Page 40 of All That Glitters

No hint of a growl, but I do see the way he swallows compulsively, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

Last night, I had his cock in my mouth.

Last night, I cried about my parents and how terrible it felt to be alone. I’m not sure I’ve forgiven Marcus for the shitty things he said, or if I will for a long time yet while I work through things on my own.

But I learned one thing: I’ll have to take care of myself. It doesn’t matter if I’ve got four more years under his guardianship or not. My happiness is on me, because he’s going to force me to be a star whether I want it or not. I’ve got to make the most of the situation.

After breakfast, we head into the office.

“Sit in your chair,” I tell him. “I bookmarked the scene I want to work on because I think it’s going to be the hardest for me to get through. And you said you’d help.” I make it sound more like a question to get him off guard.

He’s got a second copy of the script on the desk already.

Marcus eyes me for a moment before he does as I ask. “So biddable today?” he asks lightly. “I’m shocked. Seems like last night is already forgotten.”

You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But I don't bother dignifying that with a response.

He wants to provoke me, but who really has the control here? Newsflash: it’s me. He’ll see soon enough once he actually reads the scene I want to work through.

He might resent having to watch me and take care of me, but never in my life have I seen Marcus lose it the way he did then, with anger becoming his master and his devil at the same time. I might have been the one on my knees, but he couldn't have walked away from me even if he’d wanted to—which he definitely didn’t.

So really, when I think about it…there’s a way for me to turn this around if I’m smart enough to manage and navigate the right way.

I’m going to push his buttons to the point where he’ll regret calling me names.

And leaving me wanting.

Because I’d gone to bed last night with a physical ache at my core, and touching myself hadn’t done the trick. Even getting my toys out only made me think more about Marcus and what it would feel like for him to actually make good on the tension between us.

Today, I’ll see how far I can push him.

Let’s see how far his control extends.

“Turn to page one hundred twenty,” I tell him.

He settles himself in the chair with his mouth twisted to the side in a sour natured scowl. “You’re sure which scene you want to run?” he asks.

“Of course I am. You want me to work on the script? Then we need to start with the scenes I find the hardest to get through, to get into character.” I bite my lip and tuck a lock of hair behind my head, feeling his eyes on me, trying to look innocent when inside, I’m cackling.

Oh, this is going to be good. I can feel it.

When he doesn’t move, when he only looks at me waiting for me to make another move, I shift to the desk and physically open the second copy of the script for him, finding the right page and pointing to the start of the scene. “Here,” I say like I’m explaining it to a child. “I’ll start.”

In the scene, Alicia is still pushing Mr. Patterson to the end of his tolerance, and while Mr. Patterson thinks he’s the one in control, it’s really Alicia springing a trap on him.

How much art imitates life.

And I thought I’d never be able to get into character. I work my neck side to side, taking a few deep breaths. I was totally wrong.

“It’s no secret you’ve been alone since your wife died,” I start. “I’m here to help you. I’ve done nothing but help you, Mr. Patterson.”

Marcus twitches but says nothing for the longest time, clearly seeing how this is going to go and considering the options internally. If he backs out, then he concedes to me. If he goes through with it, he might lose control again. It’s a test.

I push my chest out, waiting for him to read his line, and when he doesn’t…I jerk my nose toward the script. “Go on, Marcus. Read.”

He shakes his head a little and clears his throat. “My wife has nothing to do with this or why you’re here, Alicia. Keep her name out of your mouth, please,” he says gruffly.

“You’ve been alone in this stuffy house for too long. It needs a little life inserted into it, right?” I saunter forward but don’t stop at the desk, not when the scene calls for a little something extra from me.

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