Chapter 4 – Rosalind
CHAPTER 4
ROSALIND
He looks me up and down, his full lips turning into a frown. Ever so slightly, he scents the air, and I’m sure he knows just how dreadfully aroused I am. However, he says nothing about it.
“I never said you were a child. I didn’t even imply it, really, but for us to function efficiently, rules have to be put in place and obeyed.” Is it my imagination or is his voice getting huskier with each word? “Come, let’s do this in my office. It feels more official that way.”
I follow him into the room, my heart skipping as I take in the orderly shelves. Just like with the rest of the home, everything is in a place. For some reason, it makes slick gather between my thighs, but that’s just absurd.
Why would seeing him so organized make me want to sleep with him even more? Perhaps it’s because you’ve never had that growing up? Everything was so chaotic and disorderly despite the money your family had. Somehow, seeing this level of control makes you feel safe? I scowl at the voice in my head, not wishing to look any deeper into this.
He’s an Alpha and I’m an omega. That’s it. End of story. It’s the only thing making me think delicious, sexy thoughts. Nothing more. However, when he finally takes off his suit jacket and drapes it on the back of the chair, all additional thoughts flee.
When he moves to roll his sleeves up, I’m done for. I’m so wet I’m shocked it’s not showing through the fabric. My only saving grace right now seems to be he can’t smell the arousal literally dripping from my body.
What the hell is wrong with me? I should be hating him, and that includes his long, thick fingers as they run over the fabric in a way that seems almost indecent. I detest the fact that my pussy wants him to slide over it too, teasing it just like he does the edges of his sleeve.
His muscles bulge with each movement, reminding me just how strong and massive he is. They strain against the cotton, making it look as if the fabric is almost painted on. I resist the urge to reach out, to run my fingers along his arm just so I can feel the power that flows through him.
“Now then, typically, I’m not one to draw up contracts for this sort of thing, but if it’s something that will make you feel more at ease, I can certainly do that.” He reaches into his desk and pulls out a legal pad.
Fingers poised above the yellow paper, he looks up at me.
“A contract? I—Is this a sex thing?” I’ve heard of things like this in passing when we went to the club Jacob managed, but I never delved too deeply into it.
Again, his eyes flash. “It can be, but it certainly doesn’t have to be. This is more a matter of what you need. Do you need something to look at to remind you of the rules? Or do you think you can remember them on your own?”
“Do you really think I’m that stupid? Or do you have so many rules I won’t have a chance to remember?”
Frowning, he sets the pen down. “I’m not implying you’re stupid. I don’t know you yet, Rosalind. I’m trying to ascertain your needs. That’s all. So here’s what we’re going to do— I will write down the rules as I give them to you and place this paper on the fridge. If you find you need a refresher, you’ll know where to look.”
I cross my arms, feeling every inch a petulant child. Why does he get to me like this? Normally, I’m cool, calm, and collected, but around him, it all just disappears.
His very presence threatens me, making me want to curl up inside myself and lash out. “Whatever.”
“What was that?” There’s a growl to his voice, a deep timber that drifts down my spine like fingers.
“I said what-ev-er ,” I snap, emphasizing the syllables in a slow tone as if he can’t understand me.”
He shakes his head and starts to write. “The biggest one for you, I think, is no excessive spending. Anything over one hundred dollars, you discuss with me first. Every week, you will have a maximum of three hundred to use, but that’s for everything. Groceries, household items you need such as cleaning supplies, personal items you might want, travel to and from stores, and things like that. You must make it work.”
“Three hundred? Are you serious?”
He pins me with a stare. “I’m not made of money. What I make is decent. It pays the bills and gives me extra to do stuff with, but three hundred is the highest I can go and still feel comfortable. I know it’s a step down from what you’re used to, but that’s the way it’s going to be.”
Again, I cross my arms, huffing. “I can stay within that budget. Just watch me.”
“Oh, I have faith in you.”
I study his face, looking for the joke, but he seems in earnest, as if he really does believe in me. An odd sensation swirls in my gut as I try to figure him out. “What’s next?”
“Lights out at eleven pm, sharp.”
“Oh, come on. That one’s just unreasonable. Even on the weekends?”
“Even on the weekends.”
“No one goes to bed at eleven on the weekends.”
Leaning back in the chair, he steeples his fingers. “I do. I need to be at my best for my job. Eleven ensures I get enough sleep. Where people mess up is thinking they can disrupt a routine on the weekends and still function at maximum on the other days of the week. It’s not possible. So no, again, this is non-negotiable.”
“Prison has better rules than this,” I grumble, feeling on edge and angry.
