Page 27

Margot

I wake up in our bed. On his side, of course.

I don’t even remember getting ready for bed. As a matter of fact, I don’t remember the end of the movie. Did I fall asleep?

I must have.

Does that mean Matty carried me to bed?

I don’t know how to feel about that.

Excited? Cared for? Butterflies in your stomach?

Before I can dwell, I start to get up, only to realize Matty isn’t here.

That’s… strange. He’s always here when I wake up.

Not strange, disappointing.

But before I can process that feeling, the door swings open, and in walks Matty. The rich aroma of coffee follows him, filling the air.

His easy smile relaxes his features.

“Good morning, sweetheart. I come bearing gifts.”

That’s when I notice he’s holding something blue.

My phone .

I freeze.

I figured he’d forgotten or decided against giving it back.

A real smile takes over my face. The kind I don’t have to think about.

“Are you really giving me my phone back?” I ask, excitement creeping into my tone.

“Yes, sweet girl. I think you’ve earned it. There are a few safety measures in place. But besides that, you’re free to do whatever you want with it.”

“Thank you!”

I launch myself into his arms, wrapping around him in pure, unfiltered joy.

He freezes.

And suddenly, I regret it.

I’ve never initiated contact before. Maybe I’ve been reading the signals wrong. Maybe there weren’t any signals. Has it all been in my head?

I start to pull back, but his arms tighten around me.

“Don’t you dare let go.” His voice is low. Gravelly. His grip unrelenting. “I just don’t want to spill scalding coffee on you.”

A moment passes, and I feel it. His deep, long inhale.

Did he just sniff me?

And why does that make the butterflies in my stomach flutter?

Because you love him being obsessed with you.

I loosen my grip slightly, prepared to step away, but he doesn’t let me go. Instead, he pulls me tighter.

“Just a little longer.” He murmurs.

I giggle.

Giggle .

This man has me giggling. Who even am I?

Eventually, we break apart before my coffee can get cold. Matty lingers for another moment before brushing a kiss on top of my head. Then he excuses himself, mentioning he’ll be in his home office all day and to come to him if I need anything.

And just like that, I’m alone with my phone.

***

I’m sitting in the kitchen with Dotty, sipping coffee, scrolling through my inbox. I have hundreds of unread emails. Most of them are junk. I’m sorting through them, deleting those and reading the important ones, when one catches my attention.

An audiobook contract.

Oh my God.

I completely forgot.

My stomach plummets. The author I agreed to narrate for has emailed several times. The most recent one was yesterday, reminding me of the deadline in four weeks.

I need to start yesterday .

Thankfully, she assumes I’ve been busy recording, which explains my silence.

If I back out of this project, it’ll ruin my reputation in the romance audiobook community. I love narrating these books. If I could do it full-time, I would. And I refuse to let her down.

“Dear girl, what has you white as a ghost?” Dotty asks, concerned.

I don’t answer. I fly out of my chair.

I don’t even take a moment to form a plan to convince Matty to let me go home and grab my equipment. I can’t waste time.

“Where are you going?” Dotty’s startled.

“I need to talk to Matty!”

I don’t wait for a response, letting the door swing shut behind me.

I burst into Matty’s office without knocking .

At the sight of me, his brows snap together. He rushes to his feet and makes his way over.

“I have to go. I’ll call you back later.” He hangs up mid-conversation. He doesn’t even give the other person time to respond. I should feel bad. That was probably an important call. But I don’t care.

“I’m sorry.” I blurt. “I should’ve knocked.”

“You never need to knock.” His voice is steady, but his eyes scan me for signs of distress. “What’s wrong?”

He tilts my chin up, forcing eye contact. His massive hands completely engulf my face. My brain stutters.

“I need to go to my house.” I rush out. “I promise I’ll come right back.”

“No.”

There’s no hesitation. No room for argument. Because he doesn’t trust me.

He gave you your phone back. And you haven’t even tried calling for help.

Why haven’t I? Any sane person would have. Right?

You don’t want to leave.

The thought startles me. That can’t be true. It must be Stockholm Syndrome, right?

“What do you need?” Matty asks. “I can send one of my men to get it.”

A blush crawls up my neck.

I like narrating romance novels. I really enjoy it.

And I’m proud of my success. But I don’t want to tell him.

There’s a reason I use a pen name. If he knows, he’ll have questions.

And if he listens? Oh God. I go over my last project in my head.

There are way too many spicy scenes. That cannot happen.

“I have to be the one to get it.” I try to reason.

His eyes narrow. “Why?”

“It’s… private. ”

He tilts his head. “I had Dotty get you feminine hygiene products when you first arrived. If that’s what you need, she can grab more for you.”

I blink. “You… you thought of that for me?”

He nods, completely casual.

I don’t know why that makes my heart race.

A man making sure you have tampons and pads. A man paying attention. It’s attractive.

Is that weird?

No. It’s thoughtful.

But I shake my head. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” His voice is gentler now. “Margot, you can tell me anything.”

I inhale. Okay. Here we go.

“I narrate audiobooks. I need to collect my equipment.”

A beat.

Then, “I know.”

