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She doesn’t startle when she sees me watching her, and there’s an apology in her eyes she’ll never let escape her lips as she drops the keys back on the table near the door.
“I’ll chase you if you run,” I remind her instead of asking her if she needs somewhere to go.
Her eyes find mine, but there isn’t a glint of challenge in them.
Today may be the worst of them all.
“I’m bored,” she mutters. “I need to work.”
“Home Depot is hiring.”
She scoffs. “I’m not working at fucking Home Depot.”
“And you aren’t going back to what you were doing.”
She runs her hands over her head before pressing her fingers into her eyes as if she’s in pain.
“It’s fucking dangerous out there, Lauren.”
“It’s fucking dangerous in here, Angel.”
For a split second I think she means inside my house, but realization dawns on me that she means inside her head before I can argue that I’ll protect her at any cost.
We get rough when we fuck. We both enjoy it, but she has to know by now that there’s no real danger where I’m concerned… unless she runs.
“I have to work,” she repeats.
“You don’t.”
Those two words encompass everything. I’ll take care of any fucking need she has, but I’m not fool enough to think she’s referencing money.
“What about you?” she growls. “Are you going to stop working?”
“Not a fucking chance,” I say before I can really think about her question.
“You don’t need to work,” she argues. “I bet you have more than enough money to last this lifetime.”
I clamp my mouth closed.
“Money isn’t the issue. I’m not going to stop working.”
She’s somehow managed to turn this back on me, and I fucking hate the way it makes me feel.
“It’s dangerous,” she snaps.
“I can handle myself.” I step closer to her, but she doesn’t inch back.
It becomes very clear we aren’t playing one of our games, but that doesn’t keep me from picturing how I’ll get her to change her fucking mind. It’s instinctual to get the upper hand on her.
“If I’m meant to stay, if I’m meant to beowned, I can’t risk losing that.”
Her words make me freeze.
She’s giving me an ultimatum, telling me exactly what she needs to agree to what I’ve insisted on.
I expect her sacrifice, but she expects mine in return.
“Do you really want me here twenty-four-seven?” The question carries an edge of menace because it’s taking all I have not to fuck her right here.
