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After that, I’ll get more from her than if I go all in right now. She’ll give herself to me fully and then? I’m going to enjoy the absolute fuck out of her before I bring her father down and destroy her life.
TEN
scarlett
James Malone is a monster.
One that makes me hot and bothered. And so damn wet.
I don’t understand my reactions to him. I want to blame it on the fact that I was forced into this, having to please him, but I can’t keep my mouth shut long enough to give him what he wants.
Someone subservient.
I follow him into the elevator of his building. It’s only got three buttons: ground floor, basement, and penthouse.
He doesn’t look at me; his focus is on the phone in his hand. Mine’s up in the penthouse because where the fuck does a girl put a phone on an outfit like the red latex one I’m wearing?
The roomy elevator is too small with Malone there, a blond god of sleaze and power, and I take in a shaky breath, not sure what to do.
Nothing. I can do exactly nothing.
“Stop fucking fidgeting,” he says.
I glare at him. “I’m not moving.”
“In your head you are. You send vibrations out; you disturb the air. Stop it.”
“I can’t stop my mind, you ass. I hate this situation. I’m doing this for my family.”
“Maybe, but you also want to fuck me. You hate that, but let’s be honest. You’re here so you can get your pretty rocks off and save your family,” he says as the elevator dings. We get out on his floor and walk down the foyer to his door. He punches in a code—no key, pretentious asshole—and walks inside.
He’s right and wrong.
I’m not here for him or because I want to get my rocks off. I’m here for my family, and it’s an unpleasant side effect that I also want him.
Or maybe it’s not. Maybe it would be worse not to want him.
Fuck, I don’t know.
All I know is I’m ashamed that I got off going down on him, that I liked his cock in my mouth. Sure, I could blame the limo, the situation, but his cock is big and gorgeous, and it makes me wobble and tingle inside, and call me a whore, but I crave it.
Whether I want to or not.
I’ve lost my goddamn mind.
I’m still in the foyer, so I take a deep breath, step inside the apartment, and close the door behind me.
The evening air is cool and refreshing. The giant glass wall is open, allowing the city noises to float in. One of the things about SoHo is it’s quieter than other parts of Manhattan after a certain hour.
The lights are low and golden, and a breeze teases the curtain he has pulled over the open glass door. I look around, but he’s not in the living room, and my heart starts to thud heavily.
How long was I standing in his stupid foyer?
His jacket’s tossed carelessly over one of the overly expensive low sofas, the only evidence that’s he’s here in the apartment. What I’d like to do is to scrub myself clean, remove the makeup that I don’t really wear, the latex that’s too much like a second skin, and the heels that hurt my feet.
Then I want to put on an oversize T-shirt, one that I didn’t bring, one I stole from my only real serious boyfriend, Peyton, whom I dated all through my first year of college at Brown. And cotton boy-short underwear, I want those, too.
Not to mention taking my hair down.
