Obedience - Chapter 11

She Writes About Male Submission. He Hates It. A Spicy Enemies-to-Lovers Romance from Sloane Black 🖤

Image generated by Sloane 🖤

New here? You’ll want Chapters 1–10 first. Find them here. 🖤

The next morning, Kathryn didn’t notice the bruises until she reached for her coffee and winced. She pulled up her tank top to find a deep purple bruise along her ribs. She caught her reflection in the mirror and saw yellow blooming under her collarbone–barely there, but enough to whisper it happened.

She had fought back. She had screamed. She had done everything right. And it had still almost gone very, very wrong. Her breath kept hitching in her chest as the coffee was getting colder. She couldn’t remember how to feel like herself again.

Her phone buzzed with endless notifications. Last night hadn’t gone unnoticed by social media. She was too overwhelmed to deal with it and thumbed through the phone looking for anything pressing. Podcast schedule. Agent check-in. A group chat she didn’t have the energy for.

Her thumb hovered over her contacts. She found Marcus’ name and didn’t overthink it. She just typed:

Can you come?

The reply came back less than a minute later.

On my way

Then she sat there on the bed, arms wrapped around her knees, and waited.

---

Marcus knocked once and Kathryn opened the door to find him standing there, coffee in one hand, a paper bag in the other. He looked like he was in the same clothes from last night. Jeans. Black t-shirt fitted across his chest. Her eyes tried not to linger as he handed her the bag.

“I got you the blueberry,” he said. “Didn’t know what kind of muffin person you were, but it felt safe.”

Her lips curved, just barely. “You’re not wrong.”

He handed over the coffee, then stepped back. “We can cancel, you know. The podcast. I already texted your agent.”

She blinked. “You did?”

“He said—and I quote—‘Fine, but you’re telling her, because I’m not messing with Kathryn Sinclair before 8 a.m.’”

A small laugh escaped her and she hadn’t realized how much she needed to laugh until it broke loose.

“I’m okay,” she said. “Not totally. But enough.”

“You don’t have to be,” he replied.

“I know,” she said quietly. “But I want to be.”

He gave a small nod. “We can do the podcast or not. I’m with you either way.”

She studied him, then reached for the muffin.

“I look like shit,” she said.

“You look like a fighter,” he said. “That guy is in custody by the way. With a broken nose and a fractured ego.”

She broke the muffin in two and handed him half before sitting down on the bed.

“I don’t usually ask people to come sit with me,” she said.

“I don’t usually sit still,” he said.

The room fell silent. She didn’t owe him anything. But she wanted to give him something anyway.

“Last night was the first time that’s happened in awhile.”

He flinched and his jaw set. “What? Being attacked?”

“Yes. I was seventeen the first time a man tried to touch me without asking,” she said softly, eyes on the carpet. “He was my boyfriend. My mom liked him.”

Marcus just listened.

“I didn’t say no,” she continued. “Because I didn’t know I was allowed to. I thought that was what women did. Make men happy.”

She looked up.

“I write about power and control because I lived without either for too long. I let people take things they didn’t deserve. And then one day, I realized—I could rewrite it on the page. ”

Marcus’s jaw flexed. His eyes didn’t leave hers.

Marcus was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, “I get that, you know? I joined the military the week after I turned eighteen.”

Kathryn tilted her head, watching him.

“My dad left when I was a kid. My mom worked two jobs. I didn’t know what I wanted to be. But I knew I wanted to be a part of a system where right and wrong were clear.”

He looked down at his hands.

“I started writing years later. Because I needed to make sense of what I’d seen. What I’d done. What I couldn’t undo.”

He looked up again.

“I don’t write thrillers because I love violence, Kathryn. I write them because they give me control over endings I didn’t get to rewrite.”

The weight of his words lingered between them—more intimate than anything physical.

“Thank you,” she said at last. “For telling me that. You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to.”

“I’m glad you were there last night,” she said. Then, softly, almost teasing—just enough to remind him who she was, “But don’t get cocky, Kane. You’re still wrong about almost everything.”

His mouth twitched. “Almost? That’s new”

She smiled. “I guess we should get ready for the podcast.”

She moved toward the mirror, dragging her fingers through her hair, trying to smooth the mess of waves into something resembling control. Behind her, Marcus hovered like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go.

She caught his eyes in the mirror. “You planning on standing there the whole time?”

He shrugged. “Just trying to gauge the danger level.”

“Of me?”

“Of a hairbrush and curling iron,” he said, stepping closer. “You seem like the type who could weaponize them.”

She arched her brow. “Don’t tempt me, Kane. This is my soft girl era.”

He made a noise—somewhere between a laugh and a scoff—but it didn’t quite cover the way he was watching her. Not with pity. Not even protectiveness. Just . . . presence.

It rattled her more than she’d admit.

“Why did you read my book?” She met his eyes again.

“I didn’t want to,” he said. “I wanted to hate it. You. All of it.”

She smirked. “You really know how to flatter a girl.”

He held her gaze. “But I didn’t hate it.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to settle for not being hated.”

His lips curved, “Don’t get smug. It still pissed me off.”

“I’d be disappointed if it didn’t.”

He stepped back, checking the time on his watch. “I should go get changed. Try to look respectable.”

She arched her brow. “You’re incapable of looking harmless.”

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m not. Text me when you’re ready to leave. I’ll walk you down.”

“It’s a thirty-second hotel elevator ride to a rental car. In the daylight.”

“I don’t care if it’s ten feet or ten blocks. After last night, you don’t go anywhere alone. Not while I’m around.”

Her first instinct was to push back. The second was to admit how much she didn’t want to be alone right now.

“Fine. But only because I’m feeling indulgent.”

“How generous of you. I didn’t even have to kneel and ask nicely.”

Her eyes darkened. “Funny.”

“I know.”

She ushered him out with one hand on his chest. “Out.”

He grinned. “I’m going.”

---

After Marcus left, the room felt too quiet.

Kathryn stood for a long moment, staring at the closed door. The silence pressed in. She hadn’t exhaled since he walked away.

She could cancel. Say she wasn’t up for it. But the truth was, she needed something to do.

Once she’d made herself presentable, she opened her phone. There was no reason to hesitate, but she did anyway. Then:

Ready when you are.

His response came almost instantly.

Be there in two.

She stood, tugged her coat tighter around her, and grabbed her bag. By the time she opened the door, he was already there.

She stepped out into the hallway. The door clicking shut made her jump. The elevator waited just a few steps away—working this time—but the memory of the stairwell attack still lingered.

As the elevator doors opened, she felt Marcus’ hand press lightly against her lower back. Steady. Warm. Grounding.

The contact was brief, but it sent a shiver through her—a full-body awareness that bloomed beneath her skin. She didn’t pull away. Just stepped into the elevator, hoping her face didn’t give her away.

But Marcus saw it. The slight blush in her cheek and the change in breath.

Neither of them said a word about it. They just stood in the elevator, side by side, as if the air between them wasn’t humming with the weight of everything unsaid.

---

This is the eleventh chapter of my very first romance novel. New chapters every Thursday. (Or Wednesday night if I get impatient.) The rest of the chapters are waiting for you right here.

You get to be the first to discover it, Smuts. And I’m glad you’re my firsts. 🖤