Page 65 of Shifted Desire

“Because I’m not your daddy, brat,” he rasps.

“Then what are you?” I ask, breath hitching as his grip tightens.

He takes a long moment to consider the question, his eyes hooding as he leans in and whispers. “I’m the man who owns you, Samantha. Each one of your slutty holes belongs to me. Every inch of you is mine. Next time I’ll be sure to write that on you so you don’t forget.”

He squeezes my ankle and I swear I almost come from the arousal pulsing through him and into me at that small point of connection. “Are we clear?”

“Y-yes, Sir.”

He nods and releases my ankle, smoothing down his tie and then checking the time on his watch. “Eat your food, and then I’ll take you home.”

“I don’t have to go home yet…” I say, voice far too breathy. “Unless you mean you’ll take me to your home.”

Internally, I cringe at how eager I sound. At how much the thought of going back to Nathan’s place and seeing where he lives appeals to me. Maybe we could watch some of that snail documentary between rounds of sex. Or maybe we could just talk more.

I can’t even blame the sudden desire to be around him longer on being tipsy, because alcohol’s effects don’t last long on me due to my succubus blood.

No, I just want more time with him.

His brows knit together, and I cringe even harder, his impending rejection hitting me like a slap in the face.

“I was joking,” I say with a harsh laugh before he can get the words out. “I don’t want to go back to your place. Seeing you all day at work is bad enough.”

“Sam…”

I hate how his voice sounds now. Concerned and apologetic, and maybe even pitying.

Fuck that, I don’t want his pity.

I look down to dig through my purse and pull a few bills from my wallet, enough to cover my food and the drinks from earlier that he insisted on paying for. I shove them on the table and stand, plastering a cheeky smile on my face to hide the sting of shame at his rejection.

“I’d better get back home. See you in the morning, Nathan.”

He stands, frowning. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

I shake my head and let out an overly-exasperated sigh. “I don’t need you to do that. I’m fine on my own. I’ve been fine for decades. You don’t have to protect me.”

“This isn’t up for debate.” He speaks in the commanding tone he uses when he fucks me, and gods, I hate how it makes my traitorous pulse leap.

I scowl at him as he puts his own crisp stack of bills on the table, scooping up my crumpled ones and tucking them into my purse. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m paying for your food.”

“Why? This isn’t a date,” I huff petulantly, hating the stab of pain and disappointment in my gut as I force myself to recognize what tonight was. Feeling sick and angry with myself for liking the fantasy of it being a date.

Nathan glares at me. “I know that. But I take care of what’s mine, and I’m paying for your fucking dinner,” he hisses at me, then gives a weak smile to the waitress who looks like she’s about to step in and say something rude.

“Fine. Whatever.” I need to get out of here and go home and find a way to drown out the discomfort of this entire botched evening.

We walk in tense silence back to the parking garage, and when we reach my car, Nathan tries to open the door for me, but I glare at him so hard that he steps back.

“You know I’m not actually yours, right?” I say sharply.

He blinks at me, taken aback. “What?”

“I’m not yours. We have an arrangement where we play at me belonging to you, but that’s all it is. A game.” I reach into my purse and find the wad of money, then toss it at him. “If I want to pay for my own godsdamn dinner and drinks, I’m going to.”

Taking the opportunity to slip into my car while he gawks at my outburst, I lock the door and shake my head at him when he tells me to open the window, no doubt to give me my money back.