Chapter 6



My phone buzzed from somewhere in the room. I groaned and rolled over. Hanging half off the bed, I waved my arms around trying to locate where I dropped it last night. But I couldn’t find it.

“Have you seen my phone?” I asked Brock, but he didn’t answer.

He simply wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me back onto the bed beside him, my body flush against his, head on his chest and leg thrown over his. He pointed at the T.V silently telling me to watch the movie.

My phone vibrated again, and I lifted my head, trying to pinpoint the location from which the soft sound was coming from. I had no idea.

 “Leave it,” Brock growled. “It’s not important.”

“You don’t know that.” I narrowed my gaze on him.

“I know that if you answer it, you’ll end up leaving.”

“I will not.”

He raised an eyebrow at me and remained silent.

“Okay, fine. Maybe. But I do have to go home at some point. You can’t keep me trapped in your bed forever, you know.”

He grabbed my wrist and flipped us over, so he was hovering above me. He moved so fast; I lost my breath. Although, that might have just been from the heated look in his eyes. “Want a bet?”

His fingers traced the soft skin on the inside of my wrist as he brought both of my hands up above my head, wrapping them around the wrought iron bars of his headboard.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off. He a brush of his lips on mine, he spoke. “I could tie you right here.” He tightened his hands around mine forcing me to clench the bars in my fists. “And you’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

No. No I definitely would not. I didn’t like being trapped, unable to move and at the mercy of someone else, even someone I knew wouldn’t hurt me. Someone like Brock. No.

“You’d like to give me control, wouldn’t you?”

He pressed his mouth to my neck. My back arched. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Let me take over every inch of your body.”

His dragged his hands down my arms slowly, skimming my ribs and my waist. My breath hitched and my body warmed as I wondered what he would do if he tied me up.

“No,” I whispered.


“Then why are you white knuckling the bars?” he asked, lifting his gaze to my hands still clutching the headboard even though he’d let them go.

He leaned over and reached for the drawer beside the bed. The one with the condoms in it. I bit my lip in anticipation, waiting to see what else he had stashed in that drawer.

A silk scarf? Not likely.

Handcuffs? Most likely.

He pulled something out and whispered, “Stay,” as he pried my fingers from the bars and placed something hard and smooth in my hand.

My phone.

“I’d like to have a shower and freshen up, you know?” I said, not thanking him for my phone and pushing myself up to sit.

“I have a shower here. Use it.”

Unlocking my phone, I noticed multiple missed calls and texts. Dammit. I really did need to leave. The downside of still living at home with your parents when you’re twenty-two.

“I don’t have clean clothes,” I argued.

Brock climbed off the bed and looked me over once before scooping my clothes off the floor, where they had remained and stalked out of the room. “What are you doing with my clothes?”

“Washing them,” he called out.

He was washing my clothes?

I jumped off the bed and followed him. “What am I supposed to wear in the meantime?”


I sighed. “I can’t wear nothing.”

He put my clothes in the washing machine and switched it on before turning to face me. “Fine. You can keep my shirt on.”

“Gee, thanks.” I glanced down at the black t-shirt that came to the middle of my thighs. “I have to go home at some point.”

“But not today.” Brock closed the distance between us. “It’s Saturday. Just spend the weekend with me.”

“Okay. But I’m having a shower.”

His eyes flashed. “I’ll join you.”

I held up my hand. “If you’re making me stay all weekend, and wear nothing but your shirt, I’m having a shower in peace. Alone.”

“I’m not making you do shit. You can leave anytime you want.” He gestured toward the front of the house.

“I have no clothes.”

Brock smirked and lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

“Who rang?” he asked, changing the subject and I suddenly remembered that I had missed calls and messages on my phone.

“Shit. I forgot.”

“Told you it wasn’t important.”

We were still standing in the laundry room, so I shoved him in the chest, forcing him to take step back, and went in search of my phone again.

Opening the call log first, I groaned when I saw four missed calls from my mum, and then opened the messages knowing they’d be from her. Her and dad were away for the weekend and she liked to check in with me and my older sister constantly, as if we couldn’t look after ourselves.

Mum: Morning. Lovely here today. Just going out for breakfast.

Mum: call me when you wake up

Mum: Sky said you didn’t come home last night

Yes, my sister’s name was Sky, with no e, my brother was called River, and I was Lake. Apparently, my parents were stoned when they named us.

Mum: where r you

Mum: r you alive

Mum: call me

I was twenty-two dammit. Sky was twenty-four—she didn’t have to go blabbing to our parents that I spent the night out.

I quickly typed out a text to let her know I was alive and okay.

Me: Sorry. I’m fine. Didn’t have money to get home, so caught a cab to Brocks house. Just woke up.

Her reply was instant.

Mum: why didnt you have money

Me: because I never take cash out.

Mum: how did you get to Brocks. Who else is there. Where are you now.

Brock returned then and sat down beside me. Looking over my shoulder, he chuckled at the messages.

Me: Taxi. No one. Still there.

Mum: How did you pay for taxi. When are you going home

Me: Brock paid. Don’t know yet. We’re ordering dinner and watching movies.

“We are?” Brocks voice was amused.

“You want me to spend the weekend, you need to feed me more.”

Mum: okay. Let me know what your doing and tell Sky.

I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t a child.

Me: okay. Enjoy your weekend

I threw my phone across the bed and sighed.

“You should have just called her. It would have been easier.”

“No.” I shook my head. “She’d ask a thousand more questions over the phone.” I stood up and stretched. “Can I have a shower?”

Brock scratched the scruff on his jaw and looked me over. “Can I watch?”


“Then you can’t have a shower.” He smirked, proud of himself.

“Come on,” I whined. My hair was a mess, I smelled like cigarettes and stale alcohol. I felt gross from sweaty sex and spending the day in bed.

Brock stared at me without saying a word. He wouldn’t budge.

“Fine. You can watch, if you feed me.”

Fair’s fair. I was hungry. And that was a pretty good compromise, besides I’d just keep my back to him the whole time to piss him off.

Brock grabbed his phone and dialled a number. After a few moments he spoke into the receiver and ordered two pizzas before hanging up and flashing me his dimples.

“There. I’m feeding you.”

“What about dessert?”

"You're dessert."

I pulled off his shirt and threw it at his face before turning around and stomping into the bathroom trying to ignore the butterflies that erupted in my stomach from his words, as I ran the shower. It hadn't been twenty-four hours yet and I wasn't sure my body could take much more, but I couldn't wait to find out.

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