I drift off a little bit after Frankie goes, worrying and wondering, and when I wake up the sun is much more advanced. I shake my head, blinking away my sleep, and I look over at the other side of the bed. The blankets are, indeed, mussed – and there’s a distinct indent on the pillow that Frankie us
“Get what?” I ask, curious. “It just doesn’t add up,” Violetta says, raising her pretty eyes to mine. “I mean, Christian says that he’s taking care of you for a while – keeping you safe. And I get that – my family has…connections as well, like Christian’s does…” She pauses, raising an eyebrow, s
While Frankie drives us to my lunch shift at Lupa, he doesn’t mention – at all – anything that may or my have not passed between us this morning. I watch him carefully from the corner of my eye, watching for any hint or a sign but… No, there’s really nothing. Frankie’s rather a lock box, isn’t he?
“No,” I say, casting my eyes down, sensing that now is not a moment to press, or counter, or play coy. No, he wants to dominate me in this moment, to play boss. And I know how to play my role in this game. “I’m sorry, Edward – but I…” I hesitate, glancing over at Andre, trying to decide if I will ge
Edward and I have barely begun chatting when Andre comes over to take our order. He plays it up a little bit, scowling playfully at Edward and ribbing him for taking away his best bartender, and I’m a little shocked at Andre’s acknowledgement of what Edward has done until I see that Edward is please
I force my mind back to the situation, wondering how to handle this. “Is that the kind of girl you want me to be?” I ask, my voice soft, coy. “Yes, Bambi,” Edward says, leaning forward to stare at me intently. “I like my girls…obedient. And I reward them handsomely when they do as I say.” He holds
I sigh, hanging my head, not meeting any of the dozen eyes that are on me right now. Instead, I press my eyes shut, and force myself to take a deep breath, trying to pat down my anxiety and my dread, wondering how the hell I’m going to handle this. I mean, should I ask Christian to get me out of i
When Frankie holds the now-lit cigarette out to me, filter first, he exhales a long breath of smoke. I take the cigarette delicately in my hands and raise it to my lips, looking at the end. Where Frankie’s lips were just pressed. “It’s not going to bite you, Bambi,” he murmurs, his voice soft, but