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“Etta?”
Wiggling out from beneath the bed, I roll up onto my knees and turn to look at him.
“What the hell are you doing under the bed?” he demands.
“Hiding. I heard the front door open, I didn’t realize it was you, so I hid, in case you were a home invader or something.”
His expression goes pensive for a minute, then he nods. “We should get you a dog.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
Stomping around the bed, he stops when he reaches me, and I look up, oddly aroused at the feeling of being on my knees at his feet.
“We’ll get you a dog, then you wouldn’t have to worry about being alone at night, the dog would be trained to protect you.”
“I can’t get a dog, and once I move in with Octy, I won’t be alone anymore,” I say, confused by this entire conversation and why he’s here, storming into my room at four in the morning.
“No,” he growls.
“No?” I ask, still on my knees at his feet while he looks down at me.
“You won’t be moving in with Octy.”
“What? Of course I’m moving in with Octy, that’s half the reason I took the job here.”
“And I’m telling you that won’t be happening. You’ll live here with me. But not in this room.” Bending down, he pushes his hands beneath my arms and lifts me off the ground like I weigh nothing.
“Oz, are you drunk?”
“Of course not,” he answers, urging me to wrap my legs around his waist before he turns and starts to carry me from the room.
“Then please explain what is happening right now,” I ask, obediently clinging to him while he walks onto the landing and then into the room beside the one I’ve been staying in.
“You’ll be sleeping in my bed from now on,” he declares, like it’s just that simple.
“Why? Where are you going to sleep?”
“We’ll be sleeping in here together,” he says, turning and closing the door behind us. Holding my weight with one arm, he pulls back the comforter with the other, then lowers me down onto the bed.
“And if I don’t want to sleep in here with you?” I ask meekly, releasing my hold on him but not trying to move from where he put me.
Kicking off his shoes, he rips off his hoodie and unfastens his pants, letting them slide to the floor. In just his boxers, it’s impossible to ignore the fact that his dick is hard, tenting the fabric as it points right at me. Instead of moving to the other side of the bed, he climbs in beside me, forcing me to shuffle across the mattress to give him space. For half a second, I consider climbing right back out the other side of the bed, but Oz reaches for me and cups my chin. Half of his hand covers my throat, his fingers gripping my cheeks tightly in a territorial way. “But you do want to. You want to be my good girl, don’t you, Etta?”
My body goes liquid, and heat fills my core. Why do I react that way to just two simple words?
“No,” I whisper.
“Don’t lie to me, Etta. Tell me the truth. What do you want?”
I shake my head, unwilling to admit to anything. This is crazy. It’s wrong. But I’m still here. I’m not trying to free myself of his hold, I’m sitting in his bed with only his hand keeping me restrained. I let him carry me from my room into here. I let him order me about, and I’ve obeyed him without thought. I’m not a prisoner, or at least not one that’s being forced to stay. But I’m still here, and why is that? Am I still here because my body and soul came alight when he touched me, cared for me, and kissed me? Am I still here because when he praised me, it changed something inside of me, and since then, my thoughts and dreams have been consumed with hearing those two words again?
“Tell me what you want,” he whispers roughly, the sound going straight to my clit and making it pulse with excitement.
“To be your good girl,” I admit, terrified of the power I just gave to the boy who terrorized three years of my childhood.
“But you haven’t been good, have you?” he drawls, lifting his free hand and stroking it over my hair. “Because good girls follow the rules.”
When I open my mouth to speak, his grip on my face tightens, silencing me.
