thinking without guessing. I want to know if she’s as torn apart about this strain as I am.

I want to stop sounding like a whining basket case, but that’s not going to happen either.

The last straw is when we walk past a lingerie store, and a man inside, with his woman, stares at Marina. At what’s mine. I can easily tell what he’s thinking. He wants her. He wants to put his dirty, filthy fucking hands on her.

I want to commit murder.

Dropping the bags I’m holding, I use the other hand that’s holding hers to pull her into my chest. I’m done. So fucking done with this shit. Leaning down, I capture her lips in mine, leaving no room to mistake what I’m doing. Laying claim.

Her gasp provides the perfect opportunity to slip my tongue past her lips, swallowing her moans. She tastes of the lemon from her water and the sticky bun she had after lunch. Sweet, spicy, and all mine.

Gliding one hand up her back, she presses her chest into me. I can feel her pebbled nipples poking through her thin t-shirt, rubbing against my chest. A rumble of desire moves through me, and all I want is to go home and see how else I can make her let loose.

“Arsen,” she breathes as I pull back to meet her gaze.

“Marina,” I mimic. “Don’t”—I press my forehead to hers—“ever shut me out again.” I won’t hold it in any longer. I can’t. She has to know that shit’s going to change, and I’m her man.

“I didn’t mean to.” Her whispered breath grazes my neck, making my dick stir as surely as if she were to blow on it.

“Promise me,” I demand. I need the words.

“I promise, Arsen.” I love the sound of my names on her lips.

“Good girl.” Her eyes fly to mine like she’s been zapped with electricity, and it’s then I see emotion enter her eyes for the first time in hours.

The harsh need for acceptance is shining brightly at me.

“Good girl,” I say again. Tears shine on her lids, making me wonder even more about her damage. I’d like to know who or what broke my girl.

* * *

I’m an asshole. A total and complete jerk that doesn’t deserve a man like Arsen Daniels. He’s been working all day to make me smile. Telling me silly jokes. Funny stories from his childhood. Going so far as to carry my damn bags.

I’ve never felt so damaged as I do today, and I’m dragging this amazing man down with me. When he tried to engage in conversation on the way to the mall and spoke of kids, asking me if I wanted a whole brood of my own, I’d nearly balled like a baby.

Of course, I want a ton of my own. He probably does, too. But I can’t, and I feel like a complete failure as a woman because of it.

Then he had to say it.

The words to break me open.

My walls crumbled.

Good girl.

I don’t know why those words are so damn important to me, but they are, and they mean everything. It’s more than me doing as he asks. It’s more than praise.

It’s Arsen.

The way he says them. The meaning behind the words and the emotions in his eyes as he says them.

Good girl.

If I could hear only two words for the rest of my life, it would be them. From Arsen. Only from Arsen.

I want to be everything he pictures me as when he says it. I want to be whole and perfect and right instead of damaged and broken. I want to be his good girl.

I’m terrified I never will be.

“Arsen,” I breathe out, fully aware we have an audience. “We should go.”

“Yeah.” His voice flows through me like a drug. I can feel it in my veins, consuming my soul. My heart swallows it like a last breath. “I’d hate to have to arrest someone for looking at you. Experiencing the pleasure that’s all mine.”

Wow.

He’s a smooth talker.

“We should definitely go then.” I smile shyly up at him, not wanting to provoke his caveman any more than I already have.

Picking up my purchases, he guides me through the mall and out to his truck. After tossing my bags in the backseat, he lifts me into the cab, and once again, pulls me over to the center, so I’m sitting right next to him. Only this time, I might as well be sitting on him.

One of his large hands is wrapped around my thigh, his thumb and middle finger almost touching as he flexes his hand. I can’t say I don’t enjoy that. Really enjoy that.

I take the time on the drive home to observe Arsen. His strength and power are right on the surface for everyone to see. He doesn’t—or rather, can’t—hide it from the world. It’s too ingrained in his personality. Without them, I’m not sure he’d be as demanding as he is now.

Smoothing my palm up his arm to his bicep, I get a moment to inspect some of his tattoos. They’re true pieces of artwork. The detail and color alone are magnificent. What looks like the tail of a dragon wraps fully around his forearm with the peak of it pointing to his hand like an arrow.

I watch the veins in his muscle bulge with every flex of his hand, and I feel a matching tempo in my chest. We’re aligned in so many ways. I find it hard to believe Arsen could be anything other than what he appears.

Take a chance.

I can hear my mother’s voice in my head as clearly as if she were right beside me. She hates the image I have of myself almost more than me.

If I’m perfectly honest with myself, I don’t really want to go home to Arkansas. I want to stay here. I want to enjoy time to myself, prepare for the next school year. I need a good, long cry that I just haven’t had time to have in the past year. I’ve had to remain strong and stoic for the students. For my sanity.

When I go home, I know my mother will fill me in all the benefits of not having kids or of adopting. That I’ll find the right man who will change my mind. She won’t be able to focus on life now rather than before because she thinks I need her voice buzzing in my ear about all of these things. My father will pat me on the back and say chin up, kid, like he always does, not acknowledging what happened. I don’t know which will be worse.

