I froze, humiliation flooding through me. My jaw clenched so hard my teeth hurt.
Fine.
I turned around, looked him dead in the eye, and stripped right there in the bedroom. I peeled off my piss-soaked pajama bottoms and panties and threw them in the corner. Let him watch. Let him see what he'd reduced me to.
I pulled on the clean clothes, commando, my pissy ass still damp. My leg bounced with frustration as I finished getting dressed.
The bedroom was dimly lit, but I could still make out his face in the shadows—that sharp jawline, those brown eyes watching my every move. I glanced down at his outstretched hand and hesitated.
He didn't.
Romelo reached over and yanked my arm, pulling me toward him.
"Ouch!"
"Let's go." His grip on my wrist was unforgiving as he dragged me toward the stairs.
I tried to keep up, nearly tripping over my own feet. His footsteps were heavy against the hardwood, echoing through the too-big house. We passed through the living room, then down a hallway I'd only been in once before.
His bedroom.
I hadn't been in here since the night he fucked me in the ass and we fell asleep tangled together in his bed. The room smelled like him—teakwood and something darker, heavier. Masculine. There wasn't a single feminine touch anywhere. No pictures, no decorations. Just expensive furniture and that smell.
He let go of my wrist long enough to stalk over to his dresser. I rubbed the red marks on my skin and watched as he rummaged through a drawer.
When he turned around, I saw what was in his hand.
"Handcuffs?" I shrieked. "Handcuffs, nigga?"
He slammed the drawer shut and the whole room seemed to shake.
"Yeah, handcuffs, nigga." He mimicked my tone perfectly, mockingly. "Fuck you thought?"
"Romelo, this isn't necessary?—"
"So I'm supposed to trust your word that you won't leave me?"
I stared at him, speechless.
He didn't wait for an answer. He snapped one cuff around my wrist—tight, too tight—and the other around his own. He had more room on his end. Mine bit into my skin.
"This is fucking stupid," I muttered.
"Ya don't say." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "C'mon, I need to get stitched up and shit."
He pulled his cracked phone out again and typed in his passcode with his free hand. His thumb moved lightning-fast across the screen—too fast for me to catch the numbers. Then he switched to another app, entered a different code, and?—
The windows jolted open with a mechanicalwhirr.
My head whipped around so fast my neck cracked. Metal bars that had been covering the windows retracted into the walls like something out of a horror movie.
What the fuck.
"C'mon." He nodded toward the bathroom.
"I don't really have a choice, do I?"
"Nah. If it's up to me, you'll always choose me."
