13. Etta
13
ETTA
M y body aches like the one time I went to the gym and decided to try out every single machine. I’m exhausted and weary and my pussy hurts so much that there’s a dull throb that pulses through me with every step I take. I feel utterly owned by Oz, and even though I know I shouldn’t, knowing he truly believes I’m his is almost titillating.
After he kissed me until my legs went numb and my entire brain shrank into a single-minded entity entirely focused on him, he stepped back and then watched while I opened every drawer trying to find my clothes.
After he unpacked for me the other day, I only searched through his closet just enough to find pajamas and then something to wear to Betty’s the other night. It feels okay to search a little more thoroughly with him here, though, so I did, finding all of my clothes mixed in with his, like we really are a married couple living together and sharing space.
When I’m dressed in ripped jeans and a white knit sweater, Oz takes my hand and leads me downstairs, like he can’t stand not touching me for even a second. The anger I was feeling has faded, and instead, my mind feels like it’s fizzing with questions and fears and anxiety over what exactly I’ve gotten myself into.
Marrying him was a crazy decision to make, and although I don’t think he necessarily coerced me into saying I do, he definitely orchestrated a situation where I wasn’t completely rational and consenting. But I’m not entirely sure I’d have said no, even if I hadn’t had cocktails with lunch or been dazzled by the look of love in his eyes when he told me he needed me to say yes.
Towing me into the kitchen with him, his fingers curl around my hips before he lifts me off the floor and sits me down on the counter.
“French toast?” he asks.
“I can cook.” I’m not sure if I’m offering or informing him, but either way, his lips curl into a soft smile before he leans forward and claims my lips with his.
“You know I like to take care of you,” he reminds me, his voice a seductive purr that sends goose bumps skittering across my skin.
“I like french toast,” I acquiesce, leaning into him as he pulls away.
“Coffee?”
Wrinkling my nose, I shake my head.
“You had coffee the other day,” he says, assessing me.
“I know, I just have to be in the mood for it. When I’m tired, it’s all I crave, but most days, I can’t tolerate caffeine until after lunch.”
“Juice?”
“I drank the last of it,” I admit sheepishly, tensing as I brace for his anger.
“We can grab some later. We need to get more groceries anyway.”
I blink at his total lack of reaction, but then I remember it’s just juice, and I don’t know why I thought he’d be mad. A sudden memory flashes into my mind of him pouring entire cartons of my favorite juice away just to spite me when we were kids. “What are we going to tell people?” I ask, anxiety lacing my voice as I try to brush away the memory and the bitter taste it left in its wake.
“What do you mean?” he asks, his attention on the ingredients he’s pulling from the cabinets.
“I mean…I know your teammates were at the courthouse, but what are we going to tell other people? Do we tell them our parents are married, that I’m staying with you until Octy gets here…or what?” I ask.
His movements slow to a stop, and he unfolds himself to his full height and turns around to face me. “We’re going to tell them that we met as kids and that you came to stay with me, and that now we’re married and you’re pregnant,” he says, enunciating each word like he’s trying to make sure I understand every syllable he says.
“But I told Betty and her family that our parents are married,” I admit quietly, wishing that I’d just told her Oz and I were old friends, or any other lie that doesn’t make us sound like stepsiblings.
“So?” he snaps, his tone cooling.
“So, we can’t tell people that we’re stepsiblings and married.”
“We’re not stepsiblings. That title suggests we had or have a sibling relationship, which, unless I’ve been imagining brother-sister bonds all wrong, is nothing like what we ever shared. You’re my wife, I fucking love you. My dick has been rock-hard since the moment you stepped off that bus, and I assure you there is nothing fucking brotherly about the way I feel about you. But regardless of how we feel about each other now, our only relationship prior to you getting to town was us knowing each other for a short while, fifteen years ago. We never lived together for longer than a couple of days, we didn’t grow up together. We don’t share DNA, and I’ve never considered you a sister…ever. We don’t need to explain anything about our history to anyone, because the only information that’s important is that we’re married and that now you’re my wife.”
I want to argue, but the look in his eyes is a little too reminiscent of the way he used to look at me right before he’d lose his mind and start screaming, so I swallow down my protest and instead simply nod.
Oz’s eyes narrow, but after assessing me, he must deem my response acceptable because he presses a hard, fast kiss to my lips, then turns back to his pile of ingredients.
Ten minutes later, the rich, sweet scent of cinnamon fills the air.
“Three or four slices?” he asks.
“One.”
