I nibbled on my pen, doing all the classwork I’d missed today. It was so easy. It felt almost pointless as I scribbled the answers, glancing up to find that it was getting late. Slapping my textbook closed, I stared at the bed, wondering why I was waiting up for him anyway.
This isn’t his room.
He’s not even mine.
Climbing onto my sheets, I laid down and felt a mixture of contentedness and aggravation as I smelled him on my pillow. That masculine scent, intoxicating. I keep saying I hate him but I’m pretty sure I just hate the position he’s put me in. How did it come to this? A man belonging to one woman, bound to another? And he probably loved it, that p*****t. Acting like it stressed him out. The only thing stressing him out was unwillingness to share. To comply.
