She does deserve an answer.
But she's not getting one.
"Take off your clothes," I command.
Her eyes flare. "No."
I stand.
She holds her ground, looking up at me. Her chin lifted.
I look at her lips. The ones I want are tightly wrapped around my cock right now. "Then get out."
She exhales, narrowing her eyes slightly. "I'm not the same girl I was at Puget Sound."
I reach out and take her hair in my hand. The way I've always touched her — like she's mine because she is. "No?"
She shakes her head slowly.
"Who are you then?" I ask quietly. "What did I wake up to?"
She holds her breath and takes one step back.
My hand drops.
"I won't listen to your every demand anymore," she says.
I look at her. "So you grew a backbone then."
Her nostrils flare.
And then she's moving — past me, to the door, her bag already on her shoulder, the decision made somewhere in the last thirty seconds and fully committed to now. I let her go. I watch her cross the room and reach the door, and she's almost through it when I say, "Whatever you know, Adela––"
She stops.
"Whatever you found out." I keep my voice even. “It's not what you think."
She looks at me over her shoulder.
I meet her eyes. "And you need to understand something before you leave."
"What?" she asks when I don’t say it right away.
I hold her gaze. "You're mine."
Her face twists into something confused, and then she's through the door, and it closes behind her. Then I'm standing in the middle of my room while the movie still plays.
I stand there for a moment and breathe.
I pull my phone from my pocket and open it.
The photograph of her note is still there. I've looked at it enough times that I could write it from memory.
You took the book.
I know it was you.
Bring it back.
