Page 41 of Under His Control

I feel it right now.

I want to give her a hard kiss, and when she fights me off, I would pin her against the nearest wall and make her accept it. Take the anger she has for me and the bitterness I feel toward her and turn it into something explosive.

“This isn’t a gift. It’s your version of an orange jumpsuit. Also, I don’t love it.”

Such a smart girl.

The collar is a simple leather strap with a circular silver pendant suspended in the middle. It goes well with her black graphic t-shirt that reads, I’LL SLEEP WHEN I’M UNDEAD, a hunched zombie beside the last word.

“You should be grateful. Orange jumpsuits aren’t flattering, but the collar looks good on you.”

“You want me to be grateful for the constant reminder I’m your prisoner?”

“You’re lucky I haven’t said it’s the only thing you’re allowed to wear.”

Damn, I shouldn’t have said that. The image of her walking around the house nude in just the collar leaps to my mind, and it’s fucking amazing. The scandalized look on her face says she strongly disagrees.

“We should eat before the food gets cold,” she says, though her chilly voice probably made that happen.

Penelope moves to the stove, her expression tight with renewed displeasure. I sit at the table instead of helping because I want to watch her. It’s one of my favourite things to do now. I like that it makes her nervous.

She’s like a little rabbit, moving slow and careful around the kitchen, throwing quick, wary glances at me. She flinches when she closes the cupboard doors too hard or when a utensil clatters on the counter. If I were to suddenly stand up, she would drop everything and bolt.

She’s behaving like prey because she sees you as a predator.

Of course I am. I’m hungry, and not for the food she’s serving us to eat.

The meal I want is what she showed me when she took off her clothes this morning. I want to lick, suck, and bite every perfect inch of her. Swallow her moans and gasps as she takes every inch of me.

Good god.

Penelope unleashed something deviant inside me. I can’t remember the last time I had intense, horned up thoughts like this. It’s wrong as hell to have them for this particular woman.

The voice of caution is getting quieter. It’ll be silent pretty soon at this rate. Two weeks is a long time to put up with unresolved lust. I can already predict the headlines if I fuck up and the media finds out.

DISGRACED FORMER CEO, JACOB SHAW, SEXUALLY ASSAULTS HIS FORMER STEPDAUGHTER AFTER BEING ACCUSED OF DOING THE SAME TO HER MOTHER!

Give her the money and send her away. Save her, save yourself.

Unfortunately, while my sense of self-preservation is strong, my thirst for Penelope’s comeuppance is stronger.

Penelope sets the food down on the table and takes a seat. She’s silent as she eats, her gaze fixed on her plate. A stark difference from yesterday when she was warm and chatty.

She was buoyed by hope she would get what she wanted from me. Now she knows she was holding on to a monkey’s paw when she made her wish.

I take a sip of my water. “How was your day?”

“How you wanted it to be.” Her gaze remains on her plate. “Mind-numbingly boring.”

“Freedom from distraction allows room for self-reflection.”

She finally looks at me, annoyance tightening her brow as she points at the living room with her fork.

“Oh, that’s why the TV that looks brand new mysteriously won’t turn on?”

“TV time must be earned.”

“Earned how?” Suspicion sharpens her tone.