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She sucks in a breath and turns. “You—” She stops suddenly. Scarlett thinks about her next words, I can see from the expression on her face that she’s formulating her complex thoughts. “You have me here, and I’m painfully aware of the situation. You don’t need to threaten me.”
I ease the bag from her fingers. “I’ll give you a tour.”
There’s a weird air of waiting, one I could feed on because it’s full of the things I crave. Want, resentment, and a tangle of emotions in between. She doesn’t know if she should be subservient in the way she thinks I want, like when she got on her knees and called me Sir. Or if she should give in to her true nature and let her natural defiance fly. And then there’s the most delicious of all.
Uncertainty.
It bends into anticipation, which curls back into uncertainty, and it builds until…
Well… I don’t know what’ll happen at that point, and that’s perfect.
Just like the Sir thing. She thinks I wanted her on the floor being my slave, and it’s true. I do want that. But I want it with what I saw there. The bite of hate, the need to be punished, the thrill of humiliation. Her resentment of the fact she did it herself, got down on her knees for me when I never asked her to. That time.
I want the version of brat that she is. I want to help find that pain and humiliation whore in her. The thing that made her suck my cock when she could have easily laid out rules.
She’s smart enough.
She could have tried to wear me down, offered me all the fake relationship shit I claimed I want.
But I had her caught, and I still do, and she bit because a part of her wanted that. It’s why she came to me in the first place. It’s why she went to that club, then to the bar afterward.
Deep down, where it counts, she didn’t want to.
The subconscious always gives a person away. Always.
“Malone—”
“Bedroom,” I say, throwing her bag onto the king-size bed. “You’ll find a walk-in closet. With two racks of clothes. One for every day and…”
She smooths her hands down the front of her jeans. It’s not lost on me that she armored up by wearing jeans and then put on a thin T-shirt, which clearly shows me the bra that lies underneath.
Chaos. Tangled wants. Maybe a slight attempt at playing me.
“And what? Whips and chains?”
I laugh softly and close the gap between us. She hits the frame of the door, her head rising, the pulse in her throat beating hard and fast. Pink stains her cheeks as she looks up at me, lips soft, slightly parted, eyes that right size of dilation, just a little bigger than normal. The telltale signs of desire someone can’t ever hide.
“Would you like those?”
“No,” she says, breath thready.
I lean in, lips skimming her gardenia-scented skin, the heat and life of her beneath my mouth. “Too bad, but you’ll come around.” I lick her and she moans. So soft, it’s almost like air. “The other side’s for play…”
Right then and there I have a plan to up the ante in this game. She thinks she’s going to play the role of my pretend girlfriend. Sweet, innocent Scarlett.
Because she won’t just be my fake girlfriend.
I need to up the stakes of this game. And I want more from Scarlett, to really sell this whole sham to the world and to give me credibility in her world.
I lift my head, and then I kiss her softly. Playing her lips with mine. And against them I say, “Get dressed. We’re going out.”
“Malone…”
I grin against her lips. “First night out as my fiancée.”
And then I plunder her mouth with mine.
EIGHT
