Page 8 of His Dark Discipline

The car accelerates, roaring through the darkness, skeletons of trees whizzing by illuminated by the headlights.

“Kind of girl?”

“A slut.” His voice snaps like the cracking of ice. “Letting boys come over and fuck you?”

“I am not a slut! And Thatcher wasn’t going to fuck me.”

“Oh, he wasn’t?” Damon whips the car into a skid, sending me sliding across the smooth leather seats. I slam into the other door as he slams on the brakes and in an instant is out of the car and grabbing me by the hair.

“Ow!” I yelp as he drags me out and onto the pavement. His grip is unbreakable. I struggle to get to my feet and stumble as he pulls me toward a house I’ve never seen before.

“You think you’re real naughty, don’t you? Think you’ve got it all figured out.”

Damon presses something in his pocket, and the front door beeps and swings open. Clutching his wrist, trying to stop him from tearing all the hair out of my scalp, I stagger into the darkness behind him.

The door slams shut, and the lights spring on, revealing a decadent but minimalist home set with off-whites and grays. It’s cool. Calm. Controlled.

The opposite of me.

I’m buzzing. Every nerve in my body is on high alert, emitting some kind of energy that I’m sure Damon can feel. I should be afraid of a man like him acting in this way, but there’s something about the control he’s exerting over me that’s…comforting.

God, am I insane?

He whirls on me, eyes fierce and commanding. His chest rises and falls, along with his shoulders, but there’s something else I notice.

It’s lower. Thick and prominent between his legs.

A bulge.

At a time like this?

It doesn’t even make any sense. Damon is used to older, more experienced women. Not naïve virgins like me. The most I’ve been able to do with my sexuality is a crappy TikTok dance. Sure, maybe I liked teasing him six months ago when he was still living with us, but I never would have had the guts to follow through.

Or the knowhow…

It’s been strange not having him around the house – as though there’s been a void in my life. But now that we’re back in the same proximity, my body is reacting in ways I could never have expected.

Kind of like how his did before…

“You’re staying here now,” he tells me. “Until I’ve set you straight.”

“Set me straight? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You think I can have my stepdaughter out there throwing her pussy around to any Tom, Dick, or Harry who wants a sniff?”

“Damon!” I gasp, shocked by his candor. “I’m not…throwing my…p around.”

I can see the anger in his eyes. But why? What does he care anyway? He left me. It’s pretty clear he doesn’t want me.

Probably just worried about his reputation.

“Your mother told me all about it,” he scoffs. “Boy crazy. Dating apps. Don’t fucking lie to me when I saw it with my own two eyes.”

“Okay, it was a mistake,” I reply. “That Thatcher guy…I didn’t really like him.”

“So what was he doing at the house?” Damon snaps. “Or are you just that thirsty for attention?”

They say the truth hurts, and that one stings. How does Damon see right through me?

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