[Her chest feels wobbly already, when she's suddenly flipped ass up it feels like all of her insides go flipping around too. She yelps, clinging onto the bed to steady her swimming brain.

And there is Gideon, grinning down at her from between her thighs, still saying possessive filthy things. No longer pressed together, Harrow feels even more filthy herself, her hair bedraggled and her face surely smeared to shit. Of course Gideon would love that, the psycho.]

As if I'd ever let anyone else even try.

[To win against her, to get her naked, to own her in remotely half the way that Gideon does, take your pick.]