9. Etta
9
ETTA
I ’m not sure where Oz put my suitcase after he unpacked my clothes yesterday, but when I stepped out of his house last night, I had as many of my clothes as I could fit stuffed into my purse. When I called Betty after Oz left yesterday, I fully intended on asking her if there was any way she could take me into town. I’d planned to check into the hotel I’d booked for myself and run away from the man who’s starred in every single one of my nightmares for decades.
But when she answered her cell and I heard her voice, the words just wouldn’t come out. The moment she found out I was in Rockhead Point, she immediately asked me to join her and her family for dinner. When I told her I was staying with Oz and who he was to me, she told me she’d be right over, and ten minutes later, she was outside the house in a golf cart, her pregnant belly almost touching the steering wheel.
Octy first told me about the job opening at the new studio months ago before Betty had her first child. When Betty and her husband decided to delay the opening of the studio so she could concentrate on being a first-time mom, I don’t think she intended to get pregnant again quite so soon. Despite being pregnant again, this time around she seems determined to get the shop up and running before she becomes a mom of two.
Betty warned me that her house was a bit crazy, but honestly, I was not expecting to find seven families living under one—albeit very large—roof. The entire Barnett family choosing to live together is a bit weird, but I’ve honestly never met a happier family.
As soon as I got there, she introduced me to all her brothers and sisters as she called them, and I’m glad there wasn’t a test on their names because I’d have failed miserably. Then she tried to introduce me to all the kids, but apart from the oldest couple, Poppy and Maverick, who were walking and talking, the rest were just a sea of crazy cute toddlers and babies.
Until today, I wasn’t the biggest fan of babies. I was nine when my brother Carson was born, ten when Dawson came along, and twelve when my sister Everly arrived. I never resented my half siblings, but being old enough to remember every sleepless night where one baby or another screamed so loud they woke up the street, not just the house, was enough to make me realize that motherhood might not be for me.
But watching the Barnetts interact with their kids was kind of mind-blowing. Betty’s husband, Cody, is one of seven. His six brothers are all married and all have kids. The seven of them are all equally huge and rugged, and I now completely understand why Octy enjoys the eye candy when she spends time with Betty and her family. Watching seven very attractive men interact with their own children and their nieces and nephews was enough to have me envisioning how Oz would look cradling a tiny baby in his arms.
Our tiny baby.
I’m not pregnant, it’s practically impossible. My periods have always been irregular, and my gynecologist said that I should consider having some eggs frozen just in case. But since I stepped foot through the door, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking what if I was? What if Oz has managed to fuck enough of his cum into me to result in a baby?
Instead of asking for a ride into town, I found myself playing peek-a-boo with a beautiful red-headed girl, who I think is Cora’s daughter because their fiery hair is the same copper shade.
When Betty asked how I ended up staying with Oz, I told them our parents had gotten married when we were kids and that we’d lost touch fifteen years ago, but that Bruce, Oz’s dad, had asked Oz if I could stay with him for a few days until Octy got to town.
I didn’t mention how awful Oz was to me or that we might be more than stepsiblings now. I never mentioned that I hadn’t wanted to stay with him or that I wanted to leave. I never said a word, not even when one of the Barnett men looked at me knowingly, like he was daring me to lie and say Oz was nothing but an estranged stepbrother to me. When dinner was over, I thanked them all for their hospitality, went back to Oz’s place and crawled into his bed, my hand resting over my stomach as I fell asleep dreaming about all the what-ifs.
The sun is high in the sky when I blink my eyes open. Rolling to my back, I pad around the bed, searching for my cell, finally finding it under the pillow and bringing the screen to life. It’s almost eleven, and I’m surprised to see that I only have one text from Oz.
Oscar: Good morning, Little One.
Sighing, I roll to my side and curl my knees up toward my chest, trapping my hand that’s still resting over my stomach in place. He woke me up last night when he called me. I hadn’t meant to tell him the truth. I didn’t even realize the words were on my lips until I was confessing that I’d planned to run but that I hadn’t.
