5. Etta
5
ETTA
T he sound of the front door opening jolts me from sleep, and I bolt upright in bed, my heart racing. Grabbing my cell from the bedside table, I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle the sound of my breaths as I tap the screen and bring my cell to life.
The clock shows four fifteen a.m. Clumsily unplugging my cell, I slide out from beneath the covers and freeze. What do you do when someone breaks into your house? I guess normal people would call 911, but we’re miles away from town. If whoever just came through the front door is here to hurt me, I’d be dead before the cops even got in their car.
Gripping my cell tightly, I drop to my knees, lower myself to my belly, and awkwardly slither beneath the bed. I don’t know the house well enough to think of a better place to hide, and if whoever is here is just trying to rob the place, I’m happy to wait under here until they take whatever they’ve come for.
When I hear the door being closed, I hold my breath at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Suddenly realizing how stupid it is to hide rather than call for help, I tap the screen on my cell and start to type 911 into the screen, but before I can hit dial, the bedroom door flies open and light floods the room.
“Etta!” a familiar-sounding voice shouts.
Shuffling to the end of the bed, I try to peer out while still staying hidden, twisting my neck as I try to see the face of the person who just invaded my bedroom in the middle of the damn night.
“Etta, where the fuck are you?”
“Oz?” I whisper, unsure why Oz would break into his own house.
From my hiding space beneath the bed, I watch as the person moves around the room, opening and closing the closet, before spotting my case pushed against the wall.
“Your stuff’s still here, so where the fuck are you?” he says quietly. “Henrietta Jordan, where the hell are you?” he shouts, and his voice is instantly recognizable. I’ve heard him say my name in my nightmares for years, and there’s no mistaking it now.
“Oz?” I say it louder this time.
“Etta?”
Wiggling out from beneath the bed, I roll up onto my knees and turn to look at him.
“What the hell are you doing under the bed?” he demands.
“Hiding. I heard the front door open, I didn’t realize it was you, so I hid, in case you were a home invader or something.”
His expression goes pensive for a minute, then he nods. “We should get you a dog.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
Stomping around the bed, he stops when he reaches me, and I look up, oddly aroused at the feeling of being on my knees at his feet.
“We’ll get you a dog, then you wouldn’t have to worry about being alone at night, the dog would be trained to protect you.”
“I can’t get a dog, and once I move in with Octy, I won’t be alone anymore,” I say, confused by this entire conversation and why he’s here, storming into my room at four in the morning.
“No,” he growls.
“No?” I ask, still on my knees at his feet while he looks down at me.
“You won’t be moving in with Octy.”
“What? Of course I’m moving in with Octy, that’s half the reason I took the job here.”
“And I’m telling you that won’t be happening. You’ll live here with me. But not in this room.” Bending down, he pushes his hands beneath my arms and lifts me off the ground like I weigh nothing.
“Oz, are you drunk?”
“Of course not,” he answers, urging me to wrap my legs around his waist before he turns and starts to carry me from the room.
“Then please explain what is happening right now,” I ask, obediently clinging to him while he walks onto the landing and then into the room beside the one I’ve been staying in.
“You’ll be sleeping in my bed from now on,” he declares, like it’s just that simple.
“Why? Where are you going to sleep?”
“We’ll be sleeping in here together,” he says, turning and closing the door behind us. Holding my weight with one arm, he pulls back the comforter with the other, then lowers me down onto the bed.
“And if I don’t want to sleep in here with you?” I ask meekly, releasing my hold on him but not trying to move from where he put me.
Kicking off his shoes, he rips off his hoodie and unfastens his pants, letting them slide to the floor. In just his boxers, it’s impossible to ignore the fact that his dick is hard, tenting the fabric as it points right at me. Instead of moving to the other side of the bed, he climbs in beside me, forcing me to shuffle across the mattress to give him space. For half a second, I consider climbing right back out the other side of the bed, but Oz reaches for me and cups my chin. Half of his hand covers my throat, his fingers gripping my cheeks tightly in a territorial way. “But you do want to. You want to be my good girl , don’t you, Etta?”