“Why? Did you want some eggs or something to go with it?” he asks, but before I can respond, he’s spinning away, opening a cabinet, and pulling out a pan.
“No, I don’t want eggs too, but one slice of french toast is more than enough, I feel like I’ve done nothing but eat for days.”
“Little One, you’re eating for two now, you need to make sure you’re getting enough calories,” he coos, covering my stomach with his palm.
“Oz, you know I’m not actually pregnant, don’t you?” I ask slowly.
“When was your last period?”
“I don’t know, they’ve always been irregular.”
“But you could be pregnant. I’ve filled you so full of me, there’s no way I haven’t bred you. We could get some of those ovulation pee sticks, though, to find out if you’re ovulating or have recently, then we’ll know you’re definitely pregnant.”
“I am not buying ovulation tests,” I gasp, my eyes wide and my voice horrified.
“Fine, I’ll keep pumping you full of me, and then we’ll get a pregnancy test in a few weeks.”
“Look—” I start.
“Do you like the vegetarian bacon?” he asks, randomly changing the subject.
“No, I don’t. Please, Oz, can you please just listen to me?” I beg, sucking in a sharp breath as I wait for him to look at me.
A part of me expects him to continue ignoring me, but instead he stops what he’s doing and turns to face me fully, giving me all of his attention.
“I know you’re only playing with this baby thing, but you need to know that I’m not sure if I can actually have children. If I can, then getting pregnant will probably be pretty hard for me because my periods are all over the place and my body…” My voice trails off when my throat thickens with emotion. This is the first time that I’ve really thought about the fact that I might not be able to have kids and it’s actually bothered me. Children were always a far-off prospect, something I thought about in the abstract, but Oz and I are married now, and he keeps talking about kids and me being pregnant.
I know a lot of the things he says to me are just dirty talk, and I won’t deny that him telling me over and over that he’s going to breed me is something I had no idea I’d like so much. But if kids one day are something he actually needs from a relationship, then I need to be honest and explain that might not be something I can give him.
“There’s a real chance that I might never be able to have kids,” I say quickly, closing my eyes and hiding from his reaction, knowing I’ll be devastated if this is a deal-breaker.
“Have you seen a doctor about this?” he asks, cupping my cheek and waiting for me to look at him. The moment my gaze lands on his, his eyes soften, and he sighs.
“I haven’t been to any specialists, but I do see a gynecologist. You need to have periods to make a baby. I’m not saying it’s completely out of the question, but I need you to know that it may never happen for me. Getting married yesterday was so impulsive, and we’ve moved so fast that this past week has been a whirlwind, but if wanting to have kids is a deal-breaker, then I need to know.” I don’t know if I’m looking for an escape route or if I’m pushing him to find out how serious he is about me and this marriage, but I watch his expression seriously, waiting for his reaction.
“A deal-breaker?”
“Are kids something you need?” I ask, forcing my eyes to stay open so the tears I can feel burning at the back of my lids don’t betray me.
“You’re all I need,” he says without a second thought.
“Don’t say that,” I plead.
“Etta.”
Staring at a spot just over his shoulder, I focus on not looking at him.
“Etta, eyes on me…now.”
Unable to resist, my gaze gravitates to his eyes, like a moth to a flame.
“Do I want to see your belly swollen with my baby? Yes, I do. Do I need it? No, I don’t. I need you. Simple.”
“You can’t just?—”
“Yes, I can,” he says, talking over me before I can argue. “If you can’t have kids, then we’ll adopt or use a surrogate. Or if you don’t want kids, we’ll spend the rest of our lives naked, and I’ll enjoy watching my cum drip out of you because, baby or no baby, I’m always going to want to breed you. I’m always going to want to pump you full of me. I’m always going to fuck you and worship you and love you.”
When the first tear falls, Oz reaches out and catches it with his finger, licking it from his skin while his eyes stay locked on me.
“Are you sure?” I whisper.
“Completely sure. Now let me feed you, because sore or not, if we stay here much longer, I’m not going to be able to stop myself from needing to be inside of you.”
Grabbing the back of my head, he slams his lips to mine in a fast, hard, possessive kiss that makes my sore body flare to life. When he pulls himself away, we’re both breathing hard, and the outline of his hard cock is impossible to miss.
“Jesus, you’re addicting,” he pants, swiping at my bottom lip with his thumb, before he turns back to the griddle and starts to cook.
“That’s too much,” I say, staring at the three slices of golden-looking french toast and strawberries that are piled on my plate.
“You’re tiny, and you barely eat. I ordered you some vitamins to take too, to supplement the things your body’s not getting because you’re vegetarian.”