“Do they? Truly? Are you sure? Because I’ve been in the prisons. I know exactly what it’s like in there.”
I huff, turning my face away so he can’t see the expressions that shift about, getting me into trouble when I can’t really help it. Unfortunately, though he refuses to touch me, I turn my face to look at him, as if he’s moving me, holding me there. It’s insane, but something deep inside needs to see him at his worst, to know just what sort of a monster I’m saddled with.
“If you want to experience prison life, I can certainly make that happen,” he murmurs, his voice deadly serious. “It’s obvious you need a better lesson in manners at the very least. Perhaps you need more rules then? Would that make you feel more comfortable, more akin to being in a prison? Would you like me to take you firmer in hand? Trust me, princess, I can make this far worse than prison.”
“Impossible,” I cry out, just moments before clapping my hand over my mouth. That wasn’t supposed to come out.
His lips curl up into a humorless smile. “Oh, but I certainly can.” Leaning back, he threads his fingers together and rests the back of his head against his palms. “How does a crib sound? I could tuck you away, coddling you like the child you’re acting as. Or, since you want it worse, I can order some diapers, forcing you to wet yourself if I choose to not allow you to go to the bathroom. That would certainly be worse than prison, yes? Or does the idea of pissing all over some cartoon bears in pink fluffy dresses turn you on?”
Shocked, my mouth drops open. What the hell can I even say to that?
“No? You don’t want to ask me permission for bathroom breaks, for food, for everything? Do you really want to try me on this? Because trust me, if it’s a battle of wills you want, I will win. There is no question about it.”
Finally, words fly from my lips. “A crib? Diapers? What kind of kinky fucker are you?” My voice is soft, nearly breathless as my pulse pounds in my ears.
“The worst kind.” He smiles, showing me his teeth. “I’m the type who can punish with no remorse. So again, I ask you: Do you want to try me?” Once more, he puts pen to paper.
“I guess not.”
“Good girl.”
Those two words slam into me, stealing my breath. When have I ever been anyone’s good girl? Never that I can remember. Soft gasps slip between my lips as I mull them over, feeling them out. I could get used to that.
“Last rule. Since I’m not making you work, you will keep the house tidy. You know, laundry, vacuuming, things like that. And dinner will be on the table at six pm sharp.”
All the good feelings leach out of me. I can’t cook. I know nothing about a kitchen. However, I don’t want to not be his good girl anymore. Panic eats at me as I become defensive, deflecting my feelings with an attitude.
“Anything else?”
He raises his eyebrows in shock. “Don’t you think these are enough for now?”
Again, I roll my eyes, not sure what is actually wrong with me that I keep antagonizing him like this. “Fine. Yes, Daddy.” Sarcasm drips from my lips as I jut out my lower lip.
Michael rises, his large body looming over me. I feel so small, so inconsequential, so… little. “Careful, babygirl,” he growls, setting my pulse to a rapid staccato as my pussy throbs in time. “I enjoy hearing that word drip from your lips. Keep it up, and I’ll make you say it again.”
Nervousness eats at me as I stand there, unsure of what to do or say. He shouldn’t have this effect on me. He shouldn’t be pulling these feelings or sensations out of me. Especially not with something like ‘good girl’ or ‘babygirl’.
“Whatever.”
“You will respect me, Little Rosalind. I will never negotiate on that.”
“Oh, sorry. My bad. Whatever, Daddy .”
A soft growl rumbles through his chest, threatening to turn me into a pile of goo. “You’re playing with fire, babygirl. But I’ll let it slide tonight since you’re still getting used to things. But if I have to impress upon you that I’m not a man to be trifled with, I will.”
In that moment, part of me so desperately wants to see just what he’ll do if I push his buttons. Will he hit me like Jacob? Will he yell at me? Scream at me? Call me degrading names? I’d like to think that Michael is different, but how different can Alphas really be?
But then, memories flood my body, reminding me just how bad an Alpha can be and just what they can do. I don’t want my second marriage to start off like this. Besides, with him being even bigger than Jacob, his blows would hurt even worse.
“Sorry, Michael,” I whisper, terror clutching my insides.
My body trembles as I war within myself. As much as the idea of him taking me in hand turns me on, I want none of it. I don’t want to spark his Alpha urges any more than I already have. Eyeing him with suspicion as he slides around the desk, I watch as he makes his way closer to me.
Sliding his fingers under my chin, he once more forces my gaze to his. So small, so little, so overwhelmed. “Thank you for your apology. That was very big of you. But I’m not mad. Not even disappointed. We’re still learning each other.” He pauses to brush a strand of hair from my face. “This will be an adjustment period, but I’m committed to trying my best. Are you? Will you be my brave girl and try for me?”
