Black Elm College | 18+

Chapter 3: Elsie

The rest of the walk is silent, my so-called Dom regaining his composure. We enter a house I barely have time to see, climb the stairs a second later and stop in front of a room with a coal-black door.

He steps around me, still holding my wrists, his fluffy hair falling a little in his eyes. Although he looks less angry, I am seething. How can he drag me around against my will and think it's normal? This is terribly embarrassing! I try to calm down.

His hand searches his white hoodie, then his baggy jeans. He holds out a set of pitch-black keys. He quietly pushes me inside, tosses the keys on a shelf and closes the door behind him. I barely have time to take in my surroundings before he leads me into a connecting room. My arms are crossed, but I follow.

What I see is worthy of a real estate magazine. The large window brightens the room, with a comfortable-looking bed in the middle, facing the door. The sheets and pillows are as white as the fuzzy carpet that covers most of the floor. Everything is light wood, including the walls. Several sunset paintings hang around the room, while a green fluffy throw on a comfortable armchair echoes the color of the plants that dot the room. To top it all off, a string of lights adds a golden glow to the room.

Looking around the bedroom, all I want is for Mr. Woods to leave so I can bury myself under the covers, have a pity party, then come up with a plan. But when I turn to give him a piece of my mind, the sight of him reminds me of what he's just done and throws any quiet activity out the window.

I don't know what to say to him, so I just scowl.

"Sit." He instructs, facing me, his expression neutral. Everything about him, from the muscles under his shirt to his aura, radiates power. "My name is Timothy Woods, your dominant. I assume Ms. Abner has already told you what a BDSM relationship is. But let's go over my rules so you know what's expected of you and don't repeat the numerous mistakes you just made. I -"

"Listen, Tim." He's a few inches taller than me, but I still come chest to chest with him, my neck arched in a glare. "You can shove your rules up your ass for all I care. You have no authority over me, I won't obey you, and I intend to respect those who deserve it. However, if you leave me alone, I might be friendly, so you can drop the tough-guy act and find someone else to bully."

The word "bully" seems to break the last ounce of restraint he has left. He grabs my neck, kicks my legs under me, and forces me to sit on the plush bed. While he painfully fists my hair in one hand, making it impossible for me to move away or lift my arms without losing a few strands. His other hand grabs my chin, the thumb brushing my lower lips. He brings his face close to mine.

"What the fuck?" I yell, refusing to flinch. I won't show him that it hurts. He starts to say something in return, but I cut him off again. I have no intention of listening to anything he says. "How is it okay, even for an asshole, to-"

"Open your mouth." His tone admits no contradiction, authoritarian to the core.

"Yeah. Screw. You. You delusional baboon." I reply just as calmly. I hate him already, but I don't want to hurt him too much. I consider kneeing him in the balls, one of the few things I am able to do in this position.

Seeing my hesitation, he moves away slightly and puts his knee on my leg, pinning both of them to the ground at the same time. Great, now I definitely can't move.

"One last time. Open. Your. Mouth." His tone is so dangerous and I am in such a terrible position of weakness that I comply, looking daggers at him.

He stares at my face for a few seconds before putting his thumb on my tongue.

"If you bite me, I'll bite back, and trust me, I'm not afraid of puppies." He pauses. "Suck."

I don't. He raises an eyebrow, his grip on my chin tightening.