Chapter 16: Wrestling for Control
The quiet didn’t last. It couldn’t. Not with Sadie. The profound stillness that had followed her submission in the garage simmered for the rest of the weekend, a fragile truce. By Monday afternoon, the noise was back. Not the loud, chaotic kind, but the internal, grating kind. The world outside Rhett’s house and garage existed again, with its demands and judgments.
She was at the bookstore, unpacking a box of overpriced literary journals, her skin still faintly marked where Rhett’s hands had been. Every shift in her jeans reminded her of the soreness he’d left, a secret she carried. Her phone buzzed on the counter—a string of texts from her best friend, Chloe.
Where the HELL have you been?
You missed the thing at The Rusty Nail. Brandon was asking about you.
Are you dead? Kidnapped?
Sadie typed back, her thumbs flying. Alive. Busy.
Doing what?? Chloe replied instantly. You haven’t been busy since that time you tried to build a canoe out of pasta.
A customer approached, an older man with watery eyes asking for a specific WWII history book. As she helped him, her mind fragmented. Part of her was here, reciting publication dates. The other part was back on the garage floor, the smell of oil and male sweat, the feeling of being utterly owned. The contrast was jarring. It made the present feel thin, unreal.
The customer left. She leaned against the counter, the silence of the shop pressing in. Chloe’s texts were a lifeline to a version of herself that was quickly becoming a ghost. That version would have a snarky answer. That version would meet Chloe for tequila shots and pretend the hollow feeling wasn’t there. That version was safe.
Her phone buzzed again. Chloe: Bonfire at the lake tonight. Be there or I’m sending a wellness check.
The message was a door, swinging back open to her old life. The chaos, the noise, the easy distraction of cheap beer and empty flirtation. A part of her, the stubborn, scared part, clawed for it.
She got off work at six. Instead of turning towards Rhett’s, she drove to her own tiny apartment, a place that felt like a museum of a past life. She took a long shower, scrubbing at her skin as if she could wash away the weekend. She pulled on her uniform: an oversized band tee, biker shorts, boots. She looked in the mirror. The girl staring back had shadows under her eyes, a softness to her mouth that hadn’t been there before. She practiced a smirk. It felt like a bad joke.
The lake bonfire was in full swing by the time she arrived. The air was thick with smoke and the tinny shriek of Bluetooth speakers. Red plastic cups littered the sand. Chloe descended on her, a whirlwind of sequins and concern. “There you are! I was two hours from calling the cops.”
“I told you I was busy,” Sadie said, accepting a beer.
“Busy with what? Some top-secret mission?” Chloe’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. You got laid. That’s it, isn’t it? You’ve been holed up with some guy.”
Sadie took a long pull of her beer. The lie was right there, easy. Just some guy. No one special. But the words stuck in her throat. Saying it would be a betrayal, not of Rhett, but of the truth that had settled in her bones. “Something like that,” she mumbled.
“Well, is he here? Point him out. I need to vet.”
“He’s not the bonfire type.”
“Ugh, a homebody? Sadie, no. That’s how you end up with a cat and a knitting addiction.”
The night wore on. She laughed at the right moments, told a crude story about a customer at the shop, let Brandon from the auto shop put his arm around her shoulders. His touch was warm, beer-slick, and it made her skin crawl. She detached herself, claiming she needed another drink.
Standing at the keg, the firelight dancing on the dark water, the hollow feeling expanded into a yawning chasm. The laughter sounded shrill. The conversations were drivel. This was what she’d clung to for so long, this glittering, empty distraction. And now it was just… noise. She felt a gaze on her back, heavy and familiar. She turned.
He was parked on the tree line, twenty yards away, a shadow against the pines. Rhett. Leaned against his truck, arms crossed. He wasn’t looking at the party. He was looking only at her. He hadn’t texted. He hadn’t called. He’d just known where she’d be, and he’d come.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. Shame, hot and acidic, flooded her mouth. He’d seen Brandon’s arm around her. He’d seen her pretend. She set her cup down in the sand and walked toward him, her boots sinking with each step. The party sounds faded behind her.
She stopped a few feet from him. The yellow light from a distant streetlamp caught the sharp planes of his face. His expression was unreadable, a stone mask.
“How did you know?” she asked, her voice small.
“Chloe posted a video.” His voice was low, a rumble that vibrated in the space between them. “Saw your car in the background.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “I needed… I just wanted to see…”
“To see if it still fit,” he finished for her. He pushed off the truck. “Does it?”
The honest answer was a stone in her throat. “No.”
