Chapter Twenty
Jay
Inever expected an enemy to break down my walls. The way he gazed at me after seeing all of me . . . I’ve wanted someone to look at me that way my whole life. Now someone has and not only do I not trust him, I can’t trust myself around him.
My body wants him. It’s undeniable.
I’ve been in his room before, but it feels different as a place to sleep instead of just a stop for shower privileges. This is the biggest bedroom I’ve been in. I gape at each detail, astonished.
The guilt over living in a castle while we slept outside haunted Colin. He wanted us there, tried to get us in, at least. Fear held him back that people might not accept us, even if he pushed. Winning them over had to come first.
“What? Are you going to tell me it’s too much? That one person doesn’t need all of this? Or some other way to blame me for the entire realm’s poverty?” Caleb mocks.
“First of all, I sound nothing like that.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Second, a single person doesn’t need all of this, but that wasn’t what I was going to say.”
“Then what?”
I slowly round the bed, eyeing it curiously. I press my hand on it, testing its spring and comfort and frown.
He catches my expression. “What?”
I can’t tell him that I’m thinking this will be the first bed I’ve slept in. It’s embarrassing enough, and the last thing I want is his pity.
Instead, I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“No, really. Let me have it. It’s too big for one person . . . Too clean . . . Too comfortable . . . Tell me, how have I disgusted you today?”
Judging by his tone, I think he’s expecting a snooty response, which I guess is fair. After what happened earlier, I suddenly care what he thinks. I don’t want him to believe that was the attitude I meant to give.
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and cross my arms. Not in a huff, not like a child in a tantrum but discomfort. Quietly, I say, “I’ve never slept in a real bed before.”
His eyes soften, regretting his earlier tone. “Never?”
“Not that I can remember, no.”
And there it is, clear as day. The pity in his eyes.
I shift uncomfortably, sitting on my hands.
“It’s not a big deal. Our herd didn’t experience homage.
Any time we got close to it, we’d be forced to leave.
When those times came, it was easier to move without belongings.
A mattress would’ve been impractical. I’ve always slept in a hammock, or in my wolf form in a den somewhere or cave if I find one. ”
Caleb’s glance lingers, and the silence settles between us.
I keep waiting for him to stop looking at me like that.
He finally does and grabs a pair of boxers and a shirt out of his dresser drawer and hands them to me.
“So, I can take the collar off now?” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
A smile spreads as his gaze lands on the collar he placed on me prior to our game of capture the arrow. “For now, you’ll wear the collar when you’re here with me but not out in public.”
“Why?”
“Because if the king wants you integrated into society, it’ll be hard to do that with a collar on.”
“No, I get that. I meant, why do I have to wear it when I’m with you?”
“Because—” He closes the space between us, stopping inches from my face. Towering over me, he grips the collar and pulls me into him. Then, he growls, low and threatening, “I own you, baby girl.”
I swallow hard. His proximity is . . . overwhelming.
My wolf rolls over at his dominance, but I don’t go down as easily.
“You don’t own me.” The earlier confidence has left my voice.
His grip tightens around my throat as he snatches me up and slams me down on his bed, sending me into a coughing fit.
A little help here? I call on my wolf, but she just looks the other way.
You have a safe word. Use it if you don’t like it.
Oh, you are something else, I say to her.
I’m a better fighter, but my abilities don’t make up for the weight of his pure muscle. Without the help of my wolf, I’m pinned underneath him. Right now, I’m trapped. Shouldn’t this trigger my wolf to fight?
His face hovers over mine. “I like you like this . . .” He hisses the s.’ “In my room, in my bed, wearing my clothes, in my collar . . . and entirely at my mercy.”
I like it, too. And that scares me more than anything.
“I’m sorry. I–I didn’t mean it . . . Master, please. Please don’t hurt me,” I add for effect.
“Mmm, good girl,” he growls. He runs his nose along my neck, raising goosebumps in his wake. He chuckles against my skin. “I like the way it sounds when you’re begging me for mercy. And I know it’ll sound even better when you scream for it.”
“Open.” When I do, he says, “Wider. Stick your tongue out for me.”
I obey, and he spits into my mouth. The unexpected action causes me to jump. I go to turn my head to spit it out, but he grips my face with one large hand.
“Nuh-uh. Swallow.”
I close my eyes and gulp his saliva.
“Good girl. Who owns you?”
“You do.”
He grins, and I immediately backtrack. I fumble and stammer over my words. “Wait! No—I meant. Psh, I mean, no. Obviously, you don’t own me. That’s—you’re—stop laughing!”
But, dammit, does he have me.