Page 33 of Possessive Ink

“So can I, Princess,” he says, expectantly holding out the hand that’s not gripping mine.

Digging out my keys from my purse, I hand them to him. When we stop outside my apartment door, I watch as he unlocks the lock and pushes the door open, stepping into the space first and pulling me in behind him.

“Who are you?”

I cringe at the sound of Avery’s voice, wondering how I could have forgotten about her and how she’ll react to me bringing Atticus home with me.

“I’m Atticus Hoffman. Who are you?”

“I’m Avery Becker. What are you doing in my home?”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you’d be here,” I say, stepping around Atticus and more fully into the apartment.

“What the hell is this, Lemon? You know the rules. This is my private space. I don’t want people I don’t know here,” Avery shrieks, her voice getting louder and louder with each word.

Spinning me around to face him, Atticus growls, “You’re not allowed guests in your own home?”

Not wanting to admit how bad things have gotten with Avery, I suck in a breath and head for my bedroom, hoping Atticus will follow me and that Avery will calm down once we’re out of sight.

“Lemon, this isn’t okay. Who the hell is this guy? He looks like a criminal. I will not have a criminal in my home. Are you taking drugs? Is he your dealer? Did you seriously bring a drug dealer into my home? No wonder you’re like you are. I should have known you’re a junkie. You’re probably high right now. I’m calling the cops. I’m not having drugs in my home, and I refuse to live with a junkie.” Avery’s volume gets louder and louder until she’s yelling, her eyes bugging out of her head as she slips her cell from her pocket and starts tapping at her screen.

“Lady, you need to chill the fuck out,” Atticus snarls, his voice low and threatening. “If anyone in this room is on drugs, I’d lay money on it being you. This isn’t just your home. Lemon lives here too, or at least she’s on the lease for the next sixty-six days anyway, so why don’t you go ahead and take a breath before your eyes explode. We’re only here to collect some of her stuff to take to my place. Give us a few minutes and you can go back to whatever the fuck you were doing before we got here. Okay?”

Clearly my spiraling roommate was not expecting anyone to call her out on her shit, because her lips snap shut and she glares at Atticus with so much malice I’m not sure how he doesn’t turn to stone.

“Come on, Princess. Let’s go and pack you a bag. I don’t want you anywhere near this level of crazy for any longer than you absolutely have to be,” Atticus says, placing his palm on the base of my spine and urging me forward.

Jolted into movement, I hesitate for a moment, then rush toward my bedroom, opening the door and darting inside, then closing it behind us the moment Atticus steps into the room.

“This looks more like you,” he says, scanning the space and taking in my messy, cluttered bedroom. “But we might have to build you your own closet.” Smiling, he picks up my pink stuffed rabbit and wiggles it at me.

“I can’t believe she just said all that, or that you managed to get her to shut up,” I gasp, darting a glance to the closed door like I’m half expecting her to burst through it and start shouting again.

“Is she usually that bad, or did I just set her off?” he questions.

Grimacing, I shrug. “I try not to speak to her unless I absolutely have to.”

“I can see why you’re counting down to the end of your lease. Where do you keep your bags? I’ll get it while you grab some stuff.”

“Wait. Why am I grabbing stuff?” I question.

“Princess, I’m guessing you’re going to want to wear something other than your collar for the next few days. Although I’m more than happy for you not to,” he says with a smug grin.

Scoffing, I shake my head. “I think your brother seeing me naked once is more than enough.”

“After a while, you won’t care. And I already told you, he didn’t look at anything lower than your collar.”

“After a while?” I blurt, outraged. “That’s never happening again.”

Not speaking, Atticus arches an eyebrow at me, like he’s trying not to laugh at me. “Bag, Princess?”

“I’ll just take a shower and get changed. I don’t need anything else for dinner.”

“I don’t have to be at work until Monday, so pack enough stuff to last until then.”

“What? Why?” I question, my brain fried from the orgasms, nakedness, and Sir stuff.

“So we don’t have to keep provoking your roommate by coming back and forth to pick up clothes for you,” he says reasonably. Opening my closet, he wades inside, past the heaving rail of dresses to reach for the travel suitcase I have shoved at the back.