My body goes liquid, and heat fills my core. Why do I react that way to just two simple words?
“No,” I whisper.
“Don’t lie to me, Etta. Tell me the truth. What do you want?”
I shake my head, unwilling to admit to anything. This is crazy. It’s wrong. But I’m still here. I’m not trying to free myself of his hold, I’m sitting in his bed with only his hand keeping me restrained. I let him carry me from my room into here. I let him order me about, and I’ve obeyed him without thought. I’m not a prisoner, or at least not one that’s being forced to stay. But I’m still here, and why is that? Am I still here because my body and soul came alight when he touched me, cared for me, and kissed me? Am I still here because when he praised me, it changed something inside of me, and since then, my thoughts and dreams have been consumed with hearing those two words again?
“Tell me what you want,” he whispers roughly, the sound going straight to my clit and making it pulse with excitement.
“To be your good girl,” I admit, terrified of the power I just gave to the boy who terrorized three years of my childhood.
“But you haven’t been good, have you?” he drawls, lifting his free hand and stroking it over my hair. “Because good girls follow the rules.”
When I open my mouth to speak, his grip on my face tightens, silencing me.
“I’ve been out on a job for the last sixteen hours. When I got back a little over an hour ago, I was expecting pictures from you, showing me you were following the rules I set for you, but you didn’t send me anything, did you? You disobeyed me, didn’t you?”
“I ate,” I pant, hating how turned on I am by the way he’s scolding me.
This shouldn’t be sexy. I don’t know why I’m reacting like this, but it’s like my body has a mind of its own that’s completely disconnected from my head.
“Good, but what else were you meant to do?”
“Send you pictures,” I whisper.
“So why didn’t you?”
“Because…” I trail off, unwilling to truthfully answer his question.
“Etta, I asked you why you didn’t follow the rules,” he growls, his voice so rough I can feel myself shivering just from the sound.
“Because you didn’t reply.”
“What?” He sounds genuinely confused.
“You didn’t reply to the one I sent at breakfast.” Even in the darkness of his bedroom, I can feel the way his expression shutters. “You thought because you got no response you didn’t need to keep sending them.”
He’s not asking me a question; he’s telling me what he’s surmised, and it’s mainly true. But the full truth is, a part of me thought he was playing with me, and I didn’t want to end up as the butt of his joke.
“I had a call out to a house fire in a homestead in the woods. When we got there, the husband was unconscious, and the wife and son were missing. Me and some of my team joined the search and rescue team to find them. I don’t take my cell out with me because it’s dangerous for me to be distracted, but I should have texted you to let you know.”
Shaking my head, I try to argue, but my voice comes out sad and a little pathetic. “I just thought you’d lost interest. I don’t need to be treated like a child who needs to be reminded to eat.” I force out a doleful laugh, trying to dilute some of the tension that’s crackling between us.
“I’ve thought of nothing but you since I left for work two days ago,” he growls, moving closer, so his body is half over mine, his eyes boring into me, demanding I listen to him.
“Oz.”
“Don’t lie to me now when you’ve been so beautifully honest. Have you been thinking about me?”
Unable to speak, I nod.
“Good girl, my dick gets so hard thinking about you thinking about me. Did you touch yourself, imagining it was my hands on you?”
Shaking my head, I tense up, wondering if he was expecting me to. “That’s good. Because no one but me touches you now. You’re mine, aren’t you, Little One?”
I want to say yes. God, how I want to say I’m his, but I can’t. This can’t happen. We have too much awful history, too much hurt between us to just wash it under the bridge. “No, I can’t…we can’t,” I murmur.
“Why?”
“Because—”
He cuts me off before I can speak. “Because we knew each other when we were kids?”