“You bought me vitamins?” I splutter.
“Yes, and some protein shakes.”
My mouth falls open, and I stare at him in bewilderment. Instead of saying anything, he leans over my plate, cuts off a chunk of french toast and holds it up to my mouth expectantly.
“Eat,” he orders.
Before I can even consider denying him, my lips close around the prongs of the fork, and the food is in my mouth, the hot, sweet taste coating my tongue.
“Good girl,” he praises with a wink.
“I can’t believe how much you made me eat,” I moan, rubbing at my bloated stomach as I follow Oz out of the front door.
“You had two slices of french toast and some fruit.” He scowls. “You should have eaten the third slice too.”
“I would have exploded if I’d have eaten any more.”
“You just wait till we get to Tori’s place; you’ll overdose on sweets and cookies.”
The drive into town is made in mostly comfortable silence. Oz keeps his hand on my thigh the entire time, and neither of us feel the need to talk for the sake of talking, which is oddly nice. When we slow to a stop at the curb outside a pretty store, I reach for my seat belt, only for Oz to click his tongue.
“Wait, I’ll come and open your door.”
Jumping out of the driver’s side, he strides purposefully around the hood, then opens my door and leans over to me to unclasp my seat belt.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“Always,” he replies simply, offering me a hand and then helping me from the truck.
He doesn’t release me once I’m standing on the sidewalk. Instead, he reels me in and kisses me sweetly. Sighing, he looks down at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world.
“Come on, I bet Nero will be here too.”
“Who’s Nero?” I ask.
“He’s our team’s second and the boss’s brother. He lives on our row, Tori is his fiancée, and she owns this store,” Oz explains.
“Oh,” I say, suddenly nervous.
“Come on, you’ll love her,” Oz says enthusiastically, tugging me to the door and then into the store.
The smell of butter and sugar hits me the moment I step across the threshold, and I inhale deeply. The store is small, with a handful of bistro tables sitting in the large glass storefront. The majority of the space is filled by the huge glass counter that’s packed with beautiful, delicious-looking cakes that I’ve never seen before. There are flaky pastries, colorful macarons, and tarts filled with fruit and cream and chocolate.
“Oh, my,” I gasp, spotting more the closer we get.
“Morning, Oz,” the young girl behind the counter says.
“Hey, is Tori in?” he asks.
“I’ll go call her,” the girl says.
“I don’t even know what most of these cakes are, but I want to try them all,” I murmur absently, my hand pressed against the glass like a child in a candy store.
“Those things are freaking amazing,” Oz says, pointing to a pastry case filled with some kind of cream or custard, then piled with shiny, glazed fruit. “And the macarons, especially the pistachio ones, if that’s what those green ones are, they’re my favorite.”
“I thought your favorite ones were the blackcurrant violet ones I made last week,” a stunning brunette woman says from the doorway behind the counter.
“Oh, I forgot about those, they were so fucking good,” Oz says, smiling widely at her.
A pang of unexpected jealousy tugs low in my stomach and has me assessing the woman more carefully as I try to decide if she’s competition. I have never, ever felt this way in my life before. I’m not the girl who competes with other girls. I’m the girl who turns and walks away. Not that the guys I’ve gone for in the past have had other women fighting to steal them away. In fact, most were so terrified of women that they found me intimidating.
“Etta, this is Tori. She owns this place, and she’s the reason I have to run twice as much as I had to before she started feeding the entire team sweets on a regular basis.”
I guess it should have been obvious that this is Tori. She’s dressed in a white chef’s jacket, with an apron around her waist and a cloth tucked into the strings.
“Nice to meet you, Tori, this all looks incredible,” I say, my voice small as embarrassment fills my cheeks.
“Hi, it’s nice to meet you too,” Tori says, looking at Oz like she’s waiting for him to introduce me.
“Tori, this is my wife, Etta,” Oz tells her without an ounce of build-up or preamble.
“I’m sorry.” Her brow wrinkles in confusion. “Did you just say she’s your wife?”
Chuckling softly, Oz, pulls me to him, wrapping his arm around me possessively. “Yes, you heard right, this is my wife.”
Blinking, Tori looks from Oz to me, then back to Oz again, before she turns on her heel and disappears into the back of the shop. “Nero. Nero , I need you now!” she yells.
“What’s happening?” I whisper to Oz. “Should we leave? Oh my god, did you have a girlfriend that you conveniently forgot to mention?” I gasp, trying to twist out of his arms.
“Stop,” he growls against my ear, his hold on me tightening.
