Chapter 77
Chapter 77:
He didn’t pull away. He lingered, his tongue soothing the sting, before slowly lifting his head. His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the gold.
“You belong to me, Adella,” he whispered, his hands rising to cup my face, his thumbs tracing my cheekbones. “Everywhere. In that room. In this bathroom. Out there in the world p>
“Dallas p>
“Say it,” he commanded softly. “Tell me it was a lie p>
𝗧𝘩е b𝘦s𝘵 𝗋𝘦𝖺d𝗂𝗻g 𝘦𝘹p𝗲𝘳𝗶𝘦ո𝘤𝗲 𝗼𝗇 ѕ.c𝗼𝗆
I couldn’t. Because when I had said it — looking at Braydon’s defeated face — I had felt safe. For the first time in my life, I had felt genuinely protected.
“It didn’t feel like a lie,” I admitted, my voice barely audible.
A dark satisfaction flashed in his eyes. He leaned in, closing the distance until his lips brushed against mine — a feather-light touch that promised devastation.
“Good p>
Then he kissed me. It wasn’t a tentative exploration — it was a claiming. His mouth devoured mine, hot and demanding, tasting of power and possession. I should have pushed him away. I should have cited Clause Seven. Instead, I melted into him, my fingers tangling in his hair, my body betraying every wall I had ever built as it sought the heat of his.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathless. He rested his forehead against mine, his thumbs brushing over my lips.
“Let’s go home, Adella p>
I looked at him, dazed and trembling, and nodded.
“Home,” I repeated.
Not the penthouse. Not the temporary accommodation listed in our agreement.
Home.
The grey cashmere jogger set Dallas had produced from somewhere was softer than anything I had ever owned — a warm cloud against my skin, a stark contrast to the stiff hospital gown I had just discarded. But as I pulled the matching sweater over my head, the scent clinging to the fabric wasn’t just expensive wool. It was him. Cedar, rain, and that underlying note of raw, masculine power that seemed to permeate everything he touched.
I stepped out of the bathroom feeling small, but strangely armored. Dallas was waiting by the door, his massive frame filling the space. He had shrugged on a dark jacket that strained across his shoulders, concealing the lethal power of his muscles but doing nothing to dampen his aura.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in my chest.
I nodded, unable to find my voice. He didn’t ask for permission — he simply placed a large, warm hand on the small of my back and guided me out of the suite.
The walk to the private elevator was a blur of deference. Every nurse, every passing Pack member, stopped dead in their tracks and lowered their heads, baring their necks in submission as we passed. They weren’t bowing to a CEO. They were bowing to a King — and by extension, to me.
The sensation was dizzying. For twenty-four years I had been invisible — a wolfless defect to be pitied or ignored. Now, with Dallas’s hand branding me through the cashmere, I felt seen.