“You hated me so much. You still hated me when I got here.” I try to force as much strength as I can muster into my voice, needing him to hear me. “Nothing’s changed, and I can’t be your punching bag again. I wouldn’t survive it again.”
“I did hate you. So much,” he says, dipping his head and pressing a hot kiss to my jaw. “I hated you for even existing. I hated you for living with my dad. I hated your mom because my dad picked her over my mom. I hated every moment I was forced to spend in that house with you all. And I still hated you when my dad insisted you stay with me. I really wanted to hate you when you texted me to say you were going to stay at a hotel, and I planned to continue to hate you, right until I saw you step off that bus.” With each angry admission he gives, he presses a kiss to my cheek, chin, nose, neck, and throat until my skin is burning from his touch.
“Exactly—” I try to agree, but he talks over me again.
“But then I saw you, and everything changed. Now I don’t want to hate you. I want to look after you. I want to take care of you. I want you to do what I say. I want you to follow my rules. I want you to be my very, fucking good girl, and right now I want to kiss and lick and suck and fuck you until every inch of you belongs to me. I don’t want to hate you anymore, Etta, I want to fucking own you.”
My body thrums with fear and excitement in equal measure. I’ve never been wanted, let alone owned, but for it to be him who feels that way is terrifying. When he didn’t reply to my text this morning, I immediately assumed the worst, I thought it’d all been a game—an unkind joke at my expense. It took all of my self-control not to send him pictures of my lunch and dinner, but I refused to play into this cruelty.
But now he’s here, in the middle of the night, bringing me to his bed and telling me he doesn’t hate me anymore—that he wants me, and I don’t know what to do with that. It would be effortless to just let him take control, but I can’t run away when everything falls apart. This is a small town, I can try to avoid him, but if what he said is true and my boss is his friend, then there will be no way of hiding from him forever.
“Oz.” I try to speak again, but his lips silence me. His tongue slips into my mouth, and every thought in my head evaporates, melting into the ether with my sense of self-preservation and all of my common sense.
Oz doesn’t kiss like it’s a prelude to more, he kisses like it’s the main event and nothing more will ever be required. He kisses like he really is taking ownership of me, and I feel powerless to stop him.
I’ve been kissed loads of times before, but they’ve never felt like this, and for a long moment, I just freeze, unable to comprehend what the hell I’m going to do. Oz doesn’t allow my inaction to stop him. Instead, he takes over more fully, moving my head where he wants it and coaxing my tongue into action. He doesn’t touch me anywhere but my face and head, but my entire body sparks to life like every nerve ending has been charged with a defibrillator.
“Mine,” he whispers against my lips. “All mine. You’ll never say no to me, Etta. You’ll be my good girl, my perfect, perfect girl.”
Goose bumps prickle along my arms and legs as my body absorbs his praise.
“Open your legs, Little One, I want to feel how hot you are for me.”
I try not to move, I honestly do, but my feet slide further apart without my permission until I’m spreading myself wide for him.
“Perfect,” he praises again, slipping his hand up the leg of my sleep shorts and cupping my pussy. “Fuck, look how wet you are for me. This perfect pussy needs to be filled, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, Little One, soon you’ll be so full of my cum, it’ll be dripping out of you.”
His fingers slide away from my core, and I feel the tugging of fabric as he drags my shorts down my legs, leaving me naked from the waist down.
“Look at you, so fucking perfect and wet,” he coos, climbing more fully over me and using his legs to spread mine even wider.
“Oz.” My voice shakes as I say his name.
“It’s okay, you’re being so good, putting your cunt on display for me. I’m going to make you feel so good, then I’m going to fill this empty little pussy up for you.”
His lips find mine again at the same time as he pushes two thick fingers into me, and I moan into his mouth. It’s been too long since anything has been inside of me, and the stretch is deliciously painful.
