Page 16 of The Dominator

“Look at this…” He palmed at my rear end and snapped the thong quickly.

“No! Don’t!” I screeched. His palm was hot. Or maybe my skin was hot. I didn’t know which. He rubbed it for a second.

His mouth was right against my ear and hot breath tickled me, so I squirmed, and then he growled low in his throat. “You’re a very naughty girl telling me no.” Then his hand wedged under my hips and he cupped me between the legs. I gasped. I felt a finger dip into the panties and touch my opening. Oh no. God, no.

He groaned. “How come you’re wet down here, Tia?” He let out a little chuckle, a supremely pleased one. “Could it be? Do you enjoy being overpowered?”

I squeezed my eyes shut tight, and held my breath. His finger circled leisurely and then I felt him gyrate ever so slightly against my behind.

“You do. Fuck. And you’re all mine.” His tongue was now tracing from my earlobe up the ridge of my ear. “How did I get this lucky?”

“Not karma, that’s for sure, asshole. And I will never, do you hear me, never ever be yours.” I grunted this, trying to squirm away. Why did I say that? Why was I provoking him?

I was infuriated at the idea of my future being ripped away from me and crumpled up like a sheet of paper. I was furious with my father for doing this or for doing nothing about this. I was mad at myself for not being stronger, not finding a way to get this guy off of me.

I was also mad because he was right, I was wet down there. And I didn’t understand why my body was reacting like this. Yes, this was the super-hot guy from the ice cream parlor who made me melt when he tongued that cherry provocatively. And okay, this was the same guy I’d rubbed myself thinking about that same night and the next night, imagining being under his body. But I imagined nothing like this.

I’d been wrong, so wrong, to fantasize about this guy. This was a dangerous man who had me pinned to his bed, who’d grabbed my throat, ripped my graduation dress, who threatened me. Who’d said he owned me. Who’d said scary things that were a nightmare come true to any woman.

“You’re disgusting,” I spat.

His finger left and his weight was no longer on me but then he slapped me hard on the ass. I shrieked. Then he slapped my ass again and then stuck his finger in me again. I frowned and held my breath.

“Oh, but you are mine,” he whispered, “I like your spirit, Tia. And I look forward to breaking it.”

Despair crested over me at those words. He let go of me then and he was off the bed. I whimpered, devastation filling me, but I stayed still. He stood behind me; I could hear him breathing heavily.

A long moment passed, and then I heard a zipper. Oh no. No, no. I scrambled up and tried to bolt for the door. He was fast. He caught me by the arm and walked me back to the bed and pushed me down.

“I’m not gonna fuck you tonight, Tia,” he said, watching me scramble up to the headboard. “You can relax.”

He kicked off his shoes, toed off his socks and then dropped his suit pants, leaving him in just a tight pair of black boxer briefs. He fetched the dark blue shirt he’d been wearing earlier and tossed it at me. It landed beside me. He looked so calm. How could he be so calm with what he was doing to me? What kind of sick psycho was I dealing with?

“You can sleep in that. Hurry back.” Smirking, he motioned with his chin toward what I’d already discovered was the bathroom door on the opposite end of the room. He stood there, arms folded. He looked even better without clothes than I’d imagined, not that it was comforting – not one bit. His tattoo traveled from just above his wrist up his arm and over his shoulder. He was strong, muscular, someone I’d have a lot of trouble fighting off.

He eyed me hungrily. “Like what you see, Tia?”

I shook my head. “Not at all.” I grabbed the shirt and headed for the bathroom, hearing him laugh at me as I closed the door.

I sat on the floor against the door for the longest time, crying face buried in my knees, ass on the cold floor. I heard a door. Maybe he was gone.

I took off my ripped dress, removed my stockings, which now had a big snag in them, kept my bra and underwear on, and put the blue dress shirt on. I caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked horrible. Tear tracks and black eye makeup streaks on my cheeks, my eyes all red, my hair a disheveled mess.

I washed my face with hot water and a fluffy white washcloth that had been on the vanity and then hung my clothes up on a hook beside the shower stall. This bathroom was luxurious. The whole master suite was. And I couldn’t wait until I could try to forget it existed.

The shirt smelled like his cologne. It felt foreign to have that scent on me. I felt bile rise in my throat at the idea of it, the idea of him clothing me in things that smelled like him. It seemed so… primitive.

Taking two big breaths, I hesitantly stepped back out into the room, hoping by some miracle that he’d left. He hadn’t. The lights flicked off, but not before I caught a glimpse of his form in the bed. He was sitting up, the blankets down around his waist. He was waiting for me.

I flicked the lamp off a second after she came out. When I saw her wearing my shirt, I thought I’d combust. I needed to turn the light off to regain my composure. She looked edible. I decided that second that it’d be a rule that she’d sleep either naked, with me wrapped around her, or in the clothes I’d worn that day, so she’d smell like me, either way.

Where these sudden possessive feelings had come from was a mystery. But the second I decided to accept her as a gift I instantly became obsessed with the idea of having someone who was mine. Just mine. It didn’t make sense because I could easily find someone who wanted to be mine, but the minute Pop told her she was mine, something in me had changed. I never wanted that before. That I’d wanted her to smell like she was mine must be some primal instinct.

“New rule. Rule number three: you either wear something I’ve worn when you get ready for bed, or you sleep nude. Get in.” I moved to the center of the bed and lifted the covers to welcome her into them. She stood, frozen in her tracks.

“Do I have to come get you?” I asked.

She stood there, not moving, so I flicked the lamp back on and got out of the bed. She backed up, holding her palm out at me.

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