Alisa
Derrick takes me back to his bedroom and hands me one of his t-shirts. I pull it over my head and stare at him. My insides are knotting in on themselves, and my head is spinning like a maelstrom.
Everything feels unreal. This whole night feels like something from some kind of messed up fever dream.
“Do you need a drink?” he asks as he pulls on a pair of boxers. “Not alcohol. A soda or juice?”
Why is he serving me? It should be the other way around.
He's testing me.
Horrified, I jump to my feet before he can punish me. “I’ll get-”
“No,” he interrupts, his voice firm and unyielding. “I’ll get it. What do you want? If you don’t tell me, I’ll get what I think is best.”
It feels wrong to order the Alpha about. I can’t bring myself to ask him for anything. “That’s fine. Wh- whatev