Instead of giving me time to adjust, he finger fucks me with slow, drugging thrusts, scissoring and stretching me until I can hear the sounds of my arousal every time he pushes his fingers deep into me.
“Fuck, Etta, listen to how wet you are. Be a good girl and come all over my fingers,” he demands against my lips. Releasing my chin, he wraps his fingers fully around my throat and squeezes, adding a tantalizing layer of awareness as I gulp in mouthfuls of air.
He’s not restricting my breathing, but something about his grip makes me feel like he’s allowing each inhale I take. When his thumb finds my clit, I push up into his hold, whining into his mouth while he dominates my entire body.
With his mouth on mine, his hand on my throat, his fingers in my pussy, and his thumb on my clit, I’m completely beneath his command, and the realization tips me over the edge. My vision blackens at the edges, and my existence shrinks down to a pinprick of light in an infinite darkness. Then that pinprick implodes inside of me, and I come so hard I scream.
His lips swallow the sound, inhaling my pleasure and taking it all for himself. But I don’t care. My core clenches around his fingers, and I come and keep coming, longer and harder than I even realized was possible.
When I find the will to open my eyes, Oz is above me, staring down at me with dark, intense eyes. His hand isn’t around my throat any more, instead, he’s gently caressing my jaw, his touch reverent and not controlling.
“You’re so perfect, Little One. You were so good for me.”
I shouldn’t be reacting like this, but I preen under his praise.
“I want to see all of you,” he coaxes, peeling my shirt up and over my head, leaving me entirely naked.
Dipping his head, he pulls my nipple into his mouth and nibbles on the peak. My back arches, and I push into him, shocked by how brazen I feel.
“Your tits are fucking perfect. You taste so fucking delicious,” he says, showering me with compliments.
“Oz,” I moan.
“It’s okay, I know what you need. I’ll give you everything that you need,” he assures me.
Before I really comprehend what’s happening, the blunt head of his cock is pressed at my entrance, and he slides into my body, insistently forcing his way inside of me, until I’m full of his massive fucking cock.
“Oh god!” I gasp.
“Your cunt feels unbelievable, you’re taking me so fucking well,” he whispers, turning his face and pressing his lips to mine, pushing his tongue into my mouth.
Not moving, he hovers above me, his dick filling me while he kisses me like it’s his only priority.
“Fuck, I need to move. Your perfect cunt is squeezing me so fucking tight, it’s begging me to fill you up.”
“Oz,” I pant again, seemingly incapable of saying anything else.
“Don’t worry, I know what this perfect, greedy little cunt needs,” he assures me, collaring my throat again with one hand while he lifts my thigh with the other.
Moving his hips, his dick withdraws, then slams back into me.
“Oh god,” I whimper.
“Shh, Little One, you can take it,” he whispers as he repeats the action, withdrawing slowly, then slamming in hard.
Lifting my leg, he tilts my hips, fucking me in steady, controlled thrusts, until he finds the spot inside of me that has a low, rough moan falling from my lips.
“There we go, that’s it. You’re being such a good girl. Your cunt was made for me, Etta. It was made to be fucked and filled with my cum. Clench around me, Little One, make me come,” he orders.
His words and the constant flow of praise send me soaring, and I do as he says, gripping his cock as I beg against his ear. “Please, Oz, please.” I don’t know what I’m begging for, but I do it anyway, lost in the moment and desperate for more.
“You beg so prettily. I need you to come for me, then I’ll give you what you need. I’ll pump this perfect pussy full of my cum until it’s dripping out of you. I’m going to fill you up until you’re good and bred, until your womb drinks my seed and fills you with my baby. I won’t let you out of this bed until you’re full of my kid and the entire world knows what a good girl you are and how much you belong to me.”
I’ve never really given much thought to being a mother. Mine wasn’t the greatest example, but as he promises to fill me with enough of his cum to get me pregnant, my body heats, fire starting at my toes and working its way upward until I think I might combust.
