What do you think?
Rate this book


457 pages, ebook
First published January 1, 2021
She hates this. She hates him. She wants to go home and crawl into bed with her mother and read a story, and she wants to trade glances with Snap Wexley from afar, and daydream about things that won’t come to pass for several more years. She wants a sweet husband who loves her within reason, not like this. Not this frightening, ominous black cloud, possessive and hungry and unyielding, blanketing out everything around it.


“Why is it,” he mumbles, “that each day apart from you feels like a month?”
“You’re going to make a man very happy someday, Miss Niima,” he mumbles against her skin. He kisses her, takes another unsteady breath, and presses another kiss further up her neck. “Aren’t you?”
“Mhm,” Rey mumbles back sleepily.
The hand on her arm wraps around it, then bends her elbow back to remove it from her nightgown strap. Fingers slip under her arm and wander to her chest. One breast is bare under the covers, and when the exploring fingers touch upon it, Rey breathes a little surprised breath. Oh.
“He’ll take good care of you,” whispers the strange voice. He kneads her breast in his palm. “Make sure you have food on the table and something warm to wear to bed and shiny new pearls.” His hand slides away to her belly, rubbing gently. “And you’ll give him beautiful little babies. Won’t you?”
“Mmhm.”
“At least three would be nice,” he whispers. Then his lips are at her ear, voice low and soft, almost sweet, but with an edge that unsettles her. “But we’ll see. I haven’t decided exactly how many beautiful little babies I want to put inside you.”

He hurt her just a few days ago and she still isn’t sure what she did wrong.
Mr. Solo tips her chin up on his fingertip. He kisses her, and she shyly withdraws. He follows, cupping her cheek in his big palm.
“Oh, my sweet girl.” He kisses her lower lip, voice low and soft. “Have you not forgiven me yet?”
Rey shrugs limply. He makes a disappointed series of clicks with his tongue and his hand wanders under the blanket.
“You want me to apologize, hm?” Mr. Solo’s fingers work down the line of buttons, popping each open. “Does your papa apologize after he disciplines you?”
“Y-Yes, sir.” Her lips brush his as she speaks, eyes closed. “Sometimes mama makes him.”
“She does, does she?” His hand runs up her stomach to her chest. Rey takes a rattling breath when he cups her breast in his palm, and he kneads lightly. A muscle twitches in the arm behind her back. He’s flicking his ashes. “Then who am I to refute your parents?”
“I’m a married man, Miss Niima,” Mr. Solo says in a low, frightening tone. “Do you understand me?”
She struggles to nod, but he smacks her again anyway.
Rey’s breaths come quick and short and she squeezes her eyes shut for each subsequent strike. She can’t see—her vision is blurred from tears, even though the sobs remain trapped in her throat. She breathes so quickly that she fears she may faint, and as the pain spreads down her thighs, she wishes she would.
She counts seven slaps, though it feels like many more. She lies there trembling as Mr. Solo rests his hand on the back of her knee. Rey squeezes her eyes shut and presses her quivering lips tight together. She struggles to correct her breathing—then she feels his fingertip tracing the sensitive edge of a welt.
Rey kicks away from him. She can hardly see as she twists on her back, sniffling and hiccuping, but she feels Mr. Solo grasp her ankle and pull her back to his lap. She struggles, whimpering, and he wraps an arm behind her shoulders, raising her up in the crook of his elbow. His other arm goes around her middle, embracing her against his chest.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he whispers. “Hm?” He kisses her on the mouth and lingers there, lips brushing hers when he speaks. “Where do you think you’re going, kitten? Did I dismiss you?”
She stares into Mr. Solo’s dark eyes and a peculiar sensation washes over her: dread, and… peace. Relief. There is, finally, no alternative choice. There is nowhere to flee. She is one word away from stability and safety and nary a difficult thought ever again. A cage, perhaps. But it’s a very lovely cage.

“I would do it all over again.” His warm hand pauses atop her head, thumb tracing the arch of her brow, dark eyes quite intent upon hers. “In the same manner, with the same outcome, in any lifetime—I would do the same irrational, cruel things to have you, my love.” Mr. Solo raises his eyebrows. “In this life or the next, and in every life that has come before—in whatever forms we may take—you will always be mine. Do you understand, Rey?”
“Whatever is left of me—it all belongs to you.”
What a pittance that is.'
''She wants to go home and crawl into bed with her mother and read a story, and she wants to trade glances with Snap Wexley from afar, and daydream about things that won’t come to pass for several more years. She wants a sweet husband who loves her within reason, not like this. Not this frightening, ominous black cloud, possessive and hungry and unyielding, blanketing out everything around it.''

