Page 67 of Until I Own You

Since my first scene with Bridget, I have felt unstoppable.

Now, instead of haunted by thoughts of Bridget, I am invigorated by them.

I have been more productive this past week at work than I’ve been in the past year, and certainly the last couple of months, what with mounting tensions between Bridget and me.

After our first encounter, we laid in bed for a long time, discussing her training plan and what the next couple of months will look like as we try her limits and get her to a place where she feels she has reached her zone.

I want her to see me as the perfect Dom for her because she is my perfect sub.

And because she has agreed to be mine with such whole heart, I feel like this must be a dream.

If it is, I never want to wake up.

Since then, though, there’s been no contact, other than a few run ins and the club. I told her that my schedule might be uncomfortable at first. I also laid a few ground rules because that’s my role as her Dom.

She agreed to it all. Said she trusts me.

My chest puffs with the reminder.

I reach the family townhouse and take it in.

First family dinner since everything has changed.

I shake myself off and sigh.

It’s going to be interesting, to say the least. Could be a make or break it moment.

The danger in putting distance between myself and Bridget so early on her training is the possibility she changes her mind. Of course, she can change her mind whenever, but this period is the most fragile. Early enough that the investment is low. Early enough to get cold feet.

If Bridget got cold feet and backed out of our arrangement now, it might kill me. But I’m not going to think about that right now.

Besides, I’m the man who took her virginity. The one she was waiting for. Surely, she wouldn’t change her mind now, right?

I take a deep breath, straighten out my coat, and head inside.

The townhouse is old-fashioned compared to my penthouse in Manhattan. Been in the Vance family for generations, apparently, and it looks it. But it’s quaint and charming and worth way more than you’d think despite the narrow hallways and low ceilings. Not to mention the grandma-style furniture.

Mom’s Siamese cat, Darla, slinks in from the sunroom to get a look at me.

“Hey, Darla.”

She winds through my feet but eludes my attempt at petting her. Typical.

“Seth? Is that you?” Mom calls out from the sunroom.

I poke my head in.

Mom and Solomon are sitting across from one another on the floor, working on a puzzle with too many pieces splayed out on the coffee table.

“Wild Friday night, huh?” I smirk.

Solomon lifts his head and beams at me. “You know it!”

I get a pit in my stomach, unable to think any thought but, “I fucked your daughter,” over and over again.

“I was going to make chicken piccata.” Mom pushes herself up to standing and waltzing over to me. “But we got caught up in the puzzle and we ordered Chinese instead. Is that all right with you?”

I shrug. “Don’t know if chianti goes as well with orange chicken, but–”

---