When I come, my back spasms and I throw my head back and cry out his name, forcing my hip into his grip and my throat into his hand. Hips snapping forward, he fucks me through my release, lifting my thigh higher as he slams into me.
“You’ll take everything I give you, Etta, every fucking drop of my cum, and your perfect fucking cunt is going to swallow it all. Beg me to breed you, Little One. Beg me to fill your perfect little pussy.”
“Oz,” I pant, feeling the start of a second orgasm barreling toward me.
“Beg me,” he snaps.
“Fuck me, fill me up,” I pant, lost to the moment as he holds me down, using my body and forcing me to take everything he’s giving me.
“Good girl,” he praises, burying his face in my neck as I feel the first hot stream of cum jerk inside of me.
When his thumb finds my clit, I come on a ragged scream, feeling his dick twitching while my muscles clamp down on him as wave after wave of ecstasy consumes me.
“That’s it, baby. Clench me tighter. You’re such a good girl, taking all of my cum.” He continues to whisper filthy praise into my ear while his hips keep rolling. Once his body slows, he finally exhales and relaxes, settling some of his weight on me, like he’s using his body to keep me where he wants me.
“Jesus.” He chuckles.
“Oh my god,” I mouth silently, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes. I can’t believe I just had sex with Oscar. How the hell did this happen? I mean, I know how it happened, but how did this happen?
“Etta.” His voice is gruff and low.
“Oh my god,” I say audibly this time.
“I know,” he replies, amusement clear in his tone. But what about this is funny?
“I need to move,” I gasp, suddenly claustrophobic beneath him.
“What? Am I squishing you?”
“I need to move,” I say again, more urgently, pushing at his chest.
“Etta, Little One, what’s the matter?”
“Your dick is in me,” I whisper-yell.
Scoffing lightly, he relaxes. “I know, it’s my new favorite place in the fucking world,” he says, dipping his head to press a kiss to my throat.
“Oz, your dick is in me,” I gasp, panic lacing my voice.
Lifting his upper half off me, he supports his weight on his hands, his dick still filling my core. “What the fuck is going on, Etta?” he demands.
Fear-laced disbelief consumes me, and I cover my mouth with my palm, trying and failing to keep all of my panic inside of me. “We…” My throat goes dry, and my words evaporate. I can’t speak, but I feel the tears that fill my eyes threatening to spill free. I can’t believe we just did that. I can’t believe his dick is still inside of me. I can’t believe any of this is even happening.
My internal diatribe becomes erratic, my thoughts swirling so quickly that I can barely make sense of them as I stare up into my tormentor’s eyes. “What did we just do?” I manage to croak out as a single tear falls from my eyes, rolling hotly down my cheek.
“Why are you freaking out?” he asks with an amused smirk spread wickedly over his full lips. Holding his weight off me with one arm, he grabs my thigh with the other, lifting it so he can roll his hips, the wet sound of our combined arousal filling the tension-filled air.
“You came inside of me,” I whimper. “We didn’t use a condom, and I’m not on birth control.” My words are so weak and pathetic that I want to cringe at the sound of my own voice, but right now I can’t be any braver. Too much has happened and so much has changed that I simply don’t have anything left to imbue my words with any more strength.
“Fuck, that’s fucking perfect, you’re fucking perfect,” he praises, his eyes heating with an emotion that I don’t recognize.
“I don’t understand,” I rasp, tears filling my eyes. “How is any of this perfect?” I want to yell and shout and snarl, but instead, I simply sound broken and weak.
“Knowing I could have just gotten you pregnant is what’s fucking perfect,” he purrs, his voice dropping an octave to a seductive purr that vibrates through me, finally settling between my thighs.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head, like I can unhear what he just said.
“I want you full of my baby,” he growls. Pushing his hand between us, he flattens his palm over my stomach as a possessive animalistic sound falls from his lips, both arousing and scaring me to my core.
