A beat of silence passes. Then, quieter and less patient, “Don’t push me, Nora.”
I let out a small, disbelieving laugh, turning back to face him. “Or what?” I should stop goading him. But jealousy is a living, breathing fire, and it’s blinding my thoughts.
His eyes darken slightly, his posture shifting just enough to make the air between us feel tighter. “Or I’ll find another way to get you to talk.”
The words send a small, unexpected shiver down my spine. Heat blooms low in my belly in response. But instead of backing down, something in me pushes forward. Maybe it’s the frustration. Maybe it’s the confusion. Or maybe it’s everything I don’t understand about what I’m feeling.
“Maybe I don’t want to talk,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
His gaze locks onto mine, unyielding. “Then you need a good spanking.”
Something snaps.
“I didn’t like it, okay?” I burst out, the words coming fast before I can stop them. “I didn’t like her standing there, laughing like that, acting like…like she had a chance with you. And you just sat there, letting her do it.”
The room goes quiet instantly. His expression doesn’t change. But something shifts behind his eyes.
“You think I asked for that, that I liked that?” he asks slowly.
“I think you didn’t stop it,” I shoot back.
“I didn’t engage with her.”
“You didn’t shut it down either.”
His jaw tightens slightly. “I walked away.”
“After ten minutes,” I counter.
Silence stretches between us again, heavier now, loaded with tension and heightened need.
“Is that what this is?” he asks finally, his voice lower now, more level. “You’re upset because another woman talked to me?”
“It’s not just that,” I insist, though I’m not even sure what else it is. “It’s the way she looked at you. The way she acted like she could just…just hold your attention like it didn’t matter.”
“And it does?” he presses.
“Yes,” I say immediately.
The word hangs in the air between us, undeniable.
His gaze sharpens. “Why?”
I hesitate. Because I don’t have a clean answer. Because everything I’m feeling is messy and confusing and too big for something that started just days ago. But the words come anyway.
“Because you haven’t made me yours,” I say, my voice quieter now but no less firm.
Something dark flashes in his expression.
“Not fully,” I add, swallowing slightly as my heart starts to race. “So how am I supposed to act like I have any right to feel this way when technically…I don’t?”
He takes a step closer. Slow. Deliberate.
“And you think that’s the problem?” he asks.
Another step. Closer now.
“What would you have done,” I continue, my voice shaking just slightly, despite my attempt to stay steady, “if it was the other way around? If some guy was standing too close to me, talking like that, laughing like he knew me, like he had a chance?”
