Chapter Six
1087 Words
LENA
I froze against the counter, my button-up tank tugged down tight, thighs pressing together, heat still lingering where his hand had been minutes ago.
“I’m in charge now, okay?” he said simply, lips tilting into the faintest smirk before he continued up the steps.
His words stabbed through me, leaving me weak, trembling, clutching the counter like it was the only thing keeping me standing.
I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to cry. I wanted him to come back down the stairs, pin me in place, and finish what he had started.
Instead, the house went quiet.
I poured water into a glass just to do something with my hands. My pulse was still hammering in my ears. I hated him for it, but I craved more. I hated myself worse for needing it.
Upstairs, I heard the floor creak. Slow, deliberate, like he wanted me to know exactly where he was.
My phone beeped on the table.
Dad.
My chest tightened. I snatched it up, but before I could answer, Mark’s steps returned. He was already halfway down the stairs again, moving slowly, deliberately, like he had all the time in the world.
“Let me,” he said, not asking, just taking the phone from my hand before I could protest. His fingers brushed mine on purpose when he did it, warm, confident, making me shiver.
I swallowed hard, heat shooting through me. “Mark—”
He pressed a finger to his lips. A warning. My mouth shut instantly.
“Hello?” His voice dropped into something calm, collected, trustworthy. The kind of voice that made people believe him.
I stood there frozen, watching him lean lazily against the wall like he didn’t have me cornered with just his presence.
“Yeah, sir. Everything’s fine here,” he said easily, eyes locked on me. “The girls are fine too. No worries. Everything’s under control.”
My stomach twisted. The way he said it, steady and casual, but his eyes roaming down me—my top, my legs, the way I was pressed against the counter—made it mean something else entirely.
“I’ll keep an eye on everything,” he added, a slight curl at the edge of his lips, pausing just enough before he finished, “…on everyone.”
My breath caught.
He hung up, tossed the phone back onto the counter, and didn’t move away. His gaze was heavy, unreadable but charged, pinning me there.
“Your dad worries too much,” he murmured finally, low, intimate. “But he’s right. Things are under control.”
The words sank into me like claws.
He stepped closer, slow, unhurried, his body brushing mine as he trapped me against the counter. His hand slid over the edge of the countertop, but his fingers grazed my hip—barely, lightly, like he wasn’t even touching me.
But he was.
His eyes dipped lower, catching on the buttons of my top pulled high against my chest. His finger traced the line of it, tugging faintly.
“You buttoned up today,” he murmured, head tilting, his smirk lazy but sharp. “Why? Hm? Afraid of me seeing what you showed me before?”
I stiffened, blood roaring in my ears. “I… I was cold,” I lied weakly.
He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through me. His finger drifted from the buttons down to my stomach, circling over the thin fabric.
“Cold doesn’t make you button up this tight. Fear does. Or shame.” His gaze lifted, burning. “But you remember the note. Don’t you?”
I froze, nails digging into the counter.
“Talk, Lena,” he said, softer now, crueler for it. His finger slid lower, brushing just at the top of my shorts, pressing faintly enough to make my legs shake. “I can see it on your face. You read every word.”
I swallowed, my throat closing around the air.
“Mark…” It slipped out of me, small, needy.
“Shh.” His mouth was so close I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. “Do you know how hard it is not to taste you right now?”
My chest rose and fell too fast. I shook my head weakly, but my body betrayed me—leaning, arching, begging.
“Get me a glass of water,” he said suddenly, voice snapping low.
I blinked at him, confused, trembling, but I moved, fumbling for a glass. My hands shook as I filled it at the sink, the sound of running water impossibly loud. When I turned, he was already there, close, so close. He took the glass slowly, brushing his fingers over mine. His smirk deepened when he saw me shiver.
He set the glass down untouched. He hadn’t wanted water. He wanted me to move, to obey, to know I’d do it.
His hand slid down, grazing the curve of my thigh through the fabric of my shorts. His thumb pressed gently against the inside, the touch so deliberate, so slight, my knees almost buckled.
I clutched the counter, choking back the sound crawling up my throat.
“Don’t,” I whispered, my voice cracked, unconvincing.
His lips brushed my ear. “Say stop and mean it,” he murmured. His thumb stroked slow circles into my thigh, teasing, cruel. “But you won’t. You can’t.”
Heat burned through me, liquid, unbearable. I shook my head again, eyes squeezing shut, my body trembling. I wanted to scream at him to move away—but all I did was part my thighs slightly, shameless, needy.
He caught it instantly. His smirk ghosted against my skin. “There she is,” he whispered, his hand sliding higher, so close I whimpered.
I tilted toward him, eyes half-lidded, his mouth brushing mine—so close. My heart slammed. My lips parted, ready, desperate.
And then—
The front door creaked open.
“Heyy—I… forgot my…”
Chloe’s voice cut through the air like a knife.
I jerked back, heat flaming my cheeks. Mark didn’t move. He leaned back just enough to look composed, his hand retreating smoothly as if nothing had happened.
His expression calm, collected—except for the dark glint in his eyes, the promise of what he’d almost done.
Chloe stood frozen in the doorway, jacket dangling from her fingers, her wide eyes darting between us. “Um… my jacket.”
- Writer
