Page 46 of Merciless Daddy

Sal’s hand slid under its hem.

His palm met bare skin.

Everything stopped.

Not him. Me.

The office vanished. The desk vanished. There was only a hand under my clothes, a man larger than me, the sudden fact of being held where I could not see the door.

Fear came fast and ugly.

I jerked away.

Sal let go before I had completed the movement.

He stepped back. One pace. Two. Three.

His chest rose under the dark shirt. His mouth was swollen. Blood had seeped through the closure on his cheek again, a thin bright line down toward his jaw. His hands had curled into fists at his sides, but they remained there.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

The apology made anger flare through the panic.

“Don’t fucking apologize.”

“I’m not apologizing for wanting you.”

“Then what?”

“For not stopping sooner.”

“I didn’t ask you to stop.”

“No.” His voice dropped. “But you pulled away.”

I looked at the blood on his cheek because I could not look at his face.

“This cannot happen again like this,” he said.

I laughed, breathless and mean. “You sound very sure of yourself.”

“I am sure of one thing.” He swallowed. “You were taken from a road twelve hours ago. Your brother is still in danger. You are angry with me, frightened of me, dependent on my resources, and attracted to me. I want you too badly to pretend those things don’t matter.”

The room felt cold without his hands on me.

“Next time,” he said, “we know the rules. We know what you want. We know you can stop it without wondering what it costs you.”

“There will be no next time.”

His gaze held mine.

“No,” he said quietly. “There won’t. Not unless you choose it.”

I hated that answer more than anything.

I turned before he could see my legs shaking. I made it to the office door with my hand on the frame, then looked back once.

Sal stood exactly where he had stepped away to. Blood on his cheek. Tie crooked. Dark eyes following me but not calling me back.