“What are you thinking about?” Arsen’s deep rumble rolls through his chest and reverberates into my body when he speaks.

“Going home.” I sigh.

“Oh yeah.” I can feel his intense gaze on me as he waits for more. “Are you excited?” The words sound forced. Almost as though he doesn’t want to hear my answer.

“I think so.”

“You think so?” He chuckles. “What part of that do you have to think about?”

“It’s complicated.” I’m not ready to spill all of my secrets to him.

I feel the truck slowing down and look up to see that we’re in front of my building again. I don’t know whether to be disappointed or elated. I have a strong dislike for my wishy-washy attitude right now, too.

Flustered, I ask without thinking, “Would you like to come up?”

A warm smile graces his sexy lips, and I’m glad I asked. “I would.” He wastes no time in helping me down from his monster of a truck and grabbing my packages before my hand as he leads the way, only stopping long enough for me to pull my keys out of my pocket.

I can see from his scowl that he still isn’t crazy about the lack of lighting in the stairwell, even though the windows provide sunlight during the day. I’m shocked he doesn’t say anything as we climb.

Exiting the door on my floor, yelling can be heard, and Arsen pulls me behind him. Protecting me.

It’s incredibly sweet, but I reassure him. “It’s only my neighbors. They fight all the time.” He doesn’t change course, putting himself in the line of potential threat instead of me. “Must be the cop in you.”

“Must be,” he responds as we pass the door that masks some of the shouting. Shattering glass, followed by a woman’s scream stops us in our tracks.

“Here.” He hands me the bags. “Go inside. I’ll be right there.”

I look from my door which is just steps away and back to him, not liking this at all. I know it’s his job, and he likely does far more dangerous stuff, but I don’t want to be witness to it.

“Now, Marina,” he snaps, and I jump into action, quickly walking over and unlocking my door. His whispered, “good girl,” makes me melt to my core.

* * *

If two words are all it takes to get her to comply with me, I know what to do in the future. Her eyes light up in a way that I’m not sure how to explain when I say good girl. She enjoys it, revels in it. Maybe even savors it.

Once she’s in her apartment, I pound on the door I’m standing in front of, calling out, “Police, open up!” The shattered glass and feminine cries worry me.

“What the fuck you want?” is screamed just as the door opens, showcasing a young man, roughly twenty-five, shaggy hair, haggard appearance. And if I’m not mistaken, stoned.

Flashing my badge, I put my best cop face on. “Detective Daniels, Nashville PD. Everything alright in there?” Looking around him, I can see a vase on the floor, water and flowers puddled around it.

He sneers at my badge. “Everything’s fine.”

As he attempts to slam the door shut, I stick my boot between it and the jam. “I’d like to speak to whoever is here first. Make sure she’s okay.” Holding his gaze, I see the moment he falters and starts cursing under his breath.

“Andrea! Get out here! Show this nosy-ass cop you’re fine.” He doesn’t move from the door.

I see a woman round the corner in nothing more than a skimpy robe and wet hair, a mean scowl on her face. “We’re fine. Lovers quarrel,” she snaps. Her gaze roams my body.

“You sure you feel safe here, ma’am?” I have to check, no matter how much I dislike her eyes on me.

Rolling her eyes, she snorts, “Yes. We’re fine. Wyatt couldn’t kill a mouse if he tried.” The door slams before another word can be spoken, and with the way she’s giving it to him now, I think they’ll be fine. There were no typical indicators of abuse visible on her body, and she wasn’t timid like a woman who’s being hurt would be.

“Do you do that a lot?” Marina’s soft voice says from her doorway.

“I told you to get inside.” The bite in my voice has her eyes widening as I come closer. My stare zeros in on Marina, blocking the dimly lit hallway out as her breathing picks up pace. “You don’t take chances like that, Marina,” I snarl.

Her brows furrow. “I didn’t.” Her claim doesn’t come out as fiercely as she’d have liked. I can see it in her eyes.

“You did. When you didn’t listen to me? You put yourself in harm’s way. I won’t have that.” Crowding her body through the door, I slam it shut behind me. Gripping her waist, I turn her so her back is to the door, and I push my large frame into hers. Savoring the feel of her curves against me. “I can’t have you ignoring my word,” I rumble the words into her ear.

“I didn’t…” Her protest is weak as her heart races. I can feel it pounding against my chest.

“Be a good girl, Marina. Listen to me.” Feeling her light up at my words rather than seeing it this time, is a whole new experience. Her body vibrates in my arms. Her breathing is shallow.

“Yes, Arsen.” She sighs.

“Good girl.” I’m officially obsessed with the way her breath hitches and the light purr I feel vibrate through her when those words leave my lips. If I were looking into her bright blue eyes, I’d see her devotion for me. “You’re an addiction, babe.” Biting lightly on her earlobe, I trail a line of kisses along her jaw until I get to her mouth.

Savoring the soft, plump pout she presents to me, I don’t go deeper. I want the connection. I want her to hunger for more, and after today, I realize she’s not quite ready yet. Not for everything I want from her.