Tasha couldn’t remember the last time she wore a bra. Or the last time she left the house for anything that wasn’t his. Nolan didn’t say she couldn’t, not exactly. He never chained the door. Never locked her in. But he didn’t have to. The way he touched her, the way his eyes claimed her every time she moved through their home, every glance from across the room was a command. Every word from his mouth wound itself around her spine and pulled. And God help her, she responded.
It started slowly—at first, it was just the mornings. He wanted her bare and waiting before his alarm went off. Kneeling beside the bed, her breasts heavy, n*****s leaking onto her thighs, her robe discarded like an afterthought. He would stroke himself awake with one hand while drawing milk from her with the other, hi