“Oz?”
“Stop moving,” he snaps, and I comply, freezing.
“Now, settle down. She’s a little shocked, that’s all. I haven’t had a girlfriend since I was in high school, and I already told you that you’re my one, my fucking everything, so stop freaking out and behave.”
The undeniable order in his tone calms me instead of riling me like it should, and I feel myself settle, just like he told me to.
“Good girl,” he purrs, sliding his palm around the front of my throat and collaring me with his huge hand. “I love it when you do as I say. I know you need a break, but I need you so bad, Little One. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to go. I won’t take your cunt, but I need to see those pouty little lips wrapped around my cock. I need to fuck your mouth and bathe your tongue with my cum.”
I don’t have time to do more than whimper when Tori and a huge, very attractive guy come barreling into the store.
“Oz?” the guy says, looking down at me and blinking in surprise.
“Hey bro,” Oz says, his tone easy, all of the raspy demand from only seconds ago gone.
“Tell him what you just told me,” Tori orders, her arms crossed across her chest as she glares at Oz.
“Etta, baby, this is Nero, he’s my teammate, second-in-command, and our neighbor. Nero, this is my wife, Etta,” Oz says, not releasing his hold on my throat, his thumb rubbing soft circles over the side of my neck, caressing the skin and making my pulse race.
“Wife?” Nero questions.
Oz opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, Nero speaks again. “Wait, Etta?”
“My real name is Henrietta,” I say quietly. “It’s nice to meet you, Nero.”
“Henrietta!” Nero yells, his gaze going a little crazed as he looks between me and Oz. “Your stepsister?”
“She’s not my stepsister,” Oz says at the same time I say, “I’m not his stepsister.”
“Hold on,” Tori shouts. “You married your sister?”
“Enough!” Oz barks loudly, silencing everyone and startling the older lady who was just stepping into the store so much that she turns and rushes back out onto the street.
“Come upstairs, we can talk up there,” Nero suggests, turning Tori away and ushering her into the back of the store.
Leaning down, Oz presses a kiss to my cheek. “Come on.”
“Maybe I should.” Pointing toward the truck, I tip my head, hoping he’ll let me escape whatever this confrontation that’s brewing will be.
“No,” he snaps. “Upstairs, they’ll want to meet you properly once they get over the shock.”
“They’re your friends, it’s weird?—”
“You can walk, or I can carry you, your choice,” Oz growls, his eyes warning me not to test him.
Sighing, I tentatively follow in the direction Nero and Tori went. Nero is waiting by a door in the kitchen, and he smiles at me as he gestures for me to lead the way up the stairs. Through a door at the top, I step into a small, slightly shabby-looking apartment.
“Hi, I’m sorry,” Tori says the moment I inch through the door. “Can we try again? I’m Tori, you’re Etta.”
“Hi,” I say, feeling even more awkward now than I did before.
“Come in, please excuse the state of this place, we’ve been meaning to decorate in here, but getting the store up and running has taken all of our time.”
“How long have you owned the store?” I ask, trying to stay polite.
“I worked here for years, but I bought the business and the building a few months ago. Since then, I’ve been slowly changing it from a run-of-the-mill bakery into my version of a French patisserie. I thought it’d take a while to convert the cookie and muffin locals to embrace my fancy French cakes, but so far it’s going really well, and I can’t bake fast enough to keep the counter stocked.” Unlike downstairs, Tori’s expression is open, and she hasn’t stopped smiling.
“I’m not surprised, everything looks delicious,” I say, offering her a cautious smile. Truthfully, my experience with girls hasn’t been great. Even before my middle school friends decided to hate me, I’d always struggled to relate to most women. I’d assumed that as an adult, it’d be easier to navigate and understand grown-ups, but if the tattoo studio I worked in for the last three years is anything to go by, bitchy girls stay bitchy girls, no matter how old they get.
Tori isn’t giving me mean-girl vibes, but I’ve been wrong before.
“I’m sorry about how I reacted downstairs,” she says, sounding completely earnest.
“That’s okay,” I tell her softly.
“It’s not. What I should have said was congratulations. But honestly, Oz saying you were his wife when I had no idea he was even dating was a shock.”
“To me too,” I admit, then wish I could take back the words.
Her eyes widen, then her lips part and spread into a wide grin. “Oh fuck, did he pull a Barnett on you?” she asks.
“A Barnett?”
“You don’t know about the Barnett family legacy?”
“I know the Barnetts. I’m going to be working for Betty in her new studio.”
“Oh, awesome, are you a tattoo artist?” Tori asks.
