Page 22 of Controlling Natasha

I groan and keep my voice low.I’m so paranoid that I’m afraid he might be listening at the door.“I’m definitely not cut out for lying.I thought Mr.Hoffman was going to start asking me pointed questions about class.Somehow, I’m certain he knows we didn’t have class.I must have looked guilty.”

“Yikes.If he were your Daddy, he would spank your ass hard.”

“Thank goodness he’s not.Half the time I look at him, I think I’m making this entire thing up.Maybe the reason he’s overprotective is that something happened to someone he loved in the past.Maybe he’s not a Daddy at all.”

“Natasha, trust me, the man is a Daddy.I’m certain of it.”

“Oh, by the way, when I told him you and I were going out tomorrow night, he asked me questions about it.I told him we’re going to the movies.”

“That works.I’ll look and see what’s playing.”

“Then he lectured me about not drinking and driving, dressing warmly, and carrying pepper spray.”

“Not Daddy material at all,” she jokes, laughing.

I slide deeper under the covers and groan softly.“I’m not sure how much longer I can take this.It’s like he’s waiting for me to be the one to say something.”

“It seems that way.I’ll text you in the morning and we can pick out a movie and a time.”

“Better pick a movie that starts before six.Mr.Controlling will start pacing if I’m not home by nine.”

“Not Daddy material at all,” she repeats as she ends the call.

I drop the phone onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.It feels like the world is squeezing in on me.So many things have happened in only a month.

I was homeless, living in my car, eating poorly, and barely scraping by.Now I’m living in this mansion and wanting for nothing because three people treat me like royalty.

There’s just one catch.I’mtwelve.I seem to have lost ten years of my life when I moved in.Even Edith and Albert treat me like I’m twelve.It’s not as weird for them because they’re older, but Mr.Hoffman?

I run through the weirdest parts of my existence.How is it that I call my benefactor Mr.Hoffman instead of his first name?Never once has he corrected me and asked me to call him Jameson.Nor does he correct me when I call himsir.And hecertainlydoesn’t when I call himSir.

Facts: The man is a Dominant.That much I know is true.He belongs to a BDSM club called Surrender.I’d love to be a fly on the wall in there someday, but I’m not brave enough to actually go there.I’m pretty confident Mr.Hoffman hasn’t gone there—or anywhere else—in the month I’ve been here.

Granted, it’s possible he goes out after I go to bed.I ponder that for a minute.I bet Surrender doesn’t even open until after my bedtime.

I drop that line of thought.It doesn’t really matter.Except it kind of does because the thought of Mr.Hoffman going to a club and perhaps having sex with women makes me feel slightly ill.

I have no right to be concerned with who he might be sleeping with.My relationship with him is boarder/benefactor.He doesn’t see me as an adult.Right?

But sometimes, he stares at me so intently that I can practically feel him removing my clothes with his eyes.Some nights, we sit in the library before or after dinner.I love those nights because there’s nothing better than searching his collection until I find something that doesn’t look too old to touch.I’m far too nervous to open one of the volumes that appears to be a hundred years old.

I like to curl up in the corner of the loveseat and pretend to read.It’s impossible toactuallyread when he’s in the room because I can feel his gaze on me.There are times when he doesn’t look away for an hour.He just stares at me until my heart is racing and I’m raw and exposed.

Later, I always doubt myself.I must be making it all up.Why would he find me the least bit interesting?I’m half his age, I have no life experience, and I’m poorer than dirt.There must be women lined up, hoping to go out with him.Sophisticated women with sexy dresses that cost more than my tuition, high heels that would cause me to trip, and hundreds of dollars’ worth of makeup.

Maybe he doesn’t like that kind of woman.And maybe I’m delusional.

I know I’m getting closer and closer to confronting him and that’s stressing me out.I’m not looking forward to it, but I’m going to force things to come to a head soon.Probably tomorrow if I don’t chicken out.

I can’t continue to live in limbo like this.If it ends up that I’m totally wrong, I’ll be mortified and probably need to move out, but what if I’m right?That possibility means opening a door I’m not familiar with.I don’t know what’s on the other side.I can’t visualize what it would mean, let alone what it would look like.I’ve tried, and every time I confront him in my head, I can’t picture his response.

I climb out of bed, pad over to the bathroom, and use the toilet.I barely know the woman staring at me in the mirror.She’s living a new life, nearly constantly submitting to a man who hasn’t verbally asked her to do so.She’s wearing a tiny, see-through nightie cut like something a toddler would wear but at the same time sexy and alluring.I have to assume Mr.Hoffman picked it for me.

I shuffle over to my closet and finger through all my clothes, seeing them through new eyes.I’ve always assumed the personal shopper who took my measurements made these selections.Now, I’m inclined to agree with Simone.Mr.Hoffman chose everything in my wardrobe.

How does that make me feel?Little and…aroused.I touch the material of a dress I haven’t worn yet.It’s so pretty.Too pretty for a regular dinner in the dining room, though I’m not sure what I’m saving it for.It’s a very pale pink with tiny pink roses and green stems all over it.

I’ve learned the style is called baby doll.I’ve seen lots of girls my age wearing them, but somehow, I think I would look very young in it.I’ve only tried it on once.The sleeves are more of a ruffle.The front goes over my chest and is a flat panel that sits right above my breasts.From there, it flares out and hangs loosely around me, landing only a few inches below my butt cheeks.

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