Page 165 of Baby Girl
Last night was…I can’t even say eye-opening. I know exactly what Derek does to me and how amazing he can make my body feel. Why the fuck didn’t I use my safe word when he offered it to me? Why did I stay? Why did I let last night happen?
All serious questions.
None of which I have an answer for.
It’s not like I need to gather any more information about them on the sex front. I know exactly what they can give me and how much I enjoy it. What I don’t know is what it would be like to be with them in terms of a relationship. Is the level of gifting and interest, and the need to be with me so often, something that will last? Or is all of that merely love-bombing?
Would I even want that to continue if this went from just a contract to a relationship?
And as much as I hate to admit it, I do have moments of missing them. Occasionally. Very occasionally. Like, when things are quiet in my brain, I kind of wish one of them was there with me.
But my brain is hardly ever quiet, so that rarely happens.
At all, really.
Sighing, I slam my eyes closed on that mental prattling, take several calming breaths and then reopen, focusing on the morning-light-filled room that I attempted to snoop through last night. Not that I was able to get very far, due to the short chain Derek had me on.
The cuff.
I bolt upright, reach for my wrist, and swivel to look at the headboard at the same time.
It’s gone.
Gone from my wrist, gone from the bed.
Just…gone.
There is an odd split second when sadness fills me, but then freedom rushes through my system like I’ve been imprisoned for half my life.
I flop back onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling, tensing when I expect to feel some residual pain from last night, but besides a mild discomfort, there is nothing. Frowning, I reach between myself and the mattress and probe the skin of my butt cheeks, and it’s not until I find the bite mark that I flinch from a zing of pain.
What the fuck was that last night?
He sneaks in, fucks me like a savage, then leaves? Fucking asshole. That’s something Xavier would do, not Derek. The guy loves his pain, but he wouldn’t put a fresh mark over a very recent mark.
A quiet chime starts up, distracting me. I glance over at the bedside table where the noise is coming from and see my phone, plugged into a charger. Frowning, I roll over and reach for it, unplugging the phone before sitting up.
The pretty noise is apparently an alarm for seven a.m., titledGood morning, baby girland there are even heart and sunshine emojis. I didn’t realize Derek knew how to use those.
I drag my thumb across the screen to disable the alarm and see that I have a series of text messages.
Oakley:GURRRLLLLL. Derek just messaged me to let me know you are sleeping at his place tonight, WTF? Do you need to be rescued?
Oakley:Your silence is worrisome. I dislike it. Answer me, please. Or I’m calling Rambo. He will be big mad that Derek kidnapped you from his fully surveilled location.
Oakley:Okay, now my stress is turning into panic. Seriously, Ems, proof of life, please.
Oakley:Also, I called Rambo, more than once, but he didn’t answer.
Oakley:Fuck me. Rambo finally sent me a message. It’s a picture of you sleeping. That’s really fucking creepy, especially if that’s Derek’s bed. Did he like, sneak in and snap a photo or something?
Oakley:Why am I even asking that? Yes, of course he did.
Oakley:Whatever. Ems, this was not cool. It’s a fucking Thursday, and I feel like I need a spa day after all that tension. Please provide proof of life once you’re awake.
I…don’t know what to say to any of that. Like, fuck, I feel terrible, but it’s not like I was ever given the option to text her once Derek hauled me into this room. He took my phone and my clothes, so even if I’d managed to get free of the cuff—which I tried and failed at—I would have had to exit the house in either his clothes or buck-ass naked.
Biting my lip, I type out a reply that I hope will be good enough until I can get home and explain everything to her.
