I shouldn’t feel turned on right now. Being carried off by big, sexy Mateo had been a particularly favorite fantasy of mine for several years, but not like this. Not when he was holding me against my will and punishing me for refusing to obey him.
The world spun again, and my feet touched soft carpet. Mateo’s hands remained on my hips just long enough to steady me before he pulled away.
He stared down at me, and I suddenly felt very small in his huge shadow.
“You’re going to stay in here and think about your behavior,” he ground out. His muscles bulged and flexed, as though he was physically restraining himself from doing more to me. “You get to come out when you agree to cooperate. For now, I’ll answer any texts or emails as they come through to your phone. But until you decide to be good for me, you’re not leaving this room.”
He turned toward the door.
“Wait, you’re not staying in here with me?” God, why did I have to sound so pathetic?
The idea of being sent to my room had seemed preposterous, but now that it was actually happening, I found that I didn’t like it at all. As an extrovert, I didn’t enjoy much alone-time in general, and enforced isolation was a painful trigger point for me. Daddy used to confine me to my room when I’d disappointed him. The withdrawal of affection was more devastating than if he’d belted me for bad behavior.
Being left alone with my thoughts the day after my entire world had crumbled would be awful.
“No, I’m not staying,” Mateo said, his eyes softening slightly in response to my flash of distress.
“But I don’t want to be in here by myself.”
One corner of his lips quirked in a small smile, but he seemed more regretful that amused. “That’s how punishments work, belleza.”
For a moment, he lingered, and I thought he might change his mind. Then, he walked away and shut the door behind him. I heard the lock click into place.
It seemed Mateo had been completely serious when he’d warned me that there would be consequences for disobedience.
I realized I was hugging my arms around my chest, and I quickly dropped them to my sides. Just because Mateo was choosing to treat me like a naughty child didn’t mean I had to act like one.
There was a TV in the room, for god’s sake. It wasn’t like I was locked in a dark dungeon.
If Mateo thought I’d cave to his demands just because I had no choice but to watch TV all day, he was mistaken. Plenty of people binge watched TV. I didn’t often make a habit of it, but it wasn’t as though it would be a hardship.
I found the remote and settled back onto the bed, arranging the pillows in a comfortable pile.
If Mateo didn’t trust me when I promised him that I could go to my classes but not try to run away from him, then that was his problem. I wouldn’t just roll over and help him keep me away from school. My knowledge of who to contact in order to avoid an emergency alert being sent out for me was my only tiny bit of leverage in this situation.
This is going to be easy, I told myself as I tuned in to HGTV.It wasn’t easy.
It was every bit as awful as I’d feared.
There were only so many different shows I could watch about home renovation before they all started blending into one another, but I managed to keep myself distracted for the first few hours. I barely even thought about the heavy weight of guilt pressing down on my heart.
On a rational level, I knew feeling guilty was completely unwarranted in this situation. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Mateo was the one committing a crime against me. I was just standing up to him and advocating for myself.
But the emotional response to this kind of punishment was too deeply ingrained in my psyche. Daddy had isolated me like this when I failed at something important.
If I was rude or even insensitive toward an important guest: Go to your room.
If I didn’t get an A on a test: Go to your room.
I’d even been punished like this when I was in kindergarten and didn’t get a gold star for playing well with others.
I hated the crushing guilt associated with disappointing the only parent who showed me any affection. It wasn’t as though Mom cared enough to comfort me or offer reassurance.
By the time Mateo brought me a sandwich for lunch, it was all I could do to not apologize like a desperate little girl to try to win back his approval.
But the only thing I hated more than being isolated was losing control over my choices. When I was younger, Mom had kept me on a strict regimen to enhance my physical appearance, controlling everything from my hairstyle to the clothes I was allowed to wear. Having a pretty daughter reflected well on her, and her standards were exacting.