You should be able to find hate. You should be able to hate him, but no matter how much you’ve tried, you can’t. He took your people in as slaves, taking you to be grand wife.

“You should hate me,” he purred, brushing your hair behind your ear before letting his hand drift to the small of your back.

“But you don’t. I know you don’t.” His thumbs stroked your lower back. “And it makes me the luckiest bastard in existence that you can’t push yourself to hate me.”