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I tear the doors open and stop short when I’m met with nothing but way too many clothes that I don’t wear.

There’s nowhere for him to hide in here. It’s not a deep closet and certainly not big enough to hide a six-foot-too-many-inches man. My hands tear through my clothes anyways, searching for him. And even when I’m positive he’s not there, I stare harder, swiping my clothes aside with heightening aggression.

Get a fucking grip, Addie. It’s like you want him to be there.

I sigh and turn away, the adrenaline rush diminishing. There’s nowhere else in this room for him to hide. As immense as the room is, it’s an open concept with minimal furniture.

Now, I just feel like an idiot.

I plop on the bed, crisscrossing my legs as I stare at my phone like it’s a mousetrap with a big ass block of cheese in it. Gourmet smoked gouda fucking cheese, to be precise.

The phone lights up with an incoming text, the vibrations in the bed traveling straight up my legs.

I snatch it up. I fucking love gouda cheese, goddammit.

UNKNOWN: I’ll be seeing you tonight, little mouse.

I snarl.

ME: From outside my house, and preferably in a cop’s handcuffs.

UNKNOWN: You don’t need a cop to get me in handcuffs, baby. I’ll let you do anything you want to me.

I’m going to suffer from a heart attack with the severe directions my blood keeps rushing to. My pussy pulses from the illicit thought of him handcuffed to my bed, a smirk on his face, dripping with sin. And those goddamn mismatched eyes looking up at me the way he did when he was fucking me with his gun. Like I’m a little mouse that he wants to devour, stuck in the trap with the gouda cheese puffing up my cheeks.

Fuck.

My hands shake as I try to force the thought from my head. But it’s taken hold and I can’t get it out.

I straighten my legs, squeezing my thighs together. But it doesn’t ease the steady throb between my clenched thighs, nor the wetness pooling between them.

My heart races as another ping vibrates my phone.

I don’t want to look, but I have no fucking self-control.

UNKNOWN: Are you playing with yourself, little mouse? Touching your sweet little pussy to the thought of me handcuffed to your bed?

ME: You’re disgusting.

But that’s exactly what I’ve begun to do. As soon as I read the words, it was like he possessed my body to do exactly what he was asking. My hand snaked down into my panties, my finger gently swiping at my engorged clit. Even as I wrote back my scathing reply.

I’m wearing nothing but a long t-shirt and comfortable underwear.

I feel bare and exposed beneath the thin cotton. When my legs begin to fall apart, I rip my hand out like I touched a burning stove, hissing at my own stupidity.

UNKNOWN: And you’re a liar.

ME: Fuck. Off.

UNKNOWN: Next time you tell me to fuck off, your clit is going between my teeth.

My bottom lip goes between mine. I suck my lip in sharply, shocked by his nerve. By the pure audacity this man possesses. Yet just as turned on.

I squeeze my hand around the phone, hating myself more and more as this conversation progresses.

My fingers twitch with the need to tell him to fuck off again. The asshole probably doesn’t even know how oppositional I am.

Tell me not to do something, and I’ll only want to do it more.