“No, I specialize in social media marketing, and I like to work the front desk.”
“Oh wow. Do you do freelance stuff? Because I’d love to talk to you about maybe helping with the patisseries online presence,” she asks.
“I actually do have a few small businesses that I work with,” I admit. “Depending on what you were looking for, I might be able to help,” I say with a shrug.
“Oh, this is awesome. Come sit down, I’m sure the guys will be up in a minute.” Bounding across the small room, Tori drops down into a large plush sectional, then pats the seat beside her.
Tentatively sitting next to her, I glance toward the door, wishing Oz was here, then feeling like a pathetic idiot for being so freaking needy.
“Holy shit, y’all really did get married, didn’t you?” Tori shrieks, grabbing my hand and tilting it from side to side, admiring the stunning rings on my finger.
“Yesterday,” I say quietly, “it wasn’t exactly…planned.”
“How long have you been dating? Why haven’t we met you until now?” Tori asks excitedly.
“Erm. Well, probably because we weren’t dating.”
“Oh shit, I got distracted and never explained the Barnett thing, did I?” She laughs. “So obviously you know Betty, have you met the rest of them?”
“I went to dinner on Monday night.”
“Did they tell you how they all met?” she asks.
“No, I don’t remember anyone mentioning anything.”
“Oh, you’d remember if they told you. Okay, so it all started with the guys’ parents. Apparently, their dad met their mom, and the moment he saw her, he knew she was his. They got married right away and had seven boys. Beau and Bonnie had been neighbors their whole lives, but Beau is like twice her age, and then one day he saw her at work and started…if I call it stalking, it sounds really bad, but that’s basically what it was. So…anyway, he felt like he had this crazy protective urge, and one day he realized that it was because she was his, and he’d been incapable of leaving her alone because she was his woman. After they got together, one by one, the guys all started meeting their future wives, and all seven of them agree that the moment they saw their women, they knew right in that instant that she was the one they’d been waiting for. None of them had ever been interested in getting married or settling down until they met their woman, but once they did, they were like bulls chasing a red flag. Love at first sight, caveman, you’re mine, crazy.”
My mouth falls open as I listen to her explain basically what happened to me and Oz. Only neither of us are Barnetts, and love at first sight isn’t real.
“That’s crazy,” I whisper.
“Right?” She laughs. “Only they truly believe it. And now that all seven of them are wifed up, they think the family legacy shifted onto the smoke jumpers.”
“What?” I gasp.
“Nero’s brother Buck was the first. He met my bestie James, and he says he knew right from the moment he first saw her that she was his. Nero really, really hated me when we first met, but he said he still felt this crazy connection between us.”
“Love at first sight is only real in fairy tales,” I say.
“And Rockhead Point,” she says with a shrug. “How long did you say you and Oz were dating for before you got married?” Arching her eyebrow in challenge, she smirks.
“We weren’t. But we met nearly eighteen years ago.”
“And you’re his stepsister?” she asks cautiously.
“Not really. Our parents are married, but we’ve never considered each other siblings. We don’t…” I trail off, unsure how much I should say.
“I was a fucking asshole to her when we were kids,” Oz says from behind us.
Spinning around, I find him and Nero standing just inside the room.
“My dad left my mom for her mom. I was almost thirteen, and Etta was nine. I was angry and I took most of that anger out on her. When I was forced to spend time with my dad and his new family, I was an asshole, and she was my target of choice. Before last week, we hadn’t seen each other for fifteen years. When my dad called and asked me to let her stay with me, I obviously fucking hated the idea, but then she stepped off her bus, and that was it. It took me about twenty minutes to know she was mine and less than a week to make her my wife.”
“Holy crap,” Tori says, her expression gleeful as she looks between us. “This is so exciting. Who do you think will be next? I can’t wait to watch Danny lose his shit over a girl…or a guy,” she says thoughtfully. “He’s almost too pretty to be straight.”
“Sunshine, Danny’s sexual orientation is none of our business,” Nero says, stepping up behind Tori and placing his hands on her shoulders.
“I need to warn Knight, he’s going to need some time to warm up to the idea of finding someone.” Tori hums, then she snaps her head back to me. “Are you okay? These guys have a bulldozer-wooing technique that’s more shock and awe than sweet and caring. I’m guessing by how calm you are and the fact that you came here together this morning, that he hasn’t been too much of a Neanderthal?”
Unsure what to say, I glance at Oz, but instead of looking guilty, he just shrugs and smirks.
“There was a little bulldozing,” I admit quietly.
