Part 7: Dylan Is In Control I stayed there on my knees, pulse pounding in my ears, eyes locked on Dylan’s. His grip on my hair was firm, commanding, but not painful—more like a leash he knew I wasn’t going to try breaking. His stare bore into me, daring me, testing me. “Look at you,” he said softly, almost amused. “Didn’t take much, did it?” I could feel my face flush, but I didn’t back down. “You act like I didn’t make y...