Page 12 of Controlling Natasha

“Words, Little one,” Mr.Hoffman encourages.

I’m confused for a moment before I realize I didn’t respond verbally.“Yes, sir.I’ll text you.”

“Good girl.”His smile broadens.

My stomach flips over.I squeeze my thighs together under the table.Wetness leaks into my panties.Good girl.I feel much younger than I am.He’s treating me like I’m far younger.Maybe he doesn’t remember what twenty-two was like.I am an adult.

“There are crazy people out there, Natasha.I want you to be safe, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How late do you need to be at school most nights?”

“I don’t usually need to be there past the afternoon.My last class on three days gets out at four.The other two days, it gets out at three.I usually go to the library to study because it’s quieter than the apartment I was living in, and more comfortable than…my car.”I whisper that last part.

“Well, no one will bother you when you’re studying at the house, Little one.You don’t have to study on campus if it’s not necessary.I don’t like the idea of you being there after dark anyway.”

This is Seattle.It gets dark at four-thirty.The thought of being in this warm house where three people care about me and intend to dote on me is far more appealing than the campus library.I won’t have to worry about where I’m going to find dinner.It won’t come from the library vending machine.It will be here, in this mansion, cooked for me by Edith.Every day.

“Can Albert pick you up at four most days, Natasha?”

“Yes, sir.I mean, until my car is fixed.”What if it’s too expensive to fix?I don’t have a lot of money saved up.Albert can’t intend to drive me to and from school for the entire semester.

“We’ll reevaluate after I hear from the mechanic,” Mr.Hoffman agrees.“Now, what about friends?Do you have girlfriends you go out with?”

“Not really.There are a few girls from my classes I’ve had lunch with sometimes.We study together when there’s an exam coming up.I don’t really party or anything.I can’t afford it, and I don’t have time.I’m usually working.”

“What about boys?”

He’s so invasive.So intense.He’s staring at me hard, brows furrowed.He saysboysas if I’m in high school instead of college.

I flush and shake my head.

“You aren’t dating anyone?”

“No, sir,” I whisper.I’m pitiful.

His lips twitch.I think he’s pleased, which is odd.My entire body is on fire from sitting next to him.I’ve never in my life reacted to anyone as strongly as I do him.He’s like the hero from a romance novel.He covers about ten common tropes.I’ve studied them in my classes: age gap, dominant hero, billionaire, protector...Hell, if I consider my part in this strange saga, I could add instalove, forbidden love, younger heroine, love at first sight, submissive heroine, rags to riches, and probably a few more.

“Can you stick to a nine o’clock curfew for my sanity, Little one?”

I almost choke.He wants me to have a curfew?At nine o’clock?I don’t think most fourteen-year-olds have a nine o’clock curfew.

He looks so serious, though.I think he’s just out of touch with my age or overprotective—or both.

He’s controlling.

This arrangement has the potential to get out of hand if I let it.I’m torn as he waits for me to respond.On the one hand, I’m worried he will take over my life.He might.On the other hand, I’m kind of okay with that possibility.

What if I let this man, who is twice my age, control me?And where is he coming from?Is it a place of nurturing like a father figure?Or is he seeing me as a woman?He’s hard to read.I see both of those possibilities in his expression at the same time.It’s confusing.

I’m probably misreading him entirely.Surely, he’s neither lusting after me nor trying to replace the father I never had.I’m overthinking this.He’s just a man who’s got control issues and doesn’t want me to be in any unsafe situations.Lord knows there are a lot of unsafe situations in the world, especially in the dark and late at night.Even the campus gives me the heebie-jeebies sometimes when I’m walking to my car alone.

Mr.Hoffman has his elbows resting on the table.He’s been leaning toward me for a while.He finally lifts a hand and strokes a finger down my cheek.“I can practically see your mind working, Natasha.You have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other.They’re whispering in your ears.Which one are you going to listen to, Little one?”

I can’t help but giggle.“I’ll be home by nine, sir.”

“Good girl.”He sits up, looking smug and pleased.“Was that the devil or the angel speaking?”

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