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“You okay?” Camile asks again.
She clearly hasn’t heard anything. I’m overthinking things, my ears straining for unusual sounds, reading things into nothing. I’m paranoid, understandably.
I shiver. “Yeah, just getting a bit cold.”
“Let’s go inside. I could murder a cheeseburger.”
She catches my expression and winces.
“Sorry,” she says. “Bad choice of words.”
I laugh and loop my arm through hers. “Let’s go eat.”
Chapter 20
Mackenzie
I wake with a start, my heart racing.
After I’d grabbed a burger with Camile, I’d decided to get an early night. Rest is important to my health, and I haven’t been sleeping so well lately, though that’s hardly a surprise.
It’s dark in my room, and I half-sit, seeking out my phone and the time displayed on the screen.
It’s one-thirty in the morning. Why am I awake? Have I had a bad dream? From the way my pulse thunders in my ears, and a sweat has broken out across my forehead, it might have been that, but some instinct tells me otherwise.
From behind me, in the direction of the door, comes the faint rasp of someone breathing.
I’m not alone.
I freeze, my brain spinning in a million different directions. My first thought is to grab something to use as a weapon. The second is to run. The third is to open my mouth and scream.
I go with the third and draw a huge lungful of air into my chest, ready to expel it at full volume. Movement comes from behind me, and a hand clamps over my lips, preventing me from doing so.
“Don’t scream,” a male voice says, low and threatening. “It’s me.”
I wrench off his hand. “Fuck, Dom. You scared the fucking life out of me. What the hell are you doing in here?”
I reach out to the small lamp on my nightstand and tap the base once so it gives off a faint warm glow rather than brightening the entire room.
“Watching you sleep,” he says, matter of fact, as though there’s nothing strange about that at all.
“Well, don’t,” I bite back. “It’s creepy.”
“No, it’s not. I’m making sure you’re safe.”
“I was fine until I woke up to find you in my room with me. Jesus.” I throw myself back down in a huff and yank the blankets up to my shoulders. “You need to leave. Now.”
“That’s not how this works, Duchess. If I say I want to watch you sleep, then that’s what happens, but you’re going to sleep with me inside you.”
“What?” I’m sure I’ve misheard him.
“My cock, or my fingers. It’s your choice. But either way, I’m going to be inside you.”
“I can’t sleep like that.”
“You can sleep with my fingers inside you. Trust me.”
Why does it sound as though he’s talking from experience? Has he done this with another girl? Or has he touched me in my sleep before? I remember finding a pair of panties on my pillow that appeared to be crusted with cum. I’d been suspicious at the time, but now my suspicions have been confirmed. He had been in my room that night.
