“Okay. Come sit,” he orders.
He stands and tosses the hair and note on the bed beside me, nodding down at the chair. “I’ll let you fill out your paperwork. If you can finish, you can go to London, and I’ll watch over Roxi instead.”
My mouth parts, and I side-eye him with wariness. There’s a catch to it, obviously. There’s always a catch.
Yet, he keeps his expression perfectly clear of his intentions.
“I think I’d prefer to do it on my own time,” I say cautiously.
He cocks a brow. “Do it now, or no deal.”
If I’m being honest, I’m sure I could work out a way to do what I need to do behind Dread’s back, but I also wouldn’t put it past him to straight-up lock me up. As he said before, I’m his favorite instrument, and he won’t let me disappear without a huge fight.
“My little violin.”
A shiver crawls down my spine from the memory of him whispering that to me in the pool. Butterflies swarm my stomach while the emotions fester beneath the lid, pushing against it until it slowly starts to pop off. My body has gone rogue, and despite me throwing all my weight onto that lid, I’m in a losing battle.
I force the memory away and focus on him.
“What’s the catch, Dread?” I ask with a heavy exhale.
Ireallydon’t have the energy to fight.
“You’re going to find out. Now, get on the chair, or I’ll make you.”
I glance at the door, estimating how likely it is for me to get past him and run.
“I dare you.” The deep timbre of his voice vibrates with warning, clocking what I’m thinking.
I work to swallow and opt out of responding. Better I stay silent and not antagonize him into blowing it off the rest of the way. I’d ratherremain in the comfort of my indifference, and I don’t trust my vocal cords to operate properly, anyway.
So, I clench my jaw, stand, and sit on the chair, tension inflating my muscles. The surrounding air thickens as he rolls me to my desk and sets the paperwork on the wooden surface before me. He plucks a pen out of the cup holding several writing utensils and tosses it on the desk.
I’m frozen.
Something is coming, especially because he didn’t roll me completely up to the desk and left a good several feet in between.
He moves to stand in front of me, and my spine snaps straight, alert and wary.
My heart skips a beat when he bends at the waist and lowers his face to mine. I lean away from him, but it does nothing to help me breathe easier. The tendrils of hair falling over his eyes only deepen the intensity radiating from his heated stare.
He reaches for the button on my jeans, and I instantly grab them to stop him, ignoring the feeling of my hands holding his. I’ll never understand how even the simplest of touches awakens something deep inside me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, though it comes out more like a demand.
One corner of his mouth curls upward, and my stomach tightens around the butterflies taking flight within me.
“I’m hungry, so while you fill out your paperwork, I’m going to eat.”
My heart drops, and that lid goes flying off. Everything releases at once, and I’m flooded with a rushing wave of emotions—so many, I don’t know how to discern a single one. So while a million different protests build on my tongue, I can only manage one.
“Absolutely not,” I snap, attempting to get up from the chair.
He’s quick to grab my hips, his hands like massive bear paws pinning me down. My limbs tremble with the need to escape this—him.
“After what you did? Posting that fucking picture online? You think I’m going to allow you to touch me again?” I spit, familiar fury swirling in my chest.
He holds no remorse as he asks, “Are you trying to make me feel bad for posting a picture with my girlfriend?”
