The morning after
2337 Words
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Cassie’s POV
I wake with a groan, head pounding like a war drum behind my eyes. My face scrunches instinctively as the light cuts through the room like a blade.
What the hell happened last night?
My stomach twists. I smell... weird. Not bad, just unfamiliar. Clean soap, cologne, and something faintly masculine. My fingers clutch the sheets beneath me, only to realize—this isn’t my bed. This isn’t my room.
Panic flares in my chest. I glance down, expecting the tight party dress from last night, maybe smudged makeup and shame—but no. I’m wearing a black T-shirt. Oversized. Not mine.
“Oh, God. No.” My voice is a whisper of horror.
Please tell me I didn’t…
I sit up slowly, the events of the night trickling back with sharp, stinging edges. The party. The drink. Jessie. The car ride. The belt. My cheeks burn.
My eyes dart around the room—taking in details I had ignored last night. The king-sized four-poster bed with dark sheets. A sleek, modern walk-in closet to one side, a pair of glass doors on the other leading to a private patio. And to the far corner—yes, the bathroom. The one where he’d bathed me like I was something fragile.
I whirl around at the sound of a door creaking open—the one I hadn’t noticed before. The hallway entrance.
Jessie walks in, shirtless and barefoot, his damp hair tousled like he’s just stepped out of the shower. Gray joggers hang low on his hips, and despite the dull throb in my skull, my traitorous eyes drift. Broad chest. Sculpted abs. Water droplets sliding down—
Stop staring.
I remind myself I’m mad at him. I should be mad. Furious. Humiliated.
“What the hell am I doing here?” I snap, voice sharp and defensive. “Why am I in your bed, in your shirt? I swear to God, if you—”
His expression shifts immediately. Whatever softness had been in his face disappears like a switch flipping. His jaw tenses. Eyes narrow.
“What did I tell you about your mouth?” he says, his tone calm but threatening. “Do I need to remind you what that attitude earns you?”
The memory crashes down on me all at once. The belt. The pain. The way he held me after.
I quickly shake my head, face flaming.
He seems satisfied by my wordless answer. Wordlessly, he crosses the room and hands me a glass of water and two small pills.
I blink, caught off guard by the gesture. “What’s this?”
He rolls his eyes. “Advil. Hangover’s probably kicking your ass.”
I hesitate for a second, unsure if I should trust him, but then down the pills and water gratefully. The ache in my skull is unbearable, and part of me—shamefully—doesn’t want to upset him again.
He waits until I’ve swallowed before speaking again. His voice is calm. Measured.
“Now, I think we’ve got some things to discuss, don’t you?”
I shake my head quickly, hoping I can still shut the door on this whole nightmare. “Last night shouldn’t have happened. Just forget about it. There’s nothing to talk about.”
He gives me a look. Amused. Pitying. Dangerous.
“You think it didn’t matter?” he asks, voice low. “You think I can just forget the way you looked at me? The way you responded?” He steps closer, towering over the bed. “You might want to pretend nothing’s changed, Cassie—but we both know that’s not true.”
I grit my teeth. “You don’t know me.”
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know enough. I know you like control until someone takes it from you. I know you liked being claimed—even if you’re too damn stubborn to admit it.”
He paces a little, hands on his hips. When he speaks again, his tone turns colder.
“Let me be clear. I don’t like you. Never have. But you’re mine. I’ll be damned if anyone else gets a piece of you. You got that?”
I open my mouth to argue, to call him out for whatever delusional possessive bullshit this is—but he keeps going like I’m not even speaking.
“Which means things are going to change. From now on, you follow my rules. I don’t care if you agree. I don’t care if you think it’s unfair. I’m not here to negotiate.”
My blood starts to boil. I sit up straighter in the bed, fists clenched in the sheets.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” I demand, voice shaking with fury. “You think you can boss me around just because you pulled some caveman act last night? I didn’t ask you to come get me. I don’t belong to you!”
His gaze hardens. “No, you didn’t ask. But you needed me. And you’ll need me again. I’m just cutting out the part where you pretend otherwise.”
“You’re delusional,” I spit. “There is no way in hell I’m following your ‘rules’ like some good little pet.”
He takes one long step toward me. I flinch instinctively. He notices. Smirks.
“Not yet,” he says softly. “But you will.”
I glare at him, jaw locked, but something in me betrays my anger. The pulse between my legs. The way my breath hitches when he looks at me like that. Like I’m prey.
This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.---
Cassie’s POV (continued)
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the pounding in my head and the way the room tilts slightly when I stand. My legs are bare beneath his damn T-shirt, but I’ll be damned if I sit here like some obedient little thing while he lays down the law like this is a prison and he’s the warden.
“I’m leaving,” I announce, lifting my chin.
Jessie doesn’t move. “Sit down.”
“I said, I’m leaving.”
He c***s his head, arms folding over his chest. “No, Cassie. You’re not.”
I take a defiant step toward the door.
He’s on me before I even realize he moved—hand wrapping around my wrist, not hard, but firm enough to remind me just how much stronger he is. My breath catches. Not from fear. From the electricity that sparks at his touch. God, I hate how my body reacts to him.
“You don’t get to walk away right now,” he says low. “Not until you hear me out.”
“I don’t care what you have to say.”
“Too bad. You’re going to listen anyway.”