“Do Betty and the rest of the Barnetts know? I’ll have to get the girls together. We’ll have dinner and share war stories,” she says excitedly.
“I haven’t spoken to Betty since I went to dinner the other night, although she did add me to a group chat.”
“Are you planning on telling them? They’ll want to throw you a party,” Tori gushes.
“We’ll let them know. We’re going to host a barbecue on Saturday on the row, that way we can celebrate a little, then we’ll maybe have a proper wedding in the summer sometime,” Oz says.
“We will?” I ask, surprised.
“Figured you’d want one. Big white dress and all that?” he says, his eyes dropping to my stomach.
“Oh, no…that’s not…” I trail off as I shake my head.
“Okay, well, I’ll make a cake for Saturday. What’s your favorite flavor, Etta?” she asks.
“Oh, you don’t need to do that.”
“Cake is literally my world. I want to. So…flavor?”
“I don’t really know.”
“How do you feel about blueberry and lemon? I have the most amazing recipe I’ve been wanting to try.”
“I like blueberries,” I say.
“I can’t believe you guys got married, that’s crazy,” Tori says, not bothering to wait for me to reply before she starts talking again. “Where? At the courthouse? Did you have to use random people as witnesses?”
“Knight and Anders acted as our witnesses,” Oz tells her, not seeming at all shocked by her constant stream of conversation.
“What?” she shrieks. “You told Knight and Anders, but no one else?”
Not bothering to explain, Oz just shrugs. “We should go. Etta’s been up on the row since she got to town. I need to show her around, and we need groceries.”
“I have so much baking to do, but let me give you my number,” Tori says, staring at me expectantly until I slip my cell phone from my pocket and hand it over to her.
“We’ll plan a dinner once the guys have gone back on shift. You’ll have met James by then, and you can tell us what really happened and what he did to convince you to marry him after less than a week.” Laughing, she winks at me, then hands my cell back to me.
“Come on, Little One,” Oz beckons, holding out his hand for me to take.
A little shell-shocked, I place my fingers against his palm, relaxing when he curls his hand around mine and helps me up.
“Congratulations, Etta,” Nero says, smiling warmly at me.
“Oh, thank you,” I mutter, feeling a little strange about accepting congratulations for something so impulsive.
“I know you guys have a lot of history, but Oz is a great guy, he’ll take care of you,” Nero says, in a tone that I think is intended to reassure me but actually makes me tense with awkwardness.
“She knows,” Oz says, his words clipped as he turns and guides me down the stairs and back into the storefront.
“Here,” Tori says once we’re standing in front of the counter full of cakes again. “I put together a little tasting box for you to try,” she says, handing over a white cardboard box tied with a pretty pink ribbon.
“Thank you,” I say on instinct, taking the box when she pushes it toward me.
“Thanks, Tori. How much do I owe you?” Oz asks.
“It’s our gift,” Tori says, waving Oz away as she flashes me a warm, welcoming smile.
“Thanks,” Oz says, taking the box from my hands and curling me beneath his arm as he opens the door and ushers me out onto the street.
“She seems nice,” I say cautiously.
“She is.”
“You didn’t say anything about the Barnetts having a reputation for”—I gesture between us—“doing this kind of thing.”
“That’s because it’s bullshit,” he snaps, beeping open the locks on the truck and sliding the cake box onto the seat. “I didn’t fall in love with you because you were the first person with tits and a cunt I saw that day. I fell in love with you because you’re mine, it just took me fifteen years to realize it.”
“Oz.” Exhaling tiredly, I twist my head and look up at the man beside me. “Do you believe that?”
“Do I believe that you’ve always been mine?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Yes, I do. I don’t think it has anything to do with this town or the Barnetts. I think it’s just about us. I think that we were always going to end up exactly here, in this moment.”
Pausing, he waits for me to say something, but what could I possibly say in response to that kind of declaration? Do I believe him? Honestly, I don’t know. But the idea that despite our awful past we were meant to end up together makes more sense than some mystical family legacy suddenly moving to a different group of completely unrelated people.
His eyes are warm and enticing when he weaves his fingers through mine again. “Let me show you around your new home,” he drawls, smirking as he toys with the rings on my finger.
Once he pulls me away from his truck, we spend an hour or so wandering the quaint streets of Rockhead Point. The stores are a mix of small-town staples and touristy hotspots, intended to entice visitors to part with their hard-earned money. In comparison to Las Vegas, it’s almost too quiet, and even the tourists are as polite and as relaxed as the pace of this sleepy small town.
