Page 40 of Morsel

“I know. You don’t have to, though.”

“Oscar?”

“With me, you don’t have to,” I say. I lift her up into my arms. She wraps her legs around me, and I just look at her.

She’s so fucking pretty.

“Dolly, let me take you to bed, I say.”

Then I do.

21

Dolly

I think he’s going to fuck me.

Only, when we get to Oscar’s bedroom, that’s not what happens at all. He undresses me slowly, carefully stripping away layer after layer of clothing, and then he spreads me out on the bed.

“What are you doing?” I ask, looking up at him. He’s not getting undressed.

“Quiet, Dolly.”

I watch him watch me. I bite my tongue. It’s hard to stay quiet when he’s looking at me like he wants to eat me up.

Oscar crosses his arms over his broad chest, and he looks at me.

What’s going through that head of his?

“Oscar?”

He shakes his head.

Quietly, Oscar slips out of his jacket. He sets it on the back of the red velvet chair that rests just next to the window. He stares out of the window for a moment. Then he takes a breath so deep his shoulders rise up. When he turns, he begins unbuttoning his white shirt.

And I watch.

I watch the man who stole me away.

I watch the man I stole first.

“Oscar.” I say his name again.

He undoes a button.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

Another button.

“What’s happening?” I whisper.

The last button.

He slides the shirt off. It lands on the floor. He kicks his shoes off. Then his socks come off. A moment later, he undoes his belt buckle. His pants slide down.

I stare at Oscar in his black boxer briefs. His chest is covered in tattoos. A large ship features waves that appear to be endless. He’s got an octopus or kraken of some kind that laces up his left thigh. His right leg features more sea creatures, more mystery, more intrigue.

“Oscar.”

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