Page 9 of Black Sheep

“I will, but at least let me come back and check on you—”

“Say another word and I’ll fire you.”

Her eyes harden to ice chips. “Fuck you. Have your six hours if you want. But I’m coming back in three hours to check on you. Fire me then if you want.”

With a defiant flick of her wrist, she sets the timer down between my feet, within touching distance.

The moment her back is turned, I kick the remote. It bounces against the last step and skids sideways halfway across the room. She hesitates, her back stiff, but she doesn’t turn back around. In silence, she leaves.

The moment the door shuts, twenty projectors on the dark gray walls flicker to life. Large, small, and in-between, they take up every inch of the circular wall. If space allowed I would have had more screens put in, but I work with what I have.

Each one is set on a half-hour loop at full volume with a different video. With barely an inch between them, they could be one jumbled-up picture but I know each screen like I know the length of my cock.

I take a deep breath as the first reel plays on the middle screen. The chair moves, the wheels beneath the floor spinning it slowly around.

Fading sunlight dapples over a lake before the camera swings to the figure in the tiny white bikini fleeing a large wave.

The wave catches her, splashes up to mid-thigh. She shrieks. “Omigod, you’re such a liar. The water is colllllld—What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

She approaches. Her hands come up to block the lens. “Stop filming me. I look fat.”

A different set of hands reaches out to grasp hers, gently nudging hers aside. “You don’t look fat, Cleo. You’re perfect.”

Feminine hands curl around a masculine one. Together they slowly lower until long-lashed, deep blue knowing eyes stare into the camera. “You’re only saying that because you’re in love with me.” Sultry words whispered from between kiss-swollen lips.

“Yes, I’m saying that because I’m in love with you.” Gruff, hopelessly young, newly broken voice, thick with seething emotion. “I’m also saying it because I have fucking eyes in my fucking head.”

A naughty, goes-straight-to-an-eager-cock giggle. “You’re so bad swearing all the time. Daddy says he’ll paddle my behind if he catches me swearing.”

A wobble of the camera before it steadies. “If he lays a fucking hand on you, I’ll tear his fucking head off.” A voice no longer gruff, hard with rigid purpose. Harsh breathing. “I mean it, Cleo. I see so much as a scratch on you, someone will fucking die.”

A gasp. “You can’t say things like that!”

“I can. I fucking am. Because you belong to me. I don’t care who created you. You are mine. No one else is fucking allowed to touch you. No one is allowed to take you away from me, do you hear me?”

A bite of her lip as her nostrils flutter in a shaky inhale. “You’re scaring me.”

Deep, harsh breath. “Am I? Really? Tell the truth. Are you scared, Cleo?” Camera poised with intent, recording every flutter of her lashes.

A pause. A firming of plump lips. Then a shake of the head. Thick, vibrant locks frame her stunning face.

“Say it. I want to hear you say how it makes you feel when I say this to you.”

“It…it excites me.”

“That I claim you as mine?”

A shy nod.

“What else excites you?”

A flick of her gaze between the lens and the face behind it. “Come on. I can’t say it on camera.” She reaches out.

The camera angles away from her but remains on her. Focused. Rabid. “Tell me.” The voice that will one day command hell itself.

“It excites me when you say that you’ll do…all of that for me.”

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