Page 72 of Objection
“You do not own me. You cannot tell me what to do every waking minute.” My eyes narrowed, wishing I didn’t sound quite so petulant, but standing by my words, nonetheless.
Before I knew what was happening, he had closed my door behind him and he had me pinned against it, one hand carefully around my throat and the other holding my chin up and forcing our eyes to connect.
“I beg to differ, Posey. If I want to control your very breath, I will. Do not mistake me, I own you. And you want to be owned. You want to be controlled. You tell me each time your breath shutters under my touch. You tell me in the way your pulse races as I control you.” His hand tightened just so, around my throat and I felt my knees go weak.
“I own you, little one. I know you. And I know you desire this above almost all else. I see it in the way your eyes flutter under my control. In how I know that your pussy is literally dripping for me, right this second. I don’t need to touch you. I know it. I know it like I know my own name.”
I couldn’t breathe. I could. He wasn’t choking me. But my breath was caught firmly in my throat at his words and at his possessive nature.
We stood there for a long moment, the intensity of the moment moving back and forth between our bodies like an electrical current. So strong we could almost see the zapping purple zig-zagging sparks.
Finally, he released me. It took every ounce of strength I had to remain upright and not melt into a pile of goo at his feet.
“I hear you, Posey. If you wish to have a night off, in light of all that is going on, I accept that. But you will not be going out with a friend. It isn’t safe. Surely you must know that.” His words rang true, and I couldn’t argue with that.
“You also can’t keep me locked up here like some retelling of Beauty and the Beast. I need time with others,” I pleaded. The way the corner of his mouth turned up told me he heard me.
“Fine, have your friend come here instead.” The way he said it, so nonchalantly, like it was nothing at all, just baffled me.
“You want me to have Sandra come here?” I asked in disbelief.
“Why not?” With that, he walked away, leaving me there gaping at him like a fish.
Why not indeed.
Two hours later, the doorbell rang.
I had called Sandra, telling her that I didn’t feel safe being out and about with everything going on with David. She had immediately demanded details and I couldn’t blame her.
When I told her she should come here instead, I honestly think she peed her pants. She was so excited to come over to Mr. Wellington’s house and hear all the gossip she possibly could.
We made plans for her to come over and have dinner here followed by a very stereotypical movie girl’s night.
When she walked in the front door, I swear her eyes were going to pop out of her head.
“Wow, living large, isn’t he?” she chuckled, elbowing me lightly in the ribcage.
“Sandra, be nice. He does well, yes. Our office is through here. The kitchen is off through this dining room, and the living room is down this hallway here. It has a fantastic television and I already let Soren know that we would be using it tonight.
“Ms. Whitacre. It’s good to see you again. I hope you’re doing well.” Soren’s voice scared us both, and we jumped like kids at a haunted house.
“Christ, you scared me,” I screeched, jumping and glaring at him. I didn’t miss the way his hand clenched into a fist, or the look he gave me. I needed to be kinder to him. It was incredibly gracious of him to let me have Sandra over tonight. Soren was not exactly the kind of person who opened up his home, or his life, to many people. That much was glaringly apparent.
“I apologize, Ms. Adams. Please, have a good night the both of you. I’ll be around, should you need anything.” He strode off towards the office, leaving Sandra and I standing there dumbly.
“Is he always so… formal?” she whispered conspiratorially.
“You have no idea,” I giggled.
23
Soren
It was awkward.Having Sandra here to watch a movie and hang out with Posey. Especially while I was home. I should have left them alone. That was the appropriate thing to do, after all. But I couldn’t. There was giggling. In my home. It was weird.
I found myself coming up with reasons to be near the living room; reasons to check on them both. I could tell that Posey was frustrated with me and I couldn’t blame her. I was acting like a possessive asshole, but I couldn’t let go of that possessive nature if I tried. I didn’t want to hurt her, to make her afraid. But at the same time, I needed to protect her and give her a safe place.
Having walked by the living room for the tenth time in less than two hours, I did the only thing I could think of. I called Sam.
