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EMMIE
Iroll over, pulling the warm covers with me, but I startle awake when my arm hits something cold.
Undiluted fear flows through my veins, my brain putting me back in that prison cell despite the warmth that surrounds me.
“Oh my God,” I hiss, silently chastising myself for being so pathetic.
You’re safe. You’re home.
Grabbing my phone, the culprit for my rude awakening, I find a stream of messages from Theo and I’m instantly reminded of our conversation.
For hours I told myself that it was enough that Calli had reached out for me and told me that he was okay.
But in the end, my concern, plus my guilt over the whole situation got the better of me, and I turned on my old phone, my eyes widening at the sheer number of messages and voicemails he’d left me when I ran from the New Year’s party.
I didn’t read them.
Okay, that’s a lie.
I only read the last few that were visible on my screen when I opened our previous conversation.
My heart thundered in my chest and my hand shook as Theo’s voice rang out loud and clear in my head as I read his words.
‘You’re mine, Emmie. You can run, you can hide, but eventually, I will find you, and I will show you exactly where you belong.’
It was a threat, or at least I think it should have been, but nothing about his words scared me. I wasn’t sure if that was because what I’d been through in the previous twenty-four hours was way more terrifying than anything Theodore Cirillo could do to me, or if I was just missing the thrill.
Our short time together in the classroom at Knight’s Ridge feels like it was a million years ago now. And after watching him walk away from me, giving me the same treatment that I gave him multiple times before, I can’t help but secretly crave him.
I always have wanted what I can’t have.
Opening the chat, I read through the messages I missed.
His Lordship: What are your plans for the week?
His Lordship: Did you remember you hate me?
His Lordship: I’ll take that as yes. That or you're too busy getting yourself off as you imagine me lying here in my bed with my cock begging for you…
All the air rushes from my lungs as I re-read that message.
He’s lying.
He has to be lying. Right?
I bite down on my bottom lip as I picture him in the middle of his black bedroom, his muscular body stretched out on the giant bed and his fingers wrapped around his length.
Heat surges through me, liquid lust filling my veins and a throb I really don’t need to be distracted by starting up in my clit.
His Lordship: I’m not getting myself off. I want your hand, not mine. I want your body, not the cold sheets surrounding me. I want your wicked, filthy mouth telling me that I’m not good enough, that I don’t deserve you.
My heart races as I take in every bit of his vulnerability within those words.
His Lordship: Everything you’ve said about me is true. But you’re changing me. You have changed me. I want to be better. For you. Only for you. Always for you. My wife.
My eyes are so wide I swear they’re about to pop out.
I kick the covers off me as my body burns up and disbelief washes through me.
