Page 23 of Dominated

My entire body froze.

My throat tightened.

My hands shook, making the letters bounce around the paper as I read them.

Over and over.

Processing.

Digesting.

Don’t look for me?

But … why?

How?

Where the hell is he?

… you won’t find me.

But I’m in his house, and he just … left me here? And he isn’t going to come back?

And he didn’t think I’d stay here and wait for him?

Is this a joke? Is this his sense of humor?

I couldn’t make sense of it.

I certainly couldn’t understand it while I sat in this bed, no longer even close to cozy, so I tossed the blanket aside and went into his closet, grabbing the first shirt I came across. A button-down. I fastened the middle as I walked into his kitchen.

It was exactly how we’d left it last night.

At least the little bit I’d seen from the island.

It didn’t smell of coffee.

I didn’t see any dishes in the sink.

It was as though he’d left the bedroom this morning and disappeared from the house, clearly not making any food or even brewing a single cup of coffee.

But as I stood in the large space, taking in the counters and cabinets and decor, there was something I couldn’t fathom. Something I couldn’t wrap my head around.

I was in Bale’s house.

I could wait here for hours, days, weeks, if need be, until he returned.

Doesn’t he know that?

Don’t look for me … you won’t find me.

At some point, he would have to come back.

Wouldn’t he?

I turned in a circle, realizing this room, along with the living room, were the only two spots I had been in last night, and there was so much more house I hadn’t seen—or in this case, snooped around.

As I rushed toward the front of the home, my fingers skimmed the wall that Bale had held me against last night, the spot where his hand had gone through. A moment that had seemed amazing at the time. Passionate. Sexy. A hole that marked the intensity and power of his stroke.

---