“No,” I whisper again.
“Yes, Little One,” he says, narrowing his eyes and punctuating his intent with a grind of his hips.
My ability to speak dissolves as terrified emotion fills my throat. I don’t understand what’s happening right now. Is this a game? But the wetness between my thighs as he slowly grinds his semi-hard cock in and out of my sore pussy confirms that we weren’t careful and that my body is full of his release right now.
I’ve never had unprotected sex because pregnancy isn’t something to mess about with. Risking a baby isn’t a joke, it’s not a game or something to be lackadaisical about. So why is he smirking, like this is all funny? Why does he look so proud of himself?
I don’t know what he sees in my eyes or hears in the silence, but his lips dip into a scowl and his eyes darken to a lethal black that has me shuddering in response.
“You don’t want my baby, Little One?” he snarls, rolling his hips and grinding his hardening dick deeper into my soaked core.
My lips part, but no sound comes out. I don’t protest, I don’t tell him how cruel this all is or how crazy he truly must be to believe this is okay. Instead, I let him keep fucking me, the sounds of my wetness filling the air.
“Listen to that, Etta. That’s the wet, full sound your cunt makes after I fuck you and fill you with my cum because you begged me to do it. You’re mine, and I just branded you with my dick and hopefully my baby. What we just shared was fucking perfect, right up until you opened your mouth.”
“Oscar, we barely know each other, and what we do know is solely based on who we were fifteen years ago, when you were a monster and I was your victim.” I gasp, the first tear spilling from my eye.
“I was an angry, messed-up teenager,” he protests.
“You were an angry, messed-up teenager who made my life a living nightmare.”
Rolling his eyes, he tuts derisively. “Don’t exaggerate, Etta. I’ll admit I was an asshole, but that was a long time ago. That has nothing to do with what’s happening between us now.”
More tears drip from my eyes, landing on my lips and coating my tongue in salty emotion. Forcing words past my arid throat, I shake my head. “Our past has everything to do with us now. I can’t do this. We can’t do this. Oh god. We shouldn’t have done this. It’s a mistake.” For once, some of the fear and anger I’m feeling comes through in my voice, but instead of making Oz second-guess whatever it is we’re doing right now, his gaze hardens into a familiar, cruel gleam.
“You weren’t so fucking worried about it when you were coming all over my fingers and cock,” he growls angrily.
My lips part and a broken half sob falls from my mouth.
Ignoring me, he cups one of my breasts, toying with my nipples as he rolls his hips, his hardening dick landing against the spot inside of me that makes my eyes roll back in pleasure.
“Oz, stop…” Trailing off, I lose my train of thought as he slowly grinds the head of his cock against my G-spot, making every rational thought in my head dissolve into a pile of lust-filled mush.
“Do you really want me to stop, Little One? Or do you want me to keep going? Say the word and I’ll stop. Say it, Etta, say no,” he taunts as he fucks me in short, sharp thrusts, not giving me a moment to breathe as a barrage of pleasure pulses inside of me, never quite fading before the next wave starts.
In the back of my mind, I know I should be telling him to stop, that I should be reminding both of us that this can’t happen, and why we shouldn’t be doing this. But the ability to speak has been stolen from me, and all that’s left in its place are the animalistic moans and whines that keep falling from my parted lips.
When my orgasm splinters inside of me, it feels like my body has been taken over, and all I can do is sit back and watch it all unfold. The entire time he’s fucking me, Oz keeps talking, telling me over and over again how I’m his, how good I am, how perfect I feel, how beautifully I’m taking him, and how sexy I am.
Every word builds me higher and higher, the praise almost as intense as the way it feels when his dick slides home, filling me until it’s all I can think of. I come a second time, almost before the first release has faded, and my vision dims while the world slows and everything sounds like we’re underwater.