I still don’t even really know why I’m still here, maybe it’s him, maybe it’s the sex, or maybe it’s me needing to face down my monster.
“Or maybe it’s the idea of us ,” the annoying voice in my head whispers to me. Maybe I’m just not ready to give up this crazy, intense wrongness that feels so incredibly right. I’ve always thought that those girls in movies and books who throw their lives away for a guy and great sex were idiots, but isn’t that what I’m doing? Two days ago, I hated him. I was scared of him and determined to do whatever it took to avoid him. But now I’m sleeping in his bed, following his rules, and smiling at texts from him. Surely some pretty fantastic sex can’t wipe the slate clean? I’m not that dickmatized, am I?
A part of me wants to blame everything on a post-orgasm haze, but if that’s all that was keeping me here, it’d worn off by now. So what’s my excuse for still being here? Whatever the real reason is, I haven’t run, I’m still here, and he knows it. I wonder if that’s why he’s only texted me once and not a dozen times, getting angrier and angrier with each message he sends that goes unanswered.
Typing out a reply, I hit send before I can second-guess myself.
Me: Good morning.
Instead of waiting to see if he replies, I drop my cell to the bed and yawn. My body feels heavy, tired, and sore, and even though I know I should be getting up, I can’t quite seem to drag myself out from beneath the warm comforter. Oz’s scent clings in the air, as does the heady tang of sex that seems to be lingering, even after I changed the sheets after Oz went back to work yesterday.
Closing my eyes, I allow my mind to replay the memory of the way he handled me after he burst into my bedroom in the middle of the night. I’ve never had a man physically handle me before. Perhaps if I had, I could have been better prepared to face Oz’s overwhelming presence, but maybe not.
My Monster’s aura is as all-consuming now as it was terrifying when we were kids. If I’m honest, I’m still a little scared of him, but now I’m worried he’ll break my heart and ruin my soul, not just destroy my things and hurt my feelings. I still bear the emotional scars of his torment from when we were kids, but the man he is now could do a hell of a lot more damage if he wanted to.
Finally convincing myself to crawl out of his comfortable bed, I pad into the bathroom and pee before turning on the faucets and setting the tub to fill. Another yawn slips from my lips as I wait for the water to rise. Steam plumes from the faucet, filling the air, and I regret my decision not to pack all of my half-empty toiletries when I realize it’s incredibly unlikely that Oz is going to have bubble bath in his medicine cabinet.
I’m still a little sore, but the water feels blissful as I slip beneath the surface, letting it curve around me like a soothing blanket. Resting my head against the tub, I close my eyes and exhale, letting the tension I’m feeling melt away into the hot water.
My apartment in Vegas was basic, and even though I lived there for three years, I never bothered to make the generic space my own. I’d rented a fully furnished place because, when I got the job after college, I didn’t really have anything or any money to buy anything. After a while, I just got used to the dollar store furnishings and uncomfortable box spring mattress that molded around me the moment I sat down on it.
The only room I did any renovations to was the bathroom. I painted the walls a calming seafoam green color and hung seaglass pebbles in the window to catch the light. I had pretty candles beside the tub and floating lights that made the water look blue or green or pink depending on my mood. I’ve always loved soaking in the tub. There’s something peaceful about the stillness of it, and even though I should not be feeling settled in Oz’s home, it’s impossible to ignore how relaxed I feel in his space.
Finding his soap, I glide it over my skin, ignoring the way my nipples pebble as I inhale his newly familiar scent. Grabbing my own shampoo that he unpacked for me, I wash my hair, then coat it in conditioner, and rest my head back while I leave it to soak in.
I can’t resist letting my hand stray to my stomach again. There’s no way there’s a baby starting to form inside of me, but the more I deny the possibility, the more I remember all the filthy things he said to me yesterday.