What can I even say to that? Wordless, I merely nod, my thoughts in a jumble. Without realizing it, I nuzzle his hand, desperate for the strength I feel vibrating through him.
It’s what was missing between Jacob and me. Yes, he was a big oaf who got his way, but he never possessed this same quiet strength that made me feel safe and secure. Pulling back, I ease away from Michael, furious with myself for allowing that moment of weakness.
With a sigh, he drops his hand. “There is one more thing I need to know.”
Unease clenches my insides. What else could he want to know right now? Does he want me to tell him how my pussy throbs, desperate for his domination? Will he make me say out loud how his words make me drip with need?
“Yes?” I detest the temerity in my voice.
“Did Jacob claim you?”
Of all the questions swirling through my mind, that was the last one I expected from him. But it makes sense. “No. I’m not sure if he ever planned to do it, but now, we’ll never know.”
A smile crosses his face, making his eyes crinkle. The relief flowing off of him is nearly palpable in the air. At least I made him happy, I guess?
Holding out his hand, he waits for me to take it. “Ready for dinner?”
I stare at the limb, my mind hashing out the possible repercussions of giving in even a little. “Do I have a choice?”
He pulls back, running his fingers through his hair. “Is that how every conversation is going to be between us? Because if it is, I want to clear the air right now. In many things, no, you will not have a choice. My rules are set in place in order to keep this house running smoothly. After we try it for a bit, we can talk about it and tweak what’s not working or add something that will help. None of this is ever to make your life just unbearable.”
Refusing to comment, I divert and turn it back onto him. “And I suppose you have rules for yourself? What happens if you break them? Do I get to spank you?”
My fingers fly over my lips as that last question pops out. What the actual hell was I thinking? Not even Michael mentioned spanking, and here I am opening my big, fat mouth.
This time, there’s no mistaking his reaction to my words. The front of his slacks tents up as his eyes darken. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck . That was not the reaction I was trying to get out of him.
Backing up, a soft whine slips from my lips as he eats up the distance with his long stride. There’s no escaping him now. My back slams into his bookshelf as he leans forward, caging me with his arms.
“Oh no, babygirl. The only one here who does the spanking is me. And that’s only if you’re a good girl for me.”
“Good girls don’t get spanked. That’s like an unspoken rule or something.”
“My good girls do.” Before I can respond, he pulls back, allowing chilly air to rush in and cool my flamed cheeks. “It’s almost six. Ready for dinner?”
And just like that, my blood drops to my feet. Dinner. That means I’ll have to cook. I don’t cook. I never have. What am I going to do?
He chuckles as he glances back at me, misunderstanding the anxiety racing through my veins, threatening to make my knees buckle. “It’s just pizza and breadsticks. Nothing odd, I promise. And don’t worry, you can make whatever you want for dinner from now on. I’m not picky.”
A thin smile crosses my lips as I follow him out to the kitchen. He says he’s not picky, but that won’t matter if what I serve is inedible. Leading me to the table, he motions for me to sit as the doorbell rings.
“Ahhh, right on time. I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I figured a plain cheese was universal.”
So that’s what he was doing on his phone when we first got to the house. I wasn’t even thinking about dinner, and yet, here he was planning everything. What exactly have I gotten myself into?
It’s not the ordering dinner—even Jacob did that occasionally. It’s me not having to even ask or bring it up. He just did it. He thought about me when I wasn’t even in a state of mind to think about myself.
I watch his lips curl up into a smile as he brings the steaming boxes over to the table. The need to tell him the truth eats at me as he maneuvers around the kitchen, grabbing plates, forks, and glasses.
“I don’t know how to make pizza,” I murmur, twisting my fingers under the table.
“That’s quite all right. That’s what takeout is for. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not eat fast food that often. It just doesn’t sit right. There’s nothing quite like a home-cooked meal to warm the soul after a long day.”
Fuck. What do I even say to that? “I… um… well… you definitely deserve one after the work I’ve seen you do. You must be famished when you come home.”
He raises an eyebrow and spears me with a knowing look. “Are you okay with cooking? I know we didn’t really discuss roles in this marriage, but if you’re content staying home, I’m fine with that. If you’d rather work, then we’d have to come to a different arrangement.”
Oh. Well, working is right out too. I’m not fit for anything. I have no experience that can translate into me getting a job. At least here, I can fudge with the cooking. He said I get three hundred dollars a week, and if that won’t buy me enough dinners to keep him happy, I don’t know what will.
Giving him a soft smile, I duck my head in a show of submission. “I would love to stay at home and cook for you.” God, what have I just done?