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“By feeding me?”
I chuckled. “No, baby. By taking care of you because now, you’re mine.”
8
Ididn’t sleep at all after his revelation. Neither did he as we maintained our original positions—me in the bed with my eyes to the ceiling, him on the floor with his eyes on me. I also stopped asking questions, fearing the answers. Initially, I wondered what being “his” meant but quickly understood when, in the light of day, I saw he’d come with a suitcase.
As I sat at the foot of my bed that morning, I watched him dig inside the luggage and unearth a small toiletry bag. I observed him walk into my tiny bathroom, drop his pants and underwear, showcasing his ass as he stood at the toilet and relieved himself without closing the door. He turned slightly to the left as he redressed, and I fought not to look at him…it. It being his flaccid but impressive penis. Yeah, I saw it.
I saw it, and I think it saw me.
Next, he washed his hands and brushed his teeth. He was shirtless, and against my will, I took in his broad shoulders and muscular back. Although I was a big body Benz, just like my daddy and my sisters, I knew this man could snap me like a twig. Hell, he’d carried my dead weight up my stairs. The killer was beyond strong.
That made me shudder.
Done with his oral hygiene, he washed his face and moved to stand in the bathroom doorway to face me, giving me a generous view of the front of his body—the carved features of his face, his sculpted chest and stomach. This man was attractive in the extreme. I made myself look away.
“You hungry?” he asked, pulling my eyes back to him to see his legs spread apart, hands in the pockets of his pants.
I started to say no, but just then, my stomach rumbled loudly.
He grinned, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. “I’ll take that as a yes. I’ll order us some breakfast and you will eat it.”
Since it didn’t make sense to fight eating at this point, I simply nodded.
“Good girl,” he crooned.
Those words made me shudder again.
As he pulled his cell phone from his pocket, I asked, “Are you…you’re going to stay here? In my apartment? With me?”
He gave me a quizzical look before saying, “You’re mine. Where else would I stay?”
“I…”
“I don’t want to move you to my place yet. I think it’s too early.”
“Yet? So, I don’t get a say in any of this?!” I shrieked.
“No.” His voice was emotionless, deadpan, absolute.
“What?!” I screamed.
“Lilith, keep your voice down. You don’t want your employees to think something is wrong up here, do you?” He sounded so damn calm, which further set me off.
“Fuck them! I am a forty-something-year-old woman, and you’re telling me I’ve lost all control of my life because I witnessed—” I cut myself off when I saw his eyebrows shoot up, and his eyes…there was something in his eyes. Caution? Yes, his eyes definitely bore a disclaimer that read: you’re about to get fucked up.
He squatted in front of me, clasping his hands together, elbows on his knees. His voice was low, his words measured as he said, “That’s exactly what the fuck I’m saying. That is, if you want to live. You do want to live, right?”
“I do but…”
“Nah, no buts. You’re mine. You’re going to have to accept it. You. Are. Mine.”
“So…being yours means I don’t have autonomy over anything? I’m relegated to letting you take over my space? My life?”
“You forgot to mention your body. That’s mine, too.”
My eyes expanded, fighting against the swelling from all the fucking crying I’d been doing. “My body?! You’re going to…you think I’m… I ain’t fucking you! You just gon’ have to kill me because hell fucking no! Nein, nigga!”
