Chapter 9 Let Me Undress You
“I thought you said there’s no food left. We’ll eat out then.” Jack was still hungry; he’d skipped lunch, and her silence on the phone had driven him straight home after work, fearing she’d bolt or worse.
“Mr. Winston, the noodles are really good. Give them a shot.”
Jack’s eyes raked over her, skeptical. “Emily, drop the ‘devoted housewife’ act. It won’t work.” He grabbed her wrist, dragging her toward the bedroom.
Alison struggled, but his grip tightened. Suddenly, he scooped her into his arms, carrying her inside.
“W-what are you doing? Not now!” Dusk had barely settled, but Jack shouldered the door open, unbothered.
“No, I don’t want to go!” The thought of walking him on crowded, brightly lit streets made her panic.
He pinned her against the wardrobe, kicking the door shut. Changing in front of him was unthinkable. She bit his arm, hard—hoping to make him let go.
Instead, he pulled her closer, and opened the wardrobe with one hand. Dozens of dresses hung inside – bright, varied, untouched. He grabbed a lavender dress, tossing it on the bed, then turned to untie her robe.
Alison tensed. Despite last night's sex, his nearness now felt suffocating. She clawed at his hands, pleading. “Jack, please. Just let me cook the noodles. If you hate them, I’ll go with you next time.” She couldn’t bear the idea of being seen with him in public.
“I said we’re going out.” Her resistance only made him more determined. He battled her hands away, deftly untying her sash—her robe falling open to reveal the white lingerie.
His hands stilled, voice turned to a murmur. “Emily, you used to hate wearing clothes indoors. Take them off. Now.”
Alison shook her head, humiliation burning hot in her chest. She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palm, defiance blazing in her eyes.
“Emily, strip it. Now.” Jack’s growl was harsh. He saw the defiance in her gaze, and it only stoked his urge to control her.
But she stayed silent, trembling but unyielding.
“Fine, let me help.” With a rough yank, he tore the robe off, letting it fall to her feet.
Alison crossed her arms over her chest, staring back at Jack with defiance. Panic raged inside, but she refused to look weak.
Jack’s eyes fixed on her trembling hands, then met her gaze. This wasn’t his Emily. And yet, the resemblance was uncanny.
He placed a warm hand over hers, stroking her palm; she shuddered involuntarily.
She didn’t fight. She had no choice. The moment she’d entered, she’d become his prisoner—for three months, at least.
His touch lingered, her anxiety spiking as painful memories of last night resurfaced.
Jack smirked at her tension, clearly enjoying it.
Her cheeks flushed bright red.
He stared, captivated—she looked like a ripe apple, too tempting to resist.
He leaned in, kissing her softly at first, then roughly, pressing her against him. The kiss was all teeth and tongue, a brutal claim.
Alison gasped for air, trapped in his grip. He was a storm, and she had no shelter.
He pinned her against the cold wardrobe. She whimpered, “Jack, stop…”
Her plea cut through his gaze. He lost his way
He pulled back abruptly. “Fine, we’ll finish this after dinner.”
His words hung heavy. Seizing the chance, she grabbed the lavender dress from the bed.
Post-kiss, she was almost numb to his stare. Dressing under his gaze no longer terrified her.
Survive the night, she told herself.
She dressed swiftly, but Jack was faster. When she turned, he zipped her dress with surprising gentleness, then offered his arm.
“Let’s go.”
Startled, she looped her arm through his.
I’m Emily now. What did she have to fear?
As they stepped out, flashes of Jack’s moods raced through her mind—passionate, cruel, tender, vicious.
Which one was real?
And his promise to reclaim her again...anxiety churned in her gut.