Siren in the City

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“Open, Abigail.” Sam Fleetwood’s voice was dangerously low.

Abby Barnes knew he was rapidly getting irritated with her refusal, but it didn’t matter. She was done taking his crap. It had been going on for far too long. He’d been shoving stuff in her mouth for days. She simply wasn’t taking it anymore. This was her bedroom, not some prison cell. He was her husband, not her jailer. Abby’s hand toyed with the magazine lying on top of the comforter. She had to figure out how to handle Sam.

“No.” There was really only one way to handle him. Sam had to be handled head on. She knew there was a stubborn look on her face. She eyed him, giving him the sternest look in her repertoire. She crossed her arms and sat back against the headboard of the bed. It was time to make a stand. She wasn’t spending one more day with him like this. She was done obeying him.

“I swear to god, Abigail, if you don’t open that pretty mouth of yours and let me inside, I’m going to turn you over my knee,” Sam promised. His gorgeous face was turning an amusing shade of red.

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