To be completely honest, I didn’t love Las Vegas. I moved there simply for the job, and although I made the place home for years, it never truly felt like my home . My apartment was rented and filled with someone else’s choice of furnishings. The tattoo studio I worked in after Octy left was simply a job.
Until I packed up my meager belongings and left, I hadn’t realized how few roots I’d planted there. No real friends, no family, no relationship. When I look back, I can see that that behavior has been a pattern my whole life.
For years after my dad left, Mom and I were alone with a rotating line of her boyfriends, living in whatever apartment we could afford the rent on. After she met Bruce, she stopped bringing home random guys, and we moved into the house they still live in now, but it never really felt like my home because it immediately became tainted by Oz’s anger and bullying. I guess when I left for college, I could have tried to make a new life for myself there, but college isn’t a place you put down roots, and after graduation, I packed up and left again when I moved to Las Vegas.
I don’t know if this small mountain town is where I was intended to end up, but even after such a whirlwind romance, Oz feels like he could be the roots I’ve been trying to find. Maybe instead of tethering myself to a place, I was just waiting to bind myself around him. Or maybe not. Maybe he’ll cause my blossoming roots to wither and die.
Rolling my eyes at myself, I let him guide me into the grocery store. Dropping my hand, he pulls a cart from the row, then curls his arm loosely around my waist while he pushes with one hand.
“Pick out all your favorites so I can learn what you like,” he orders, heading for the fresh produce section.
Considering how much sex we’ve had in the last few days and that we got married on a whim yesterday, it feels oddly intimate to be wandering the aisles and picking out food with him. He’s seen me without clothes on more often than with, but I feel naked as he shows me the food he likes and urges me to do the same.
I don’t remember the small details about Oz from when we were kids. I don’t know what his favorite breakfast cereal was or which color of Skittles he hoarded till the end so there was only his favorite flavor left. If we ever had any good memories back then, I don’t remember them, so despite the past we share, shopping together feels like a brand new experience for me, and I like it more than I’m willing to admit.
By the time we get to the cashier, our cart is overflowing with far too much food for two people to eat. “We got too much,” I whisper as the older guy behind the register rings up our groceries, and the bag boy carefully stacks it all in double-thick paper bags.
“Little One, this is just the essentials. We’ll need to buy more before I go back on shift. This stuff will barely last us the next couple of days,” Oz says, his nose wrinkled in an adorably consternated way.
“This is more than I’d buy for a month,” I argue.
Sighing, he curls his palm around the back of my neck. “And that’s why you’re so fucking tiny and I have to keep telling you to eat.”
“I can’t help being short.”
“I bet I could span your waist with my hands and my fingers would be touching. You need to eat more but don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”
God, that shouldn’t turn me on, but it does. No one has ever cared if I ate before. Food has always just been a necessity. I became a vegetarian after Bruce dragged me, Mom, and the other kids to a petting zoo that had a restaurant attached. I ordered a burger, and when the waiter delivered it, he proudly told me that I was eating Myrtle, a calf that had been in the petting zoo until she got fat enough to slaughter. Giving my burger a name made me sick to my stomach, and I’ve been a vegetarian ever since.
Bruce and my mom accepted my choice to not eat meat pretty easily and stocked the freezer with vegetarian meat substitutes, but meals weren’t a grand occasion in our house, and as long as I wasn’t starving myself, no one cared how much food was on my plate. Oz seems almost preoccupied by controlling what and when I eat. I don’t know if that has anything to do with him ensuring I’m eating a balanced diet or if he simply enjoys being in charge of my routine.
My only experience with any kind of power exchange relationship is through the books I’ve read, but Oz hasn’t suggested anything that involves safe words or whips and chains—thank God. His dominance is both more subtle and yet more overt than the things I’ve read in books. Just like he told me, his controlling nature is a lot more nurturing than anything I’ve ever read about. He wants to control me to make sure I’m okay, healthy and well cared for, and that feeling is intoxicating.
At the back of my mind, he’s still the monster of my nightmares, but the last few days have stolen at least some of my fear of him and replaced it with want. I think a part of me will always be a little scared of him, but he promised to replace the bad feelings with good ones, and I believe that he’ll do his utmost to do that.
“$134.17,” the cashier says.
Fumbling for my purse, I go to reach for my credit card, but Oz glares at me, pointedly handing over his own card. I wither beneath his steely gaze, pushing my wallet back into my purse and crossing my arms over my chest self-consciously.