I frown. “What do you mean, you know?”

“I just finished your last one. You’re very talented.”

Oh my God.

My face goes up in flames.

“They’ve gotten me through quite a few situations. ” He adds, smirking.

I stare at him.

Then, it hits me.

Oh. My. God.

He’s been getting off to my narrations. To me.

I’m redder than a fire engine. This is beyond embarrassing.

But I can’t stop the images flooding my mind. Images of him gripping his cock, stroking himself, listening to me voice erotic scenes. Does he picture me in them ?

To my horror, the image has heat pooling between my thighs. I cannot find that hot. It’s embarrassing.

Babe, he’s getting off to only your voice, filled with fantasies of you. That’s such a compliment.

I shove the thought away.

“Oh… Well… Umm.” I clear my throat, struggling to regain control. “Can you get one of your men to gather my equipment? I have a recording due in a few weeks, and I need to start working on it now.”

I can’t even look at him.

“No.”

My gaze shoots to his in confusion. “No?”

He meets my eyes evenly. “You’re not recording anymore.”

I stare at him. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t waver. “You’re never narrating scenes like that with another guy again.

And not to mention listeners. Do you know how many perverts out there would get off just hearing my sweet girl’s voice?

” His expression darkens. “No one else gets to hear you like that. I’m working on getting the ones you’ve already recorded taken down. ”

My stomach drops.

There’s no room for argument in his tone.

Well too damn bad! I’m arguing anyways.

“First off,” I snap, “in dual narrations, I record all the female points of view, and the male narrator does his. We send the files, and they put the chapters together. I’ve never even met my male counterparts.

And second, these books are a form of art.

People listen for the story, not to get off on it.

No pervert is sitting through fifteen hours of romance books just for forty minutes of sex scenes. ”

I keep my tone calm and even. I’m proud of how steady my voice is. Until he shatters it.

“I did.” His voice is unapologetic, smug, like this is the most obvious thing in the world. “I listened to hear your sexy voice. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m hard right now just remembering it.”

My eyes drop before I can stop them, and sure enough, he’s painfully erect.

My breath hitches.

I rip my gaze back up, furious with him, furious with myself.

“Then you’re the fucking pervert! You can’t stop me!” I raise my voice.

Ok, so the calm tone didn’t last long.

The second the words leave my mouth, his entire demeanor changes.

His expression hardens.

I see it. The exact moment his patience evaporates. It happens right around the time I call him a pervert.

No kidding.

Well, he is one, getting off to my books.

You love the fact that he finds pleasure in your smutty narrations. You’re dripping.

Shut. Up.

His voice drops lower, sharp as a knife. “Actually, I can. You’re not getting the equipment.” His tone makes it clear the conversation is over.

Something inside me snaps.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I shout.

He doesn’t hesitate.

“I’m your Matty.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down my spine.

Your Matty.

Not Matthias .

Not your captor.

Not the man who kidnapped you and turned your life upside down.

But Matty.

My Matty.

Mine.

“You’re mine,” he continues, his voice dark. “And no other man gets to hear your sweet voice so seductive.” His tone isn’t loud, isn’t yelling. It’s low and lethal. A promise and a threat all in one.

“Ugh! Fuck you, you psychopath!”

I shove both hands against his chest, but it’s pointless. He doesn’t even stumble.

But his grip on me tightens.

“Not yet, spitfire,” he murmurs, voice thick with conviction. “Soon.”

I do the only thing I know will set him off.

I spit in his face.

The moment it lands, everything shifts.

One hand snaps to my throat. His huge palm nearly encircles my entire neck. His grip is firm, unyielding. It’s not painful, not yet. It’s a warning, a declaration, a display of control. A reminder that he can do whatever he wants to me.

You’re even wetter than before.

His other hand wipes the saliva off his cheek, slowly and deliberately.

When his eyes lift back to mine, they’re black with rage.

He’s so close, our noses nearly brushing, his breath warm against my lips.

Even now, even with his fingers wrapped around my throat, even when he could cut off my air or snap my neck in an instant, I’m not afraid.

Maybe I should be .

But no matter how furious he gets, I don’t think Matty would ever hurt me.

At least not outside of the bedroom. You’d love that.

His lips part. His unhinged expression exposes the level insanity I’ve driven to. Then...

RING!

The sound shatters the moment.

His jaw clenches, muscles tight as steel. He doesn’t release my throat immediately. His hand stays there for a second longer, like he wants me to feel his power as long as possible. Then, with one final squeeze, he lets me go.

I stumble back, breathless.

His free hand fishes his phone from his pocket. He checks the caller ID, mutters a curse, then locks eyes with me again.

“Get out of here.” His voice is gritted, dangerous.

I don’t move.

His gaze darkens.

“Know that this behavior will not go unpunished.”

A shiver runs through me.

“I have to take this call,” he continues, his expression murderous. “But we’ll finish this later.”

There’s a promise in his tone.

I storm out, his words ringing in my ears.

But even as I throw the door open, as I stomp away, as I try to collect myself, a single thought lingers.

Did I push his buttons on purpose?

And if I did…

Why?