I eat the damn yogurt, the eggs too. Because there was something in his eye when he made that threat that made me think it was more of a promise than anything else.
And he doesn’t let me off with just a few mouthfuls. No. He makes me eat every single piece and each time I drop my fork to say I’ve had enough, that damn eyebrow shoots up and I know if I don’t pick it right back up again, I’ll be in a world of trouble.
Trouble that I hate to admit I wouldn’t mind being in. Because the threat of being tied up by Tommy makes my core ache in a way it hasn’t in a very long time.
I stopped dating in my senior year of college. Not really because I wanted to, but every time things moved past over-the-clothes petting, I was faced with questioning glances and answers I couldn’t give. So I stopped. It was easier that way, and after a while, I figured out how to take care of myself. Nothing a man can do that a vibrator can’t.
But Tommy’s different. It’s not a matter of being able to take myself into my bedroom and have an orgasm or two because afterward, I’m still left wanting. Not that I’ll ever admit that to him.
“Get dressed,” he says as soon as the last piece of egg leaves my plate.
He picks up the dishes and moves to the kitchen like he’s done it a thousand times. The whole thing seems too domestic for him. Like, surely serial killers have people to do things like the dishes for them…right?
“I was actually planning on staying in today.”
His eyes flick up to meet mine and it takes my breath away. The deep pools burn bright with frustration. Why in the world am I arguing with someone who could end my life before I could even take my next breath.
“I don’t care what you were planning on, Clara. We’re going out and there’s no way in hell I’m leaving you alone until I know how much of a threat the guy on the phone is.”
His tone leaves no room for argument, but I don’t move. I remain rooted in my seat because if I allow him to start calling the shots now, I’ll just be in the same position I was as a teenager, and that’s the last thing I want. I’ve worked hard to be the strong independent woman I am now, and I refuse to give that up just because Tommy snaps his fingers.
“Fawn,” he warns.
I cross my arms across my chest and lean back in my seat defiantly. Again, perhaps not my best move while looking a killer in the eyes, but hey, my father is back in my life and I’m way more afraid of him than I am of Tommy, so what’s the harm?
He lets out a frustrated breath and strides toward me, eating up the distance in a matter of seconds. Before I can think to hold on to anything, he plucks me out of my seat and throws me over his shoulder unceremoniously. His palm comes down in a deafening crack on my ass, the sound startling me long before the searing pain shoots through my nerve endings.
“What the hell,” I screech.
The next slap is harder than the first and it tears a scream from my chest. “I told you that you wouldn’t like the consequences of disobeying me, Clara. I’m not a patient man, I’m not sure what about our previous interactions has given you that impression, but it’s simply not the case, and if the only way to get you to do what you’re told is to spank your ass, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“This is assault.” I’m grasping at straws, but technically it’s the truth, even if pointing out to the criminal that he’s committing a crime is completely redundant.
He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. All there is is darkness and it settles in my aching core and makes me throb with need. Goddamn you, traitorous body.
“I can smell how bad you want me, fawn. If I slipped my fingers between your pretty pussy lips, you’d be soaking for me, so how about we cut the shit and you do as you’re told like a good girl?”
I hit his back over and over again while my legs flail as much as he’ll allow, with his arm holding the backs of my thighs. If he thinks I’m going to take what he says lying down, he has another think coming.
He flinches with each fist that connects with him, and that makes me pause momentarily. I’m not hurting him. That much, I’m sure of. He’s a fighter, a killer, a warrior of sorts, so even if I put every ounce of strength behind a punch, it should do little more than irritate him, which makes his reaction totally out of place.
By the time we make it to the bedroom, the tension in his body is palpable and his grip on the backs of my legs borders on pain, and yet I’m not afraid. I should be. Fuck, I should be terrified. I should be fighting with everything I am to escape a man who could end me before my next breath fills my lungs, but the reality is, I don’t want to.
He throws me onto the end of the bed and turns away from me immediately as he moves toward the dresser below the window. He throws a pair of yoga pants and a sweater in my general direction, but they both fall short, landing at my feet at the end of the bed.
It’s not until he turns that I realize how mad he is. Earlier, he didn’t have rage burning in his eyes like he does now, and his body wasn’t humming with barely contained anger the way it does as he closes the distance between us.
He reaches out, but I don’t flinch this time. I’m not sure whether it’s because my body knows he wouldn’t hurt me like my father or if I just can’t stand to see him look as hurt as he did the last time. He grasps my chin between his thumb and fingers in a tight hold and brings my face up to look at him.
“Get dressed. You have two minutes and then I’ll be doing it for you. Do we understand each other?”
I nod as much as he’ll allow and he turns on his heel so quickly I’m not sure how he registered my movement. He stalks out of the room and slams the door behind him so hard the walls shake beneath the force.
What the hell just happened?
