Page 4 of You're Mine Now

“Asking?”I echoed, a chill running through me.

“Right.”

He stepped closer, leaning in until his breath brushed against my ear. He smelled of pine, crisp and fresh, reminding me of a frigid winter day—the kind that stings your lungs and makes your face hurt.

“I don’t take no for an answer,” he said, baring his teeth. “If I want something, I get it. End of story.”

He paused, his voice dropping to a murmur that seemed to drain the air from the room.

“And right now, I want you as my next project. So, you’ll be there tonight, or…” He let the threat hang for a moment before adding, “I’ll come pick you up myself.”

I stared at him, incredulous. He didn’t know where I lived. He couldn’t.

The air between us grew thick, suffocating.

“Is this how you plan to get clients?” I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm—grasping for control, desperate to break the tension.

“Of course not. This is special treatment for you, princess.”

Princess.The word slithered through the space between us, curling around me like a secret.

I shuddered. He used to write that in the letters. But it wasn’t just ink on a page. He had whispered names in my ear before, too—when he passed me at my locker, when no one else was listening. Words that made my skin crawl, my stomach twist… and, worst of all, lit a spark in places I only wanted to feel ice.

My lips parted, ready to fire back, but before I could speak, he leaned in, his voice a low growl.

“See you at eight.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there—fuming, my heart pounding… and something else. Despite everything, a thrill simmered beneath.

Memories of high school flooded back. The way he looked at me—like I was his prey. Licking his lips as he leaned against his locker, waiting for me to pass. I’d keep my head high, my gaze fixed ahead, pretending not to notice the heat of his eyes burning into me.

Aside from his whispers, his jeers, he rarely spoke to me. He barely confronted me. Except for a few occasions—like the day he caught me at my locker alone, his expression dark and unreadable.

“Let me walk you home,” he said, his voice low. Almost gentle.

“No.” My voice trembled as the words from his letters flashed through my mind. I couldn’t let this sex-crazed maniac anywhere near my life—let alone my house.

What would he do to me once we got there?

A shiver ran through me as I forced myself to add, “I like to be alone.”

He scoffed, shaking his head, but turned and walked away. Relief washed over me—until later, when I felt his presence the whole way home. His eyes bored into my back, his steps matching mine. I didn’t need to look back. I knew he was there.

The next day, he cornered me in the cafeteria, his voice low enough for only me to hear.

“You didn’t let me walk you home. But that didn’t stop me from watching.” His eyes dragged over me, slow and knowing. “I love the way your ass moves.”

My throat tightened as I tried to ignore the heat pooling in my stomach.

His smirk widened, his tone dipping even lower. “What do you think I did when I got home?”

The air seemed to thicken, suffocating me. I should’ve slapped him—screamed, done anything but sit there, frozen. But his words echoed in my mind, taunting me.

Of course I knew.

It was the same thing I’d done right after reading his latest letter.

A shameful secret I could barely admit to myself. I told myself it was just curiosity—curiosity about the things he described, even as they made my blood run cold. But I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop seeing his face when my thoughts strayed, imagining his hands in places they didn’t belong.

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