He closed the distance, his hand coming up to cradle her jaw. His thumb stroked her cheek. “You don’t have to run back to what’s familiar just because you’re scared of what’s real.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “It’s all I know how to do.”
“You know how to belong to me.” He said it without arrogance. It was a simple, stark fact. “Get in the truck.”
The drive back to his place was silent. The garage door yawned open, swallowing them into its dark, oil-scented belly. He didn’t turn on the main lights, just a single yellow shop lamp over the workbench, casting the space in deep gold and longer shadows. He turned to face her.
“You gave that boy your smile tonight,” he said. The words were quiet, lethal.
“It didn’t mean anything.”
“It means you forgot. Let’s remind you.”
He didn’t grab her. He simply pointed to the center of the cleared floor. “Undress. Then on your knees.”
Her fingers trembled as she pulled the band tee over her head, shimmied out of the shorts and underwear. The cool air raised goosebumps on her skin. She knelt on the concrete, the hard bite of it grounding her. He walked a slow circle around her, a predator assessing. His bootsteps were the only sound.
“You carry my marks,” he said, stopping behind her. A calloused finger traced a faint, yellowing bruise on her hip. “You come on my command. You cry my name. And then you go out into the world and offer pieces of yourself to strangers.” He crouched behind her, his lips at her ear. His voice dropped to a whisper that was somehow more terrifying than a shout. “That ends tonight.”
He stood. She heard the rustle of his belt, the slow, deliberate pull of leather through loops. Not to strike her. To use. He unbuttoned his jeans, freed himself. He was already hard, thick and heavy in the dim light.
“Arch your back,” he commanded. “Present yourself to me. You want to be a part of that world out there? Show me how they take you.”
The humiliation was a live wire. She obeyed, pushing her hips back, offering herself. He spat into his hand, slicked himself, and then the broad, blunt head of his cock was pressing against her entrance.
“Tell me how they fuck you at the lake,” he growled, not pushing in.
“They… they don’t,” she gasped.
“Liar.” He thrust, a single, brutal, shallow invasion that stole her breath. “Is it like this?” He pulled back, then slammed in deeper, stretching her painfully. “Quick and dirty in the back of a car?”
“No, Rhett, please—”
“Do they make you come?” He set a punishing rhythm, each drive aimed to dominate, not to please. The concrete was grinding into her knees. “Do they know what you need? Or do they just take what they want and leave you empty?” He fucked her with a focused, relentless fury, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. “Answer me.”
“No,” she sobbed, her body rocking forward with each thrust. “They don’t know. They don’t.”
“Who knows?” He stopped, buried deep inside her, not moving.
“You.” The word was a whimper.
“Who do you belong to when you’re on your knees?”
“You. I belong to you.”
He pulled out completely. “On your back. Look at me.”
She scrambled to obey, lying back on the cold floor. He knelt between her legs, pulling her hips up onto his thighs. He entered her again, slower now, his eyes locked on hers. This was different. This wasn’t just claiming; it was a searing, soul-deep connection. He leaned over her, one hand bracing himself by her head, the other tangling in her hair.
“This is what’s real,” he said, each word punctuated by a deep, rolling thrust. “This. My cock in your cunt. My eyes on yours. You don’t hide from me. You don’t give your smiles away.” His pace intensified, becoming something primal, a union that felt less like sex and more like a forging. “You are mine. In here.” Thrust. “Out there.” Thrust. “In your sleep.” Thrust. “In your fear.” Thrust. “You. Are. Mine.”
She was unspooling, the orgasm building not from friction alone but from the devastating truth of his words. He saw her, all her broken, chaotic parts, and he wanted them anyway. He demanded them.
“Come for me,” he ordered, his voice ragged. “Come on my cock and show me you understand.”
It broke her open. A wave of pure, shuddering submission crashed through her, her cunt clenching around him in rhythmic pulses. She cried out, a raw, broken sound that echoed in the cavernous garage. He followed her over, a final, searing thrust as he emptied himself deep inside her with a guttural groan that was her name.
He collapsed beside her, pulling her into his chest. Their sweat-slick skin stuck together. Her body trembled with aftershocks.
For a long time, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing settling. He stroked her hair, his touch now impossibly gentle.
“The next time you feel like running,” he murmured into her hair, “you run to me. Not away. You come to me, and I’ll remind you where you live.”
She nodded, her face pressed against the steady, relentless beat of his heart. The noise was gone. The hollow was filled. There was only the concrete beneath her, the smell of him on her skin, and the silent, absolute certainty that she was home.