All he wanted to do was to break you. Shatter you into pieces, and then arrange those pieces to fit against his own. He didn’t care if they didn’t or wouldn’t fit—he’d make them fit.

You were his, and he wasn’t afraid to show you that. Even now as you decided to hate him for his possessive and psychotic ways.

He crouched down to the level you were in, smoke emitting from his lips as he looked over certain spots of your bound figure…

“Your hatred has and always will taste like heaven, sweetheart. If I have to spend the rest of my life reminding you who the hell you belong to, then I will gladly use my mouth for more than just begging for your forgiveness.”