I try yanking my arm free, but he doesn’t let go. He steps closer, lowering his voice even further, forcing me to look up at him.
“Last night,” he growls, “I pulled you out of that house full of drunk assholes who would’ve loved the chance to take advantage of a girl who didn’t know her own name. I took care of you. I washed you down. I dressed you. I didn’t touch you. Not once. Even when you were begging.”
My stomach twists violently. He’s lying. I didn’t—did I?
“You’re full of shit.”
His lips twitch, and his grip loosens just enough for me to breathe again.
“You don’t remember?” he asks softly.
I shake my head. I hate how uncertain my voice is when I say, “I remember enough.”
His gaze darkens. “Then you should remember that you don’t get to mouth off without consequences. And that brings us to your rules.”
I laugh—a short, sharp sound. “You’re seriously insane.”
He lets me go, finally, and I stumble back a step. Jessie walks to his dresser, opens a drawer, and pulls out a small black notebook. He tosses it onto the bed beside me.
“What the hell is that?”
“Your manual,” he says simply.
“My—? Oh, you’ve lost your mind.”
“Rule one,” he says, ignoring me completely. “You don’t lie to me. About anything. Not where you’re going, not who you’re with, and definitely not how you’re feeling.”
I scoff, arms crossed tight. “That’s rich coming from you. You’ve been lying to yourself for years. You don’t hate me. You hate that you want me.”
Something flickers in his eyes—brief, dangerous.
“Rule two,” he says tightly, “you don’t disobey me. You don’t get to put yourself in danger to prove a point. If I say stay away from someone, you stay away. Period.”
I raise a brow. “So what—you’re my keeper now?”
“No,” he says. “I’m your owner.”
My heart skips. I want to scream at him. Slap him. But the heat that coils low in my stomach makes my voice come out weaker than I want.
“You don’t own me,” I whisper.
He steps in close again, towering over me. “That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart. After last night? You’re already mine. I just haven’t finished training you yet.”
I slap him before I even think about it.
The sound cracks through the room like a gunshot. His head turns slightly from the impact—but he doesn’t flinch. He straightens slowly, turns back to face me, eyes burning.
Then he smiles.
A dark, dangerous, satisfied smile.
“You’ll pay for that.”
My throat tightens.
Not with fear. With anticipation.
---
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the pounding in my head and the way the room tilts slightly when I stand. My legs are bare beneath his damn T-shirt, but I’ll be damned if I sit here like some obedient little thing while he lays down the law like this is a prison and he’s the warden.
“I’m leaving,” I announce, lifting my chin.
Jessie doesn’t move. “Sit down.”
“I said, I’m leaving.”
He c***s his head, arms folding over his chest. “No, Cassie. You’re not.”
I take a defiant step toward the door.
He’s on me before I even realize he moved—hand wrapping around my wrist, not hard, but firm enough to remind me just how much stronger he is. My breath catches. Not from fear. From the electricity that sparks at his touch. God, I hate how my body reacts to him.
“You don’t get to walk away right now,” he says low. “Not until you hear me out.”
“I don’t care what you have to say.”
“Too bad. You’re going to listen anyway.”
I try yanking my arm free, but he doesn’t let go. He steps closer, lowering his voice even further, forcing me to look up at him.
“Last night,” he growls, “I pulled you out of that house full of drunk assholes who would’ve loved the chance to take advantage of a girl who didn’t know her own name. I took care of you. I washed you down. I dressed you. I didn’t touch you. Not once. Even when you were begging.”
My stomach twists violently. He’s lying. I didn’t—did I?
“You’re full of shit.”
His lips twitch, and his grip loosens just enough for me to breathe again.
“You don’t remember?” he asks softly.
I shake my head. I hate how uncertain my voice is when I say, “I remember enough.”
His gaze darkens. “Then you should remember that you don’t get to mouth off without consequences. And that brings us to your rules.”
I laugh—a short, sharp sound. “You’re seriously insane.”
He lets me go, finally, and I stumble back a step. Jessie walks to his dresser, opens a drawer, and pulls out a small black notebook. He tosses it onto the bed beside me.
“What the hell is that?”
“Your manual,” he says simply.
“My—? Oh, you’ve lost your mind.”
“Rule one,” he says, ignoring me completely. “You don’t lie to me. About anything. Not where you’re going, not who you’re with, and definitely not how you’re feeling.”
I scoff, arms crossed tight. “That’s rich coming from you. You’ve been lying to yourself for years. You don’t hate me. You hate that you want me.”
Something flickers in his eyes—brief, dangerous.
“Rule two,” he says tightly, “you don’t disobey me. You don’t get to put yourself in danger to prove a point. If I say stay away from someone, you stay away. Period.”
I raise a brow. “So what—you’re my keeper now?”
“No,” he says. “I’m your owner.”
My heart skips. I want to scream at him. Slap him. But the heat that coils low in my stomach makes my voice come out weaker than I want.
“You don’t own me,” I whisper.
He steps in close again, towering over me. “That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart. After last night? You’re already mine. I just haven’t finished training you yet.”
I slap him before I even think about it.
The sound cracks through the room like a gunshot. His head turns slightly from the impact—but he doesn’t flinch. He straightens slowly, turns back to face me, eyes burning.
Then he smiles.
A dark, dangerous, satisfied smile.
“You’ll pay for that.”
My throat tightens.
Not with fear. With anticipation.
---
- Writer
