I felt some primal desire burning inside of me. A craving to reclaim her; to mark her as mine so no other man could ever touch her again. Nothing about the entire fucked-upped ordeal was Bella’s fault. However, hearing her talk earlier today, recounting the things that James Reynolds had said to her and how she felt when he had touched her hair, unleashed some overwhelming need for me to prove to myself that she was still mine. I still, to a certain degree, felt responsible for those things happening because she was taken on my watch. Theoretically, I knew that nothing had changed between us; we had hardly left each other’s sides. Crazy or not, I needed that physical proof. I needed to reconnect with her in every possible way, especially in the most intimate way. I had to know that we still had that same connection between us and no one or nothing could ever take that away. I broke the heated kissed we were engaged in and rolled away from her, onto my back. I was getting inside my own head too much and I was becoming too aggressive with her.
Breathing heavily and hardly able to get the words out, she asked, “Edward what’s wrong?” She rolled from her back onto her side so she was facing me. Hitching her leg over mine, she ran her fingers through the smattering of hair on my chest, making small circles back and forth, grazing my nipples in the process.
Her touch was like hot coals on my skin. Burning and surging through me, shooting straight to my already raging arousal and doing nothing to help me control the powerful urges I was feeling. Her touch had branded me and marked me hers a long time ago. She was it for me. No other woman had ever come close to making me feel the way she did and I was certain no one else ever could. Nor would I ever want them to.
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