I can hear Oz talking, but his words become vague and distant. When he collars my throat, everything bursts back to life, and the sounds of our breathing, pleasure, and the wet slap of his dick pounding into me makes an erotic soundtrack that I’m not sure I’ll ever forget.
“Take it, Little One, take my cum,” he growls, slamming into me as he chases his own release, finally filling me with a long, low growl.
“Mine,” he snarls, tightening his hold on my neck until each breath he allows me feels like a gift.
When he comes, he presses his lips to mine, kissing me like I’m everything he ever wanted or needed, and as much as I try to fight it, I do feel like I belong to him, like everything we’ve shared in the last hour has fundamentally changed both of us.
It was only sex. It shouldn’t have the power to alter anything, but by the time he pulls away from my lips, our pants coming in perfect unison, nothing feels the same, and I have no idea what to do about it.
“Do you get it now, Etta?” he rasps, his voice gravelly and low.
“I…” I trail off, because what can I even say?
“You’re mine now, Little One. You need to let Octy know you can’t live with her. She can come and stay on the row until she finds somewhere else. Plenty of my teammates have spare rooms she can use. You can work from home once the baby gets here, and I’ll cut back or retire if you want.”
“What are you talking about?” I whisper, exhausted and wrung dry from the emotional whiplash I’ve felt since I heard him come through the front door.
“I can’t move down into town, it’s too far away from base, so you’ll stay here with me. Octy can’t move in with us because I plan to keep you naked as much of the time as I can and my dick inside of you as often as you can take me.”
“Oz, no, this can’t…this is all too much,” I argue breathlessly.
“No, this is exactly right,” he says confidently as he gently cups my cheek.
“You sound crazy. I’m not pregnant, I’m going to live with Octy. I have a job.” My protests sound and feel weak, even to my own ears. For the millionth time, I wish I was bolder, louder, more forceful. Maybe then he’d hear me.
Tilting his head to the side, his face changes into a terrifyingly intense mask that is far too reminiscent of the angry expression that permanently coated his face whenever I saw him when we were kids. Internally backtracking, I start to wish that he hadn’t heard me. I should have waited to say all this until we weren’t so close, when his dick wasn’t inside of me, when I could run and hide. I’m not worried that he’s going to physically hurt me, but words can be just as painful, and pinned beneath his body like this, I’m a prisoner without any means of escape.
“If you’re not pregnant yet, you will be soon. Your cunt is full of my cum, and in case you forgot, that’s how babies are made.” His voice is low, but his tone is steely and determined.
“I need to get a Plan B,” I whisper.
“No.” The single word sounds like it’s been ripped from his throat, and I recoil, trying pointlessly to shuffle out from beneath him.
“Can you let me up, please?” I ask pathetically.
“No, I like you here, under me, full of my cock and two loads of my cum.”
“Oscar, please.” I’m begging, but I’m not ashamed. Oz has clearly lost his shit, and if I need to debase myself to get out of this situation, then that’s what I’ll do.
“Am I hurting you?” he asks, and for the first time since I said us being together was crazy, I see a crack in his anger.
“No, but you’re scaring me,” I admit, sounding like the little girl I was the last time we saw each other, when frightening me was his favorite thing.
His hand is trembling a little when he reaches for me, gently stroking my face. “I don’t believe in any of the love at first sight bullshit the Barnetts spout. But I know that the moment I saw you step off that bus, I knew I’d never be able to walk away from you. I won’t let you go, Etta, not now that I’ve found you. Look me in the eye and tell me this feels wrong to you. Look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t like to do what I tell you, that you don’t like it when I tell you that you’re my good girl. That you didn’t like the way I fucked you and filled you with my cum.”
I part my lips to deny it all, but nothing comes out.
“I’m glad you didn’t try to lie to me, Little One,” he praises, and the words send a gust of warmth flushing through me.
“Oscar, you’re my stepbrother.”
When he smiles, it softens his entire demeanor. “No, Etta, I’m just yours.”