As I drank, I asked myself why I wanted to talk to Enzo.
There should’ve been some relief that he’d left me alone.
But instead, I felt empty inside.
As I racked my brain, sipping on my juice, it hit me.
I tapped his name—well, the ridiculous name he’d saved himself as—and texted him.
Me: Delete those videos you took!
Not only was that important, but it’d open up conversation for us.
My phone beeped seconds later.
The Man Who Owns Me: You miss me, huh? Cute.
Me: NO! I just remembered I needed to tell you that.
The Man Who Owns Me: You miss me, Blair. You miss my bossing you around.
Before I could answer, my phone vibrated with a mass of texts from him.
The Man Who Owns Me: You miss my cock inside you.
The Man Who Owns Me: You miss your lips around my cock.
The Man Who Owns Me: You miss my tongue in your tight pussy.
I shook my head as my cheeks warmed.
Me: No, I want you to delete those videos you took.
The Man Who Owns Me: Send me another, and I’ll delete those.
Fine. He wants to play that game.
I closed out of our text, took a video of myself flipping him off, and then sent it to him.
The Man Who Owns Me: Not good enough. Send me one with your fingers somewhere else.
The Man Who Owns Me: That somewhere had better be between your slick pussy lips.
The Man Who Owns Me: I’ll be waiting for that video. Until then, keep missing me, Fawn. Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.
I dropped myphone and sighed.
Why do I have an urge to send him a video of me touching myself?
To make him miss me while he’s gone to … wherever the hell he is.
I wanted him to think about me night and day, like I was about him.
And at that point, I decided not to mention the texts and note.
For now, I wanted to keep that to myself.
Wanted to pretend they weren’t real and that another person didn’t want to hurt me.
