Page 21 of His Dark Purpose

Sliding from the bed sheets, she shot him a look.

Gee, thanks.

He smirked, able to read her expression and pleased to see she had the sense not to vocalize it.

“Will you at least turn away, sir?” Her voice caught as she found her feet, his attention darting to watch the slack in her ropes tighten. “Please. It’s not like I can go anywhere.”

Unless she unties the knots at her ankles?

The mistrust bounced in his mind, knotting the low-lying anxiety that had stirred in his stomach ever since she’d found the damn tenancy files.

Why hadn’t he got rid of those bloody records? He’d sold the properties on Aspen Way years before and had no reason to keep the paper files anymore, let alone in an unlocked cabinet so easily accessible to his little detective.

I should have burned them.

Regret swelled until it was almost painful. Heshouldhave disposed of them, but then he should have done a lot of things…

“Fine.” He spun, facing his expensive sofas as he listened to what was going on behind him.

A part of him wanted to refuse her request, longed to watch her abject humiliation as he compelled her to relieve herself in the bucket, but a larger facet urged caution. His little girl wasn’t used to bending to his will. Sure, she listened to his orders, wriggled her cute ass, and took his cock on command, but he’d rarely really pushed her, and if he shoved too hard, too fast, she might just break.

That thought spiked pain in his solar plexus, the ache emanating out to his limbs. He really did adore Amy, and he didn’t want to break her. Still, paranoia plagued him in the silent seconds that stretched out around him.

What was she doing back there?

He certainly couldn’t hear evidence of the relief she’d spoken about.

The ropes.

His pulse picked up its pace as he envisioned her tackling the knots he’d tied at her ankles.

What if she’s getting out of the ropes?

“Little girl.” He wanted to sound sure of himself, but even to him, his voice was questioning. “What’s going on?”

“I’m trying to go!” The desperation in her reply was convincing enough. “I just can’t relax.”

“Figure it out, Amy.” Blowing out a breath, he strode toward the nearest couch. “Because if I have to help you, you won’t be any more relaxed.”

“Oh God!”

The sound of her misery tugged at what remained of his heart, urging him to peer around at her quickly. If she was ill or in genuine pain, then he’d go to her, whatever she said. The woman might be a flailing banshee—a tricky, violent version of the Amy he’d first met that day in the store—but she was still his little girl. He had to take partial responsibility for the person she’d become—the one he’d started to condition to his liking and had subsequently bound. Whatever had transpired between them, he couldn’t bear the thought of anything harmful befalling her.

A quick glance confirmed what he needed to know. Perched over the bucket on trembling legs, she was red-faced and looked anything but relaxed. The prospect of achieving her goal seemed slim.

“You said you’d look away!” Spotting him watching her, she spat the words at him.

“Watch your tone.” He couldn’t believe how easily she’d forgotten the rules. Clearly, she needed another lesson in basic respect before the day was done.

“Oh God, I can’t go!” She rose on shaky legs, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hands. “Not like this.”

“Then you don’t go.”

Any ounce of sympathy he felt for her plight vanished at her snarky reaction. He was willing to help her through the transition they were experiencing, but he couldn’t stand the defeatist attitude he was seeing. Amy was better than that.

“But Ihaveto.” Her hand dropped to her belly, patting her full bladder, her feet fidgeting on the carpet as though it was impossible for her toes to keep still. “It hurts, sir.”

“Stop making it into such an ordeal, then. I’m going to sit on the sofa and read, and you’re going to do what needs to be done.” He pointed at the bucket. “Am I making myself clear, little girl?”

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