Despite my entire personality being what it is, something about his voice lets me know that it would be best not to argue. In truth, I’m tired too. It’s been a hell of a day. I move up begrudgingly and he climbs into bed with me. My body is on high alert. I can’t stand being so close to him. He’s big and seems to have an excessive level of body heat. I try to lie as far as possible from him, but I’m painfully aware of him. His breathing is loud. Abrasive. Still, I do feel a lot better without having my arm pinned up over my head. He falls asleep first, and it doesn’t take me very long to follow suit.
*
I wake up in the early hours. It’s hard to guess the time as the room is pitch dark. I take a while to become aware of where I am. I’m on my side, turned away from him. There’s a heavy weight draped over my waist. To my horror, I find I pulled his arm over my body when I rolled over. He’s pressed up against me, spooning me. My back is warm where we’re touching. His chest is naked and feels like a solid wall behind me. It doesn’t take me long to notice he’ssolid, solid. He has a boner and it’s digging into my ass. I’m about to jump up and give him a piece of my mind when I realize with shock; my dick’s as hard as his is.
It's no big deal. It’s morning wood. Everyone gets it.
It’s totally normal.
Still, I lie dead still and will my dick to soften. I use every ounce of my energy to make it subside. I’m surprised by how much dedication it takes.
*
When I wake again, I do so with a start. “There’s somewhere I have to be,” I say before I’m fully awake. I’m alone in bed. The cuff is dangling from my wrist. I glance around. He’s in the kitchen making breakfast. “Asshole! There’s somewhere I need to be.”
“I know. Seven forty-five AM. Drop girls at school.”
I’m deeply disturbed when it dawns on me how intimately he knows my routine. The fact he knows this type of thing about me feels like almost as much of a violation as being held against my will does.
“Don’t worry,” he says matter-of-factly, “I texted them to let them know you couldn’t make it last night when I sent them your usual ‘love you more, sleep tight’ text.”
I’m scarcely awake but anger boils inside me.
Is he for real?
Is this fuckwit really communicating with my baby sisters as if he’s me?
I launch myself off the bed and into a tirade aimed directly at him. “Are you seriously fucking messaging my sisters as me? How fucking dare you?”
I see a quick flash of bemusement glint in his eyes. “Standard practice,” he shrugs. “Have to make sure no one worries about you. I told your staff not to come in on account of the fact you have COVID. I also sent Lacey a few messages. She’s pissed you left her at Slay, by the way.” He says it as if I had a choice in the matter. “And I uploaded this, so the rest of your fans aren’t concerned about you being AWOL.”
He holds my phone up for me to see. It’s open on my BeckIT profile. He’s hacked into my account and has posted a picture of me sleeping. I’m on my side. My face is pressed into the pillow and my mouth is gaping open slightly. It’s far from the most flattering photo I’ve ever seen of myself. The caption reads, “You guys, COVID caught me. Going to lay low for a while but don’t worry, I’ll live.” He’s hashtaggedGreen Biatch,a superfood protein powder with supposed immune boosting benefits. I recently became the face of the product. I’m livid, albeit microscopically impressed he thought to tag them.
Chapter 4
Asshole
Slowbreathin,slowbreath out,I tell myself.
This little shit is driving me crazy. He’s driving me absolutely fucking insane. Yesterday was a nightmare and he’s asked me about seven hundred questions so far today. He’s made at least the same number of complaints. I must have been up and down to the kitchen twenty times and his requests are only getting more unreasonable. The worst is I can’t tell if he’s doing it for shits and giggles, or if he’s just this much of a dick. Neither option is all that great, when you think about it.
By lunchtime, I’m forced to admit he’s getting to me. I’m grinding my teeth so hard, I’m starting to get a headache from it. I know myself well enough to know I’m seconds away from exploding.
“Sit on the sofa and don’t move,” I tell him.
“But what if I need something?” His eyes are brimming with faux innocence.
“There’s no needing anything for the next hour. I’m going to work out and you’re not going to move.” If he has a lick of common sense about him, he’ll know I’m not fucking around. At this point, the sizable pay out I agreed on to take him is starting to seem like a gross underpayment.
I get my sweat on. I do a high intensity workout that has me breathing hard in minutes. I don’t stop until I’ve been at it for a solid hour and my head has cleared. He sits on the sofa and watches TV. Now and again, I feel his eyes on me. The judgement in them is palpable.
He crinkles his nose. “You stink.”
I bite down so hard I nearly crack a tooth. I head to the bathroom. I run the shower and get undressed. As I step into the shower, I look up to see him in the doorway. He’s leaning against the frame with one arm up and the other pressed deep into his pocket. His body has this curved, feline quality to it. My first thought is that he looks like he’s posing for the cover of Vogue.
My second bears saying out loud, “What the fuck are you doing? Why are you watching me?”
“Thought we had to go to the bathroom together? Thought that was our thing.”
