better than calling Hunter would’ve been. “Yeah.”
“That yeah isn’t fooling me. What’s going on?”
*
My boots tromp heavily down the carpeted hallway. I didn’t sleep well last night. I’d tossed and turned, rubbed my wrist where it was swollen and red. It hadn’t been that big of a deal, but thinking of it now, the shakiness remains.
My wrist still hurts, so I use my other hand to turn the knob of my dorm room. When I step over the threshold, I stop in my tracks.
“Baby.”
Hunter is standing by my desk, elegant fingers tracing the spine of my Complete Works of Shakespeare .
I close the door quickly and try to figure out what to do. Hunter never comes to school, though he’s had a key to my room since we signed our contract. If I forget something at his house, Ben drops it off. Ben is the one who comes to pick me up. Hunter’s never been in my room before, and the collision of my worlds sends my brain sloshing around my skull as if there’s been a physical impact. It’s that uncertainty that makes me drop to my knees. I need him to give me direction.
“Is this what you look like when you’re not with me?”
Though my eyes are focused on the ground, I can imagine the look on his face: the arch of his brow, the slight disapproving purse of his lips. Shame burns in my chest.
“Yes, sir.”
There’s a low noise of displeasure in his throat. “Perhaps we should do something about that.”
I close my eyes tight and try to wish that vaguely nauseated feeling away. “Yes, sir.”
I’ll miss my jeans and hoodies, but not more than I’ll feel good anytime I slip into a pretty dress or tug a skirt up my legs. It will remind me that I’m pleasing Hunter, and that’s the best feeling in the world. Maybe he’ll order me to send him pictures of what I’m wearing every day. The thought makes blood pool in my core, making my breasts feel confined in my bra and my pelvis heavy.
Maybe he’s thinking about it, too, because he’s silent for a couple of minutes, leaving me uncertain and grasping at straws. Tell me how to please you and I’ll do it. But finally he clears his throat.
“That’s not why I came here.”
I hadn’t thought so.
“Come here, sweetheart. On your feet.”
I spend so much time on my knees with Hunter that I’m like a baby giraffe when I walk to him. I want to be back on my knees where I know how to move sinuously, provocatively, in a way that pleases him, but that’s not what he’s asked for. When I reach him, I stand with my hands clasped behind my back and my gaze still cast down.
“Give me your hand.”
I hold one out to him, and he takes it, turning it over so my palm faces up. Before I can react, the wooden ruler I keep on my desk is coming down across my palm. The sensation startles me, but it doesn’t hurt. Much. Not compared to other things I’ve become intimately familiar with over the past two years.
“The other one. Stop thwarting me.”
Thwarting him? Not on purpose. I would never—
My dropped hand stings from the strike of the ruler, but he’s cradling the other like a baby bird with a broken wing.
“Look what he did to you,” he murmurs, stroking thumbs along the pale bruises Jamie left. I know I shouldn’t because I don’t have permission, but I can’t help looking up. Hunter’s expression is two parts pained, one part livid. The ferocious protectiveness slays me. Never mind he leaves worse marks almost every time I see him. Disregard the fact that I suspect that ruler is going to be landing somewhere other than my palm before this is over.
“I’m okay, sir.”
“You’re not.” Hunter’s eyes meet mine and they shine with wrath. “He hurt you and he’ll be dealt with accordingly. In the meantime, you’re coming with me.”
He glances at my outfit again, his expression dulled by censure. “We’ll get you dressed in something acceptable first, and then we’ll go. Ben’s waiting with the car.”
“But—”
“There
“That yeah isn’t fooling me. What’s going on?”
*
My boots tromp heavily down the carpeted hallway. I didn’t sleep well last night. I’d tossed and turned, rubbed my wrist where it was swollen and red. It hadn’t been that big of a deal, but thinking of it now, the shakiness remains.
My wrist still hurts, so I use my other hand to turn the knob of my dorm room. When I step over the threshold, I stop in my tracks.
“Baby.”
Hunter is standing by my desk, elegant fingers tracing the spine of my Complete Works of Shakespeare .
I close the door quickly and try to figure out what to do. Hunter never comes to school, though he’s had a key to my room since we signed our contract. If I forget something at his house, Ben drops it off. Ben is the one who comes to pick me up. Hunter’s never been in my room before, and the collision of my worlds sends my brain sloshing around my skull as if there’s been a physical impact. It’s that uncertainty that makes me drop to my knees. I need him to give me direction.
“Is this what you look like when you’re not with me?”
Though my eyes are focused on the ground, I can imagine the look on his face: the arch of his brow, the slight disapproving purse of his lips. Shame burns in my chest.
“Yes, sir.”
There’s a low noise of displeasure in his throat. “Perhaps we should do something about that.”
I close my eyes tight and try to wish that vaguely nauseated feeling away. “Yes, sir.”
I’ll miss my jeans and hoodies, but not more than I’ll feel good anytime I slip into a pretty dress or tug a skirt up my legs. It will remind me that I’m pleasing Hunter, and that’s the best feeling in the world. Maybe he’ll order me to send him pictures of what I’m wearing every day. The thought makes blood pool in my core, making my breasts feel confined in my bra and my pelvis heavy.
Maybe he’s thinking about it, too, because he’s silent for a couple of minutes, leaving me uncertain and grasping at straws. Tell me how to please you and I’ll do it. But finally he clears his throat.
“That’s not why I came here.”
I hadn’t thought so.
“Come here, sweetheart. On your feet.”
I spend so much time on my knees with Hunter that I’m like a baby giraffe when I walk to him. I want to be back on my knees where I know how to move sinuously, provocatively, in a way that pleases him, but that’s not what he’s asked for. When I reach him, I stand with my hands clasped behind my back and my gaze still cast down.
“Give me your hand.”
I hold one out to him, and he takes it, turning it over so my palm faces up. Before I can react, the wooden ruler I keep on my desk is coming down across my palm. The sensation startles me, but it doesn’t hurt. Much. Not compared to other things I’ve become intimately familiar with over the past two years.
“The other one. Stop thwarting me.”
Thwarting him? Not on purpose. I would never—
My dropped hand stings from the strike of the ruler, but he’s cradling the other like a baby bird with a broken wing.
“Look what he did to you,” he murmurs, stroking thumbs along the pale bruises Jamie left. I know I shouldn’t because I don’t have permission, but I can’t help looking up. Hunter’s expression is two parts pained, one part livid. The ferocious protectiveness slays me. Never mind he leaves worse marks almost every time I see him. Disregard the fact that I suspect that ruler is going to be landing somewhere other than my palm before this is over.
“I’m okay, sir.”
“You’re not.” Hunter’s eyes meet mine and they shine with wrath. “He hurt you and he’ll be dealt with accordingly. In the meantime, you’re coming with me.”
He glances at my outfit again, his expression dulled by censure. “We’ll get you dressed in something acceptable first, and then we’ll go. Ben’s waiting with the car.”
“But—”
“There
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