Page 25 of Collars & Kittens
After showering, I head to the grocery store to pick up supplies for Chicken Alfredo. Cooking isn’t my favorite thing in the world, but the thought of making dinner for Dalton tonight brings me more happiness than I expected. But any guy who dates me better enjoy simple meals or lots of take out. It’s good that Dalton doesn’t seem like the type who expects his woman to stay barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen—though I wouldn’t mind being barefoot and doing the stuff to get pregnant.
As I shop, I daydream about future babies, and when I realize they all have Dalton’s smile, I almost trip. Holding on to the shopping cart stops me from face planting, but my brain buzzes and I’m breathless as the truth sinks in. Holy fuck, I’m already in love with him.
When did this happen? Last night, or was it during the first time we fucked? Or the second or third time? Shit, did it start in the clinic the very first day I met him? I was attracted to him from the beginning, and his dominant streak intrigued me, but it’s his kind side and the way he cares about the animals that captured my heart…and maybe Frosty Winks.
Fuck.
This is the best feeling ever...and the worst. No way in hell am I going to tell him I love him. He’ll think I’m young and naïve and that there’s no way I can love him. If I said it to him and he told me it was simply lust, it would hurt too much. I’ll just keep this to myself for a while. There’s no harm in that, and I can still imagine him doing all sorts of delicious things to me. There, that’s settled.
By the time I get home, I’m flushed from daydreaming about Dalton not using a condom and filling me full of cum every morning. I have enough time to put the groceries away, pick out an outfit, and take a shower before I need to start dinner.
I kick my shoes off and hurry into the kitchen. As soon as the groceries bags are empty, my cell phone rings. It’s Sierra. I carry the phone with me to my bedroom, and I’m distracted when I answer. “Yo, what’s up?”
Sierra sounds tense. “Go make sure your doors and windows are locked.”
A ball of dread immediately lodges itself into my gut. What the fuck? “Why?”
“Ben’s in town. Just do it, then we’ll talk.” Sierra’s voice is tight, and I check the bedroom windows before hurrying to the living room.
I’m freaking out. Why is Ben in town, and how did he find me? I’m halfway across the living room when my doorbell rings, and it scares me so badly that I scream.
Fuck, calm down, Olivia. You’re not in danger. This is not a horror movie.
I can hear Sierra’s frantic talking, but I can’t focus on what she’s saying. My heart pounds, and as I reach for the deadbolt, the knob turns and the door opens.
Oh. Shit. Fuck. Shit.
Ben is standing on my front porch. He’s got a five o’clock shadow and doesn’t look like he’s slept in days. He looks angry, and his eyes hold a hint of cruelness.
A wave of fear courses through me. All I can do is stare at him, muscles frozen, as a sense of powerlessness makes me feel like a small, trapped animal.
I can’t speak, but that doesn’t matter because he does, and his voice is sharp and filled with irritation.
“Olivia, we need to talk.”
Before I can process what’s happening, he grabs my arm and drags me outside, slamming the door behind us.
What the fuck? I’m in shock and can’t believe this is happening. “Let me go!”
I try to jerk away and pull my arm from his grip. His expression is menacing, but he drops my arm.
“Don’t be like that,” he sneers, and when his gaze drifts over me, he narrows his eyes. “Nice outfit.”
It takes a moment to remember I’m wearing yoga pants and a t-shirt. The wooden porch is cold, and I’m just wearing socks on my feet. The chill seeping into my bones finally brings me back to my senses.
Unease rolls through me in a black wave, and I shift my gaze from his. “Yeah, well, I would’ve dressed up if I had known you were coming.”
Not.
I can hear Sierra begging me to talk to her, and I lift the phone to my ear. “Hey, Ben’s here. I’ll call you after he leaves in a few minutes, because he IS leaving.”
Fear knots my stomach as I hang up the phone. My thoughts are scattered, and I can tell I’m close to a panic attack.
“Why are you here?” I cross my arms to hide that my hands are shaking.
His nostrils flare. “Where else would I be?”
Umm, literally anywhere else? “Not here on my doorstep scaring me.”
