“Do you want an award?”
I’m pretty sure I’m breaking the skin on my palms.
The stinging pain is almost welcome.
“No, asshole.
I don’t want an award.
I want a little respect.
I wasn’t raised with money.
There were years when my clothes for school all came from Goodwill, and even then, Mom had to save up while she went to work in shoes with holes in the bottoms.
So you can fuck yourself with this princess bullshit.”
I can’t even believe he needs to think about this.
If I were him, I’d be apologizing right now.
Maybe even on my hands and knees.
But no, he’s going to stand there, looking me up and down, with his lips pursed tight like he’s actually thinking it over.
Like this is up for debate or something.
“Fine.
No more princess bullshit.”
Wow.
I’m almost too surprised to speak.
“But the way you talk to me still makes it sound like I’m a big joke to you.
Do you think that could change, too?”
I should have known better.
“Don’t push your luck, kid.”
“You and my father can go to hell.”
All of a sudden, he’s maybe two inches away from me, lowering his head until his face is almost touching mine.
“Now that, I’m not going to let slide.
You can call me whatever you want; you can curse me out until your face turns blue.
Go ahead.
But you’re not going to disrespect him.”
“Are you for real?
Do you have a crush on him?
He’s not here.
He’s not going to give you a Milk-Bone for being such a good boy.”
“How ungrateful can you be?”
he snarls.
“He did all of this for you.
He got you into this school.
He got you this place to live in.
Do you know how many people your age would kill to be in your shoes?”
“Oh, right.
Except they have to be okay with being shadowed everywhere they go, right?
Having every single move they make watched and reported on.
Yeah, I’m sure they would be totally okay with that.”
I wish he wasn’t close enough to feel his warmth seeping into my skin.
I don’t know if I want to kill him or bury my face in his neck and inhale his scent.
Jesus, what is he doing to me?
Why can’t I get him out of my system?
I know he doesn’t want me.
I know he thinks I’m a pathetic joke.
Why would I still want him?
For one long, breathless moment, there’s nothing but the two of us staring into each other’s eyes.
Daring each other.
Seeing who will make the next move.
My nerves are buzzing, my brain is humming.
There’s nothing in the world but him and me, and the sound of blood rushing in my ears.
I can’t help but think we’re on the edge of something.
If only I knew what was going through his head.
His eyes dart away from mine, grazing my lips before darting up again.
“You’re right.
Every move you make is going to be watched and reported.
So you should keep that in mind going forward-otherwise, something tells me things could get a lot worse for you.”
An icy shiver runs down my spine.
It’s not so much what he said but how he said it.
“What do you know?”
“Know?”
“You made it sound like you know something I don’t.”
He blinks rapidly, and not for the first time do I notice how unfair it is that his eyelashes are so thick and dark.
I’d kill for lashes like his.
“You shouldn’t read so much into everything.”
He stands up straighter again, clearing his throat before backing away.
“I’m making spaghetti.
I’ve put in enough effort today.”
That’s fine.
He can cook for me if he wants to.
If he thinks I’m a spoiled brat, maybe I should really start acting like one.
I can make him wish he had never treated me like this.
“Let me know when it’s finished.
I’ll eat in here.”
I slam the door between us, then finally slump forward with my hands on my knees as I try to catch my breath.
My heart’s pounding, my head’s spinning, and my nipples are tight enough to make me wince.
I’m so wet I can feel it spreading past my lips and soaking into my panties.
I have to.
I’ll die if I don’t.
My hand slips under the waistband of my shorts and inside my panties.
I find my clit and bite my lip against a groan of relief-but the relief doesn’t last long.
My fingers move in a familiar, circular motion over the bundle of nerves, my breathing picking up, my body tensing.
What if he grabbed me instead of walking away?
What if he threw me on the bed and did what we couldn’t do back at home?
I would be totally at his mercy.
And I’d love it.
My body tenses, eyes squeezed tight.
My free hand rubs my tits before I pinch my nipples, moving back and forth.
But it’s not my fingers.
It’s his lips, pulling and sucking, his tongue lapping at the very tip.
Filthy images flash across my mind.
Fantasies.
His body pinning me to the bed, his hands all over me.
Moving inside me.
Taking me.
Fucking me until I scream his name-
“Zeke.”
It’s a whisper, barely a breath.
My head falls back, and my body goes rigid a heartbeat before the wave crashes, and I lean against the door, spasming until my legs shake.
So good.
My eyes open, and the sight of my own reflection is the first thing I see.
I’m flushed, trembling with a hand down my shorts and another cupping my tit.
I don’t know if I should feel embarrassed or sorry for myself.
Is this what the entire year will be like?
Because this is the first day, and already, I don’t think I can take it anymore.
And I don’t know how much longer getting myself off will be enough to get by.
Chapter 5: Zeke
5
ZEKE
She meant it about eating in her room.
She came out just long enough to fix a plate of spaghetti and sauce, then marched down the hall and slammed the door again.
I would’ve pointed out her father won’t like having to pay for a new door this soon, but I didn’t feel like having my head cut off.
What the fuck am I supposed to do with her?
We haven’t been here for two hours, and already, the tension is enough to break the walls.
She has no idea how close I came to throwing her over my knee and spanking the shit out of her for being such a little brat.
Talking to me like she did, making it sound like I’m her father’s errand boy.
A lapdog?
The little tease is lucky I have self-control, or else she wouldn’t be able to sit for days by the time I finished with her ass.
She has no idea who she’s dealing with.
I told myself from the beginning she would never know.
The past is the past and all that.
I did what I had to do.
Looking after her might be boring, but it’s a reprieve from all the blood I used to get on my hands.
She’s dancing on my last nerve.
I’ll be lucky if I don’t lose it by the end of this first week.
I take my time cleaning up, figuring the simple, repetitive act of rinsing dishes and pots, and putting them in the brand-new dishwasher will soothe my anger, but that’s not even close to the case.
By the time the last of the dishes are in the dishwasher-aside from hers, still in her room-I’m as pissed off as ever.
It’s not enough that I know she’s wrong.
I want her to know it, too.
I want to break her, to stare into her eyes and see fear and understanding.
I want her to apologize for ever underestimating me.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.