“You’ll take everything I give you, Etta, every fucking drop of my cum and your perfect fucking cunt is going to swallow everything. Beg me to breed you, Little One. Beg me to fill your perfect little pussy.”
Arousal heats my core as I hear the sound of his rough growl in my mind. I’ve always considered myself a bit of a prude, but there was absolutely nothing prudish about the way he fucked me or the way I loved every moment of letting him.
He can’t seriously be hoping to get me pregnant, though, can he? We haven’t seen each other for fifteen years. We don’t know each other, and we have so many issues to sort out. A baby would be too much, yet I still find myself imagining how he’d look cradling a baby—our baby—in his massively strong arms.
My core pulses with desire, and I have to fight the urge to slip my fingers between my thighs and fill my sex with my fingers to relieve the ache my memories are leaving me with, but I don’t because he told me I couldn’t.
He told me my pussy was his, and even though he’s not here, even though I don’t answer to him or the fact that he’ll never know, I still keep my hands above the water. It’s ridiculous to allow him to dictate how and when I can touch my own body, but as much as I shouldn’t, I want to be his good girl, and good girls follow the rules.
I have so much to mentally unpack from the short amount of time we’ve spent together, but first, I need to figure out if wanting to please a man I barely know yet have had a lot of sex with is weird.
Prior to my mom meeting Bruce, she didn’t exactly neglect me. We had an apartment and food in the cupboards, but it wasn’t me and Mom against the world. It was me, then there was Mom and whoever she was dating at the time.
After she met Bruce, she paid more attention to me, mainly because he did. But both before and after Oz became a part of my life, there wasn’t anyone cheering from the sidelines telling me what a great job I was doing.
Maybe the lack of praise and affection I received when I was a kid has molded my desires as an adult, and I just didn’t realize it until Oz purred the words good girl into my ear. Whatever the reason, I know I won’t be touching myself there, even though the urge to be full and satisfied is almost overwhelming.
Instead, I part my folds and find my clit, rubbing my finger over the bundle of nerves and closing my eyes and remembering how it felt to be beneath him. How it felt to be under his control, completely owned.
Minutes later, I’m crying out as an orgasm washes over me. When my eyes flutter open, I stare up at the ceiling above me and wonder what the hell is happening to me.
I’ve never sought out sex beyond boring missionary and, on occasion, doggy style. But even in the short amount of time Oz and I have spent together, he’s already given me a glimpse into a world I never imagined.
Allowing him to dominate me was eye-opening. I’ve always considered myself weak-willed, but am I really just submissive instead? The guys I’ve dated in the past were nice, but any signs of toxic masculinity felt like red flags that had me running in the opposite direction.
Oz is waving a red flag in each hand while grunting, “ Me man, you woman, you mine.” And I’m not fleeing, I’m bending over and begging him to fuck me and tell me I’m his very good girl .
The sheer number of things wrong with everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours is startling, yet I’m still here. I’m still scared of him, and a part of me still worries that this is all just a cruel joke, but I’m still here.
Do I want to be his? A part of me does. A part of me craves to belong to him, to have someone claim me, even if it’s in a terrifying way.
When my cell beeps, I lean over the side of the tub and grab it from where I’d put it on the floor.
Oz: Good morning, did you just wake up?
Me: Yes, I slept late.
Oz: I wore you out. I can’t wait to do it again. You haven’t sent me a picture of your breakfast yet.
Me: I haven’t eaten yet.
Oz: You’re not allowed to skip meals; you know the rules.
Me: I’m not skipping, I’m just in the tub.
Oz: Send me a picture.
Me: I’m not sending you nudes, that’s single girl 101.
Oz: You’re not single, and I’d never let anyone else see you naked.
Me: I’m not sending you pictures of me naked.
Seconds after I sent the last message, a video call request comes through. Sighing, I can’t help the smile that spreads over my lips as I press accept.
“Good morning, Little One,” he purrs.