Once Oz has paid, we load the bags back into the cart and he reaches for my hand, towing me out of the store. After stowing the cart, he reluctantly releases me so he can carry the groceries, the muscles in his arms bulging from the weight.
He scowls at me every time I offer to carry anything, and after the third time, my stomach is twisted into so many anxious knots, I stop asking to help and just follow him to the truck.
“I need an ATM so I can give you half the money for the groceries,” I say awkwardly after we’re both settled into our seats.
“No,” he snaps, pushing the button and bringing the truck’s engine to life with a roar.
“Shall we take it in turns then? What about the bills? How much is your rent?”
“Etta.” My name on his lips is a clear warning, but I don’t heed it.
“I need to know how much my half is,” I protest, suddenly worried if I’ll be able to afford to pay half the bills on his huge house when Octy and I were worried about being able to afford a tiny two-bedroom apartment.
“Stop.”
Instead of listening, I keep going, and a part of me wonders if I’m pushing him to see what will happen. “What about internet and utilities?”
“Henrietta Jayne Malik, shut the fuck up or I swear to fucking god, I will pull over and fuck all the fucking stupid right out of you.”
My lips clamp together so hard they hurt.
“That’s better,” he snaps, flipping his indicator and slowing to a stop on the side of the road.
My heart starts to beat erratically as he kills the truck’s engine and twists in his seat until he’s facing me. “Do I have your attention?” he growls.
I nod.
“Good. Now you listen to me. We don’t split the fucking bills or take it in turn to pay for fucking groceries. We’re not fucking roommates. You’re. My. Wife.”
Goose bumps pebble across the skin on my arms and the back of my neck. This version of him is absolutely terrifying. A vein bulges in his neck as he glares at me menacingly, but I’m shocked to realize I’m not frightened, I’m turned the hell on. My pussy clenches, then heats, and I know if I reached between my legs, my panties would be wet.
I have no idea how I can possibly be horny. I’ve had more orgasms in the last few days than I’ve had in the last five years, but somehow, even when he’s as furious as he is now, my body reacts to my Oz, like it’s readying itself to soothe him.
A week ago, I’d have peed myself in the face of this kind of animosity from him. His anger would have triggered a flashback to the weekends he spent with us when he’d scream in Bruce’s face, then take out his wrath on me.
But I’m not scared.
We’re not children anymore. We’re adults. Yesterday we got married, and even though he’s a monster, he’s my monster now.
“Are you listening to me?” he demands.
Blinking, I nod.
“Good. Then hear me and understand. I’m your husband. It’s my job to pay the bills, and it’s my job to take care of you in every way you need.”
“I can’t just not contribute,” I protest weakly, some of my heat fading in the face of his declaration.
“You’re giving me you, that’s the most valuable thing I’ll ever own.”
“It’s the twenty-first century,” I try to argue, but my words lack intensity, and instead of hearing me, he smirks.
“I don’t give a fuck what year it is. I’d rather you stop working so we could concentrate on making as many babies as possible,” he rumbles, his anger gone and replaced with seductive charm.
“I’m not giving up my job.” It takes every ounce of strength I have to force the words out of my mouth, but he needs to understand I have to work. I need and want to work, and even though I’ll allow him to control some of my life, I won’t allow him to control that.
His eyebrow arches, like he’s impressed with my bravado and challenging me at the same time.
“Oz, I need my job.” I know I’m pleading, but if he continues to exert that level of steely control over me, I’ll buckle, and I don’t want that.
“Fine. But when the baby comes…” he starts.
“I’m not pregnant.”
“Hmm,” he says, his lips tipping up into a coy smirk.
“Oz, I might never be able to have children.” Swallowing thickly, I dip my gaze to my hands in my lap, not wanting to see the disappointment in his face.
“I know that, Little One. If you can’t get pregnant, our lives will still be perfect because I’ll still have you. Baby or not, I’ll still fuck you and fill you up over and over. I’ll still breed you every night for the rest of our lives. Your sweet cunt will be so full of me that your body will take on my scent and you’ll get withdrawals if it’s been too long since I fucked my cum into you. I want you pregnant with my baby, but as long as I have you, I’m the richest man in the world.”
His words are so perfect, so filthy and depraved and wonderful that I can’t help but need to look at him. Lifting my chin, I search his face for lies, but the more I look at him, the more he looks less and less like the monster of my past and more like the man of my future.
How has this happened?
Maybe it really is magic or fate. Maybe destiny planted us in each other’s paths too early, and this is our second chance? Maybe the reckless, impulsive choice I made to say yes to him won’t be the stupidest decision I’ve ever made, maybe it’ll be the best.