"Doubt is a pain too lonely to know that its brother is called Certainty."

Khalil Gibran

Veronica

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee, rich and complex, drifted through the air, a welcome change from the bland, institutional brew of most hotels. I opened my eyes to the soft glow of morning light filtering through the curtains, the anxieties of the previous night momentarily receding. Daisy, nestled beside me, stretched and yawned, her tiny pink tongue peeking out. I smiled, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly.

I slipped out of bed and followed the enticing scent downstairs, finding Saint in the kitchen, humming softly as he cooked. He was dressed casually, hair tousled, a smile playing on his lips as he flipped pancakes. He looked…domestic. And incredibly sexy. The sight of him, so relaxed and at ease, chased away the lingering shadows of fear that had clung to me since the night before.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "Hope you like pancakes."

"I do," I replied, my voice still a little husky with sleep. "What time is it?"

"Almost eight," he said, placing a plate piled high with pancakes in front of me. "Marcus already left for work. He said to tell you he'll be back late tonight."

I nodded, taking a bite of pancake. They were delicious, light and fluffy, with just the right amount of sweetness. "These are amazing," I said, my mouth full. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"

He chuckled. "Years of living on my own," he said. "You pick up a few things." He sat down opposite me, a cup of coffee in his hand. We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sound the clinking of forks and Daisy purring contentedly at my feet.

"So," Saint said finally, leaning back in his chair, "how are you feeling this morning? After everything last night…"

I met his gaze, appreciating his concern. "Better," I admitted. "Being here with you… it helps."

He nodded, his expression serious. "I know. And we're going to figure out who it is. But for now, I want to try and understand the full picture. Tell me about the men you've dated, Veronica. Anyone who might have reason to… well, to do something like this."

I hesitated, my fork hovering over my plate. "You mean… like ex-boyfriends?"

"Ex-boyfriends, past relationships, anyone you've been with who might have become…fixated," he clarified, his gaze steady.

"There haven't been that many," I said softly, feeling a blush creep up my neck.

"That's alright," he said gently. "Just tell me about them. Anything you can remember that might be helpful."

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "Well, there's Luke…" I began, "He's a movie producer. We dated for about three months. It was a mutual split, just didn't work out." I continued, "Then there was Jack," I continued, "We dated for a few months. It was right after he came out – he was a rising star at the time, and I even had a small role in his movie. We split amicably, though, a year or so ago. Publicity was crazy for a while, but we handled it well." I paused, thinking. "Oh, and Thomas. We were together for about a year, but he was a musician, always on tour, and I was constantly traveling for work. It just wasn't sustainable. We broke up, but it was mutual, no hard feelings."

Saint listened intently, asking clarifying questions, his expression thoughtful. "And before Thomas?" he asked, his voice casual, but I could sense the underlying intensity.

My smile faltered. "That's… a long time ago," I said, my voice tight. "I was…nineteen."

His eyes met mine, and I could see the questions swirling in their depths. "Tell me about him," he pressed, his voice low and insistent.

A wave of unease washed over me. I didn't want to go there, back to that time, that place. It was a chapter of my life I had tried to bury deep, a memory that still had the power to make my heart ache.

"It's not important," I said, my voice barely a whisper. I stood up abruptly, grabbing our empty plates. "I should probably clear these…"

He reached across the table and took my hand, his grip surprisingly strong. "Veronica," he said, his voice low and commanding, "I need to know. Every detail. It might be the key to all of this."

I pulled my hand away, my heart pounding. "It's none of your business," I snapped, the words coming out harsher than I intended.

His expression hardened. "It *is* my business," he said, his voice laced with a possessive edge that sent a shiver down my spine. "Everything about you is my business now."

He stood up, towering over me, his eyes burning with an intensity that both frightened and thrilled me. Before I could protest, he pulled me into his arms, his lips crashing down on mine in a kiss that was rough, demanding, possessive. It was a stark contrast to the gentle kisses we had shared before, this one filled with a raw hunger, a primal need.

I gasped, my breath catching in my throat. He deepened the kiss, his hands gripping my waist, pulling me closer until our bodies were pressed together. I could feel the heat radiating from him, the strength in his arms, the unspoken message in his eyes: *You're mine.*

My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for the feeling of his body against mine. His hands moved down my back, urging me against the cool countertop. I arched into him, the friction sending a jolt of desire through me. He groaned, his lips leaving mine to trail kisses down my neck, his teeth nipping lightly at my skin.

"Tell me," he growled against my throat, his voice husky with desire. "Tell me about him."

"No," I breathed, my voice shaky. "I don't want to."

He pulled back, his eyes searching mine. "Why not?"

"Because…" I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. "Because it hurts."

He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs stroking my cheeks. "I know it does," he said softly. "But I need to know, Veronica. To understand."

I closed my eyes, tears pricking my eyelids. "I can't," I whispered.

He sighed, his breath warm against my skin. "Then let me distract you," he murmured, his lips finding mine again.

This time, the kiss was slower, more tender, but no less passionate. He tasted of coffee and desire, and I couldn't get enough. His hands moved restlessly over my body, pulling at my clothes, urging me to shed them. I helped him, my fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers, eager to feel his skin against mine.

Soon, we were both naked, our bodies entwined on the cold kitchen floor. His hands were everywhere, exploring every inch of me, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I arched into his touch, my nails digging into his back, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Saint," I moaned, my voice thick with desire.

"Mine," he growled, his lips finding mine again. "You're mine, Veronica."

He entered me then, hard and fast, and I cried out, a mixture of pain and pleasure. He moved within me, his rhythm relentless, his possession complete. I clung to him, my body moving with his, our breaths mingling in the air.

"Saint," I cried again, my voice lost in the whirlwind of our passion.

He thrust deeper, harder, his grip tightening on my hips. "Say it," he commanded, his voice rough. "Say you're mine."

"Yours," I gasped, my voice barely a whisper. "I'm yours."

He groaned, his body shuddering as he released within me. I followed soon after, my body wracked with waves of pleasure.

We lay there for a long time, our bodies still entwined, our breaths slowly returning to normal. The sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow on our nakedness. I looked up at Saint, his face softened with satisfaction, his eyes filled with a possessiveness that both terrified and thrilled me.

"Mine," he murmured again, his lips brushing against my forehead.

I closed my eyes, a shiver running down my spine. I was his. Completely and utterly his. And in that moment, I couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else.