Claim the House

You still don’t know if your power works on people or just objects. Emma will be the test. Your mind races with possibilities. You imagine scaling the fence, sneaking up to her, and scrawling your name on her skin before she can scream. But what if it doesn’t work? You’d be left with trespassing, ****, and a one-way ticket to jail. Emma’s family looks rich—they’d bury you in lawsuits.

Or you could play it safe. You know you can claim objects. Write your name under the brass letters spelling Morgan on the gate. Claim the house. No more trespassing. No more sneaking. You’d own it all. You could stroll onto the property like you belong there. Walk right up to Emma. But there’s still the problem of getting inside. The gate’s locked, and you don’t know the code. Climb the fence? Ring the bell? You’re not sure if your power works unless someone reads your name. Andrew only knew the sandwiches were yours after he saw your name on the wrapper. Emma might freak out regardless if she doesn’t see your name on the house.

So, you ring the bell. Your plan is simple: “Hi, I’m Ryan Ferro. I think I own this house?” You’ll point to your name before she can slam the door. If she looks, your power will do the rest.

But it’s not Emma who answers. It’s a woman who looks like her—older, but just as stunning. Same hair, maybe a shade darker. Same pale blue eyes. But her body… her curves are impossible to ignore. Full breasts, wide hips, a waist that begs to be gripped. She’s either Emma’s mother or her sister. Either way, you’re claiming her too.

She cuts through your staring with a sharp, "Yes?"

Her tone is clipped, her irritation obvious. Hands on her hips, chin tilted up—she’s clearly annoyed. Maybe she caught you eyeing her body, the way her curves fill out that bikini. Or maybe she’s just busy, distracted by whatever she was doing before you showed up. Either way, she’s stunning, and you can’t help but imagine what’s under that tiny fabric.

Your rehearsed lines vanish from your mind, but you remember to point. Her eyes follow your finger to your name scrawled on the gate. Instantly, her annoyance shifts to unease. "Are you... Ryan Ferro?"

"I am."

Her nervousness deepens, her voice trembling. "I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize this was your house. I don’t know how I missed your name. Just give us an hour to pack, and we’ll be out."

You need to calm her down. "You don’t have to leave. It’s just... have you ever been to Chuck E. Cheese?" What the hell are you saying? You’re winging it now. "They stamp everyone who goes in, right? I have a similar system. You can stay, but I need to write on your hand."

Relief washes over her face. "Oh, okay," she says, offering her hand. You hesitate for a second, wondering if this is really working. Before she can pull back, you grab her hand, your fingers trembling against her soft skin. She doesn’t seem to notice—or if she does, she doesn’t care.

You scribble your name on her palm, your heart pounding. She turns her hand, reading it aloud. "You own me?"

Your voice catches for a moment before you manage to say, "I own you." Holy shit, you can claim people.