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Wetting my lips with my tongue, I look in the direction he disappeared. It’s going to take him at least thirty seconds to get there, grab the bottle, and come back. I only need a few seconds.
The internal battle eats me alive as I try to decide if I have enough time to grab his phone, unlock it, and dial 911. If I don’tdo it quickly enough, he’ll catch me and something tells me his punishment won’t be as forgiving as the last one. He left me smiling and so fucking happy. It’d crush him to come back and find me calling for help. The response time in this town is over five minutes. Even if I can get the phone and punch the numbers in, what will he do to me in less than five minutes? Kill me? Strangle me? Drag me outside and take me to a new location where he’ll torture me for days on end?
I shake my head, stopping myself.
I can’t. Not tonight, anyway. I need to continue building his trust and getting on his good side. The right time will come, but I know it’s not now.
“Does this need a bottle opener? I can’t find one,” Rhett calls a second before reappearing.
My heart sinks as I watch him. He looks so fucking happy. Like a golden retriever puppy doing everything he can to make me smile, even when he has no idea what he’s doing.
I force a smile to my face and swallow before saying, “It doesn’t need a corkscrew, no. It should just twist off.” Reaching my hand out, I give him grabby hands, encouraging him to hand me the bottle.
Scratching the back of his neck, I watch his brows furrow while he whispers, correcting himself, “Corkscrew.”
Rhett crosses the room, placing the bottle in my hand before sitting back down at the table. He pushes his empty glass toward me, clinking it with my own.
“You want more, too?” I ask, meeting his eyes while twisting the metal top off the bottle.
I don’t hesitate to fill his glass and push it back to him, giving him lust-filled eyes. Pouring myself another glass of liquid courage, I pull it to my lips, swallowing back a heaping mouthful of the sweet liquid. It coats my tongue, spreading across itbefore I drink it down. A soft moan escapes my lips as I feel it slide down my throat.
His hand moves to his pants, and even though I can’t see it, I can tell that he’s adjusting himself beneath the table.
“Fuck,” he breathes before bringing the wine glass to his lips, guzzling it down like it’s beer. “You’re trouble.”
Biting my bottom lip between my teeth, I give him a sweet smile before taking another long, slow drink, draining my wine glass. I set it down on the table in front of me, then pour us each another glass.
My voice is low and throaty as I meet his eyes. “Nothing but trouble.”
Chapter Eight
RHETT
Iwatch her. I can’t help myself. Every move she makes is deliberate and calculated. She had the perfect opportunity to grab my phone. She looked at it. Hell, I saw her eyeing it like it was her way out, like salvation was just an arm’s length away.
But my girl didn’t take it.
Maybe she didn’t think she could get the code right in time, or maybe it was fear. But then again, Cara’s not as afraid as she pretends to be. I know she likes this. Behind the face she puts on, she’s enjoying this.
Punishment, pleasure… she can’t tell the difference anymore. That’s the part of her I’ve unlocked, the part I’ve been slowly molding. She’s mine in more ways than she’s willing to admit.
She will. My little nightmare will be completely mine soon enough.
I pretend to focus on the cards in my hand, but my mind is elsewhere. Why didn’t she run? A good girl like her, a smart one, should have at least tried. But Cara didn’t. Maybe she’s too scared of what would happen if she got caught. After all, last time… well, let’s just say I know she enjoyed every second of it.Her screams, her whimpers, the way her body gave in despite the fear…
My cock is getting hard just thinking about it.
I smile to myself, taking another sip of wine. “You had your chance, didn’t you?” I murmur under my breath.
She glances up from her cards. “Hmm?”
“Nothing,” I say with a smirk, taking another sip.
But I know she knows. Cara’s smart. She’s been playing this game, too. Testing the boundaries, seeing how far she can go without tipping me over the edge. It’s a delicate balance we’re dancing on, but I’ve got the upper hand. Always.
The sound of her friends’ messages going off in the group chat pulls me back to the present. It’s constant now—Friendsgiving, plans, excitement. They think she’s just holed up with a cold, waiting to get better, but it won’t be long before they start asking questions. Friendsgiving is apparently her thing. She goes every year according to her friends, and that’s why I’ve already made arrangements for this year that will make sure her friends suspect nothing out of the ordinary.
My girl is hosting Friendsgiving this year.
