Page 102 of Unrequited

And then I see him.

He’s standing in the doorway.

His arms are crossed, his eyes dark, unreadable, but dangerous.

“You didn’t,” he growls.

“I…” I start, but the words die in my throat.

“Tell me you didn’t disobey me and make yourself come.” The hard line of his cock in his jeans tells me he might want me to admit my failing.

“Um, I didn’t mean to,” I whisper, like it’ll make a difference. Like maybe if we both lost control, it balances out.

But it doesn’t.

“It just happened, Seamus. I swear, I didn’t mean to make that happen.”

“But you did,” he growls, stepping forward. “You had control. I told you what to do. I told you not to come. And you chose to come anyway.”

He stalks across the room, and suddenly, he’s not just Seamus anymore.

He’s The Undertaker.

The man who makes grown men piss themselves.

The most feared man in Europe.

And now I see why.

I scramble back on the bed, more out of instinct than real fear. Because underneath the terror, I want this. I want him.

Because this is Seamus.MySeamus.

He wouldn’t really hurt me.

Would he?

“Let me ask you something, angel,” he says.

The way the wordangelslips from his lips, it should sound sweet. Soft, like affection. But it doesn’t. There’s a steel thread running through it, laced with warning. It tells me not to get too comfortable. Not to mistake tenderness for mercy.

“Am I a man of my word?”

He told me he’d marry me. Swore he'd come back for me. Promised that the only reason he ever left at all was because someone else took him, ripped him away, and locked him up, like I didn’t matter. Like we didn’t matter.

There was a time I would’ve said no… that he wasn't a man of anything.

But now?

Now, I know better.

“Yes, sir,” I whisper. The words barely leave my lips, like they’re afraid to make themself known. Saying the truth out loud feels like it might cost me something I won’t be able to get back.

He watches me.

“What did I tell you would happen if you came without permission?”

My mouth is dry.