“Good morning.”
“For the first time in years, I really wish I wasn’t at work. I want to be there with you, sitting behind you in the tub. Show me what I’m missing out on,” he orders sweetly.
“Oz, someone could see,” I protest, but it sounds weak even to my own ears.
“No one but me gets to see you naked. Ever,” he growls. “I’m in the bunkhouse on my own, I promise.” Turning the camera away from his face, he shows me a large room full of several sets of bunk beds, and just like he said, the room is empty.
When he turns the cell back to him, he arches one eyebrow and smirks. “Show me what I’m missing.”
The demand in his voice shudders through me, and I find myself dipping the camera down my body, showing him my bare breasts, then lower until he can see my pussy beneath the water.
“Fuck. You didn’t touch your cunt, did you?”
“No.” I shake my head, even as heat rushes to my cheeks.
“Oh, but you touched something, didn’t you, Little One?” he drawls seductively.
“Oz,” I whisper, fighting the urge to cover my face with my hands.
“Tell me. Did you touch your needy little clit or play with your tight little ass? Did you get that sexy little plug you had in your toys all soapy, then push it into your hole? Are you getting ready for when I decide to fill that tightness with my dick?”
“No, I…” I shake my head as more heat plumes in my face.
“You’d like that, though, wouldn’t you? Once your cunt is full of my cum and plugged up tight to keep all of me inside of you, I bet you’ll push your ass in the air for me and present that tight little hole to me to be fucked. I bet you’ll beg and whine until I stretch it out with my fingers and fill it with my cock.”
“No, I’ve never. I’d never,” I mumble, my tongue feeling thick and making my words sound slurred.
“I wish you’d saved your ass for me; I want to be the first and only man to ever fuck you there. I’ll always want your pussy, but when I’ve been too rough, or you’re too pregnant to take my cock in your cunt anymore, I know I’ll love fucking your asshole. I’ll make it so good for you. It’ll be a treat for when you’ve been my very, very good girl .”
I don’t even realize my fingers are on my clit again until my orgasm peaks and I squeeze my eyes shut and come on a stifled gasp, like I’m trying to hide the sound from him, even though he’s literally watching me fall apart.
“Holy fuck, that was so fucking sexy.”
“I didn’t,” I rush to say, unsure why I’m trying to deny anything when he just watched me.
“Make sure you sleep naked tonight, the moment I get home, I’m going to be inside of you. I can feel my balls tingling, desperate to fill you up. The second I step through the door, I’m coming for you, and I won’t have the patience to undress you.”
“We shouldn’t?—”
“I’m going to keep you full of me for hours. I’m going to fuck you and fill you up, then keep you full of me until I get hard again, then I’m going to fill you up all over again. I’m going to have you over and over and over until you’ve drained my body of every single drop of cum. I can’t fucking wait.”
“Oh god,” I gasp, feeling my empty core clench with anticipation.
“Quit your job,” he growls.
“What?” I pant, wide-eyed.
“Quit your job. I have plenty of money, I don’t want you to work. I want you with me or waiting for me. Plus, you’re pregnant. I don’t want you working when you’re growing our kid.”
“I’m not pregnant,” I say on a terrified laugh.
“If you’re not growing with my kid yet, you will be soon. It’ll be impossible for you not to get pregnant when I plan to keep you full of my cum until you’re nice and bred.”
His lips are curved into a wide smile, and I can’t help smiling back. “This is so fucked up,” I whisper.
“This is fucking perfect,” he says, winking at me. “Now rest your cell on the side of the tub while you wash your hair. I’ll stay with you while you finish up, then eat.”
For the rest of the day, I do exactly what Oz tells me to, and it’s oddly…freeing. I eat when he tells me to. I do a little work, then change the channel to the film he’s watching, because he says he wants us to watch it together.
When it’s late, he calls me and talks to me while I get into bed, and I fall asleep naked in his bed to the sound of his voice.