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“You’re my stepbrother,” she whispers.
“The only thing I am is the man who wants to know if you liked how hard my dick got for you.”
“Oz. We shouldn’t.”
“I don’t give a fuck what we should or shouldn’t do. I’m not your stepbrother, I’m just the estranged son of the man who married your mom. We didn’t grow up together, we’ve never felt, behaved, or acted like stepsiblings. We haven’t seen each other in fifteen years. We’re not doing anything wrong, Etta. So answer my question. Did you like it when I kissed you?” I growl, keeping my voice low so no one overhears me.
It takes her too long to answer, and when she does, her voice is barely more than a wisp of sound. “Yes.”
My lips curl into a half smile. “Did you like it when I held you in place so I could take whatever I wanted from you and all you could do was stand there and take it?”
When she swallows, my eyes are drawn to the movement, and my fingers tingle with the urge to hold her throat in my hand so I can feel her fear and anxiousness through my skin.
“Etta, answer me.”
“I…yes.”
“Did you like feeling how hard I was for you?”
She nods, and my dick twitches in my goddamn pants.
“Do you like that I want to take care of you?” I ask.
She nods again.
“Do you like being my good girl and doing what I tell you?”
Her eyelids flutter shut, and a soft whine falls from her parted lips.
“Etta.”
“I…”
“Tell me. Do you like being my good girl and following my rules?”
“Oh god,” she moans.
“Etta.” Her name is a demand for compliance, and she instantly obeys.
“Yes.”
“Perfect, you’re such a perfect good girl. But I need you to follow the rules while I’m not there. I want to know that you’re taking care of yourself when I’m not there to do it for you. So go make yourself a sandwich, and then send me a picture.”
“I shouldn’t?—”
“Yes, you should. I have no fucking clue what this is. It makes no damn sense to me, but what I do know is that telling you what to do and controlling your behavior has made my dick harder than it’s ever been. In three days, I’ll be home and we can explore what the fuck all of this means, but until then, I need you to be my good fucking girl and do what you’re told.”
“Oz, I don’t,” she starts.
“Don’t think, Etta, just see how it feels to do as I say. I think you like it just as much as I do. Now I have to go jerk off, then get back to work. Don’t forget to send me that picture.”
Her chin dips, and then she’s nodding, and a surge of relief rushes through me.
The rest of the day is a test of patience. She sends me a picture of a sandwich on a plate twenty minutes after we end our call, and every time I think about it, my dick twitches, threatening to harden again, just because she did what I told her to do.
By the time we’ve eaten dinner and the mess has been cleaned, Buck retreats to his office to catch up on paperwork while the rest of us settle down to watch a movie we’ve all seen a hundred times before.
Pulling out my cell, I open up my messaging app and smile as I stare at the picture of the fucking sandwich. Quickly typing out a new message, I hit send.
