Page 22 of Sweet Doe
I tilt my head, amused. “You seriously tried to break into my office yesterday.”
“I got bored.”
“You gotbold.”
She folds her arms across her chest, defiant. “What if I said no?”
“I’d still do it. Just with less foreplay.”
Her eyes narrow, that fire sparking again—God, I love that fucking fire. But it’s not enough to stop me. Nothing would be.
“You want me to trust you,” I say, stepping closer, voice low, “but I can’t—not yet. You’re still looking for a way out. And until I know you won’t run, I have to make sure you stay put.”
She scoffs. “So I’m your dog now?”
“No.” I crouch beside her, clip the cuff gently to her ankle, then to the thick loop I bolted into the baseboard weeks ago. “You’re my sweet doe.”
She tugs at the restraint, testing it.
“And if I escape?” she mutters.
My grin is slow, dark. “You won’t, but knowing you’ll try already has my dick hard.”
Her breath catches—just for a second.
I lean in close, my mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “So behave yourself, or don’t, either way, I’m going to enjoy the fuck out of it.”
I rise and grab my coat from the hook.
“You’re actually going out?” she asks, watching me with narrowed eyes.
I shrug one arm into the jacket, still smiling. “Yes. There's another storm headed our way and I need to grab a couple things before it does. Never know how long you could end up snowed in out here.”
Her brow furrows. “More supplies? I saw your stockpile, what else could you possibly fucking need?”
I toss her a wink. “You’ll see.”
She scowls. “If you think candles and bath bombs are gonna make me fall at your feet?—”
“I don’t need you to fall, baby.” My tone drops to something thicker. Deeper. “I just need you to stay. Besides, you know what happened last time you tried to run. This time, I wouldn't be able to get to you in time.”
She opens her mouth to fire something back, but I’m already turning for the door. I step outside into the cold, lock the door behind me, and head toward the truck.
She thinks this is about control.
My sweet doe has no idea.
This is aboutdevotion.
And I’m going to prove it—one fucking detail at a time.
Chapter Seven
SLOAN
The chain rattles against my ankle as I shift position on the bed, the sound a constant reminder of my new reality. He left me like this while he went to town for supplies—chained like an animal because he knows he can't trust me yet. The metal is cold against my skin, and no matter how I position myself, I can't find a comfortable way to sit.
But discomfort is the least of my problems right now.
