6. Lemon #3
God, why does he have to sound like he’s telling me the truth and not spinning me a line? If he sounded like a player, it’d be so much easier for me to tell him to go fuck himself, or actually leave instead of being frozen while I will myself to move.
“You don’t want to leave, do you, Princess?” he purrs gently. “You were enjoying being treasured by me, weren’t you? If Felix hadn’t walked in and freaked you out, you’d still be on your knees being fed by my fingers, or on my lap, napping while I play with your hair.”
“No.” I shake my head, but it’s weak, and we both know it.
“I promise my brother didn’t look at you.
He wouldn’t care even if he hadn’t seen the collar first. But the moment he saw it, he knew you were mine and that no one’s eyes but mine should ever look at you again.
He’s my twin, we can sense things, and he knew that you belonged to me the moment I brought you to meet him this morning.
It’s why he hugged you. Because you’re his sister now, and he claimed you, just like I did. ”
“You sound crazy,” I whisper.
“I sound sure, because I am,” he says, closing the distance between us. Gently cupping my cheek, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to my lips while his fingers tug lightly on the necklace at my throat. “Let’s go and pack some stuff for you,” he says when he pulls back.
“No, I should—” I start to argue.
“Princess, there’s nothing wrong with not wanting to waste time with a long, drawn-out dating period and just skipping to the happily ever after part of our story. Our version of right might look a little different to others, but if it works for us, that’s all that matters, right?”
“But…”
“Do you just want to be like everyone else, or would you rather do what makes you happy?” he questions.
“I want to be happy, but…”
“So if this works for us, that’s all that matters, right?”
“I mean, yes, but…”
“So this works for us?” he questions.
“Yes…but…”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Sir,” I answer, then wonder why I said it and how I ended up agreeing with him when I have my shoes on, ready to leave.
“You’re so perfect, Princess,” he praises. “Let’s go and pack you a bag, and when we get home, I’m going to show you how much I like it when you call me Sir.”
Pulling on sweatpants, a t-shirt, and sneakers, he takes my hand and tugs me out of the warehouse and into his car. Ten minutes later, we’re walking toward my building, his fingers curled tightly around mine.
“Where are your keys?” he asks.
“Oh, I can—” I start.
“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.
“This one?” he asks, lifting up the pale pink case on wheels that I bought when I attended Harold and Kumar’s out-of-town wedding a few years ago.
I nod, then shake my head. “Wait. Why am I packing again?” I question.
Lowering the case to the floor, he closes the distance between us, capturing my face in his hands. “I want you to stay with me until Monday,” he says, his voice soft and persuasive.
“It’s only Thursday.”
“So you need four outfits,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and not like he’s a man I just met who is asking me to stay with him for a full weekend.
I start to shake my head, but he curls his finger under the necklace I’m wearing and tugs lightly.
“Do you have any other plans this weekend? You don’t have work, and you don’t start your new job with Tori until Monday morning. It seems like your diary is wide open. So why would you want to spend the weekend here with your angry roommate instead of with me?”
“We don’t know anything about each other,” I whisper unconvincingly.
“But by Monday we’ll know practically everything,” he coaxes, adding a hint of demand into his tone, like his patience is wearing thin. “Do I get to pick your outfits from this packed closet?” he asks, deciding my answer without me actually agreeing.
“No, absolutely not,” I hiss, outraged at the suggestion.
“Then get to it, Princess. Tori is coming for dinner at six p.m., and Felix is pretty rigid on timing.”
Leaning forward, he presses a soft kiss to my lips, then spins me toward my closet, slapping me playfully on the ass to get me moving. I’m not sure that I actually agreed to this, but I still find myself perusing my packed rail of clothes looking for outfits.
When my eyes land on a long pink and white flowy floral-patterned dress with spaghetti straps that crisscross over my shoulders and down my back all the way to my butt crack, I can’t stop myself from dragging it out and placing it on the bed.
Atticus’s eyes land on the dress, then me, but he doesn’t speak as I go back to the closet and start fingering through my dresses to find a second outfit.
When my hand lands on a white strapless corseted dress, I just can’t move past it, dragging it out and placing it beside the other one on the bed.
It takes longer than it should to pick two more dresses, but I end up choosing a short red peasant dress and a black lace-sleeved dress that makes me want to put it on and spin around so that the short, but full skirt poofs out as I twirl.
Gathering underwear, accessories, shoes, hair stuff, and everything else I need, the case is so full I can barely close it as I lean all my weight on the top, trying to fasten the zipper at the same time.