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“Scarlett,” I whisper against her ear, “did you wear your hair down to hide my mark on your skin?”
She slips her arms up and around my neck, her perfect tits flush against my shirt, and I slide a hand low on her ass and squeeze.
“What—?”
“I don’t give a fuck what people might think. We’re supposed to be in love, remember? Living the dream?”
“You’re not anyone’s dream,” she hisses.
This time I kiss her throat, right at the front, then bite down hard. “I’m yours.”
“Only if you consider nightmares dreams.”
“I do.”
She rubs herself against my cock. “Why did you let them think we’re really together, Malone?”
“You played that game right along with me, and what the fuck are you doing right now? You know I can just pull you into another room and fuck you long and hard, not even bothering to lock the door. Is that what you want?”
She moans low. “No.”
“Liar.”
When she pulls free, I let her go.
I move around the room, making bullshit conversation, but nothing catches my radar. There are one or two crooked, low-level politicians here. I’ve seen one of them at the club, and right now, he’s trying to avoid my stare.
There’s a very pretty woman with Smith, and he’s good enough at sliding into situations unnoticed that I saw her before him. Even though he’s my guest, I don’t acknowledge him—he knows what to do with the invite. Instead, I approach a scorching hot blonde who’s been giving the fuck-me eyes. I guess that’s because she’s stuck standing with a fat, older man who looks beyond loaded.
That man is definitely the type who goes to sex clubs. Not ones like Orchid Lane, but the type where he can fuck all the girls his heart and dick can handle.
The girl with him looks well off and she’s got on a wedding ring. His, I assume. Under other circumstances, I’d take her home and fuck her senseless the way she wants me to—she makes that more than clear during our conversation about the latest restaurant in the city that I’ve never been to. Her hands are on me, her eyes open invitations, and her very clear desires are soaked into her words.
“If you’ll excuse us, Vanessa,” Scarlett says, taking my arm.
Amusement warms me, and I smile at Vanessa. “My fiancée needs me.”
“Don’t call me that,” Scarlett says in a low voice.
I slide my arm around her waist and grip her tight. “Just because we’re here doesn’t mean you’re safe.”
“You won’t do anything to me here. Besides, I told you?—”
“You’re not in a situation where you can afford to think you can tell me what to do,” I say, guiding her out of the room, down the hall, and through the front door. “At least not without consequence.”
Her lips part and it looks like she’s about to say something when we get out into the night air. My car arrives on the curb, and she smartly bites back her words. I swallow a grin and turn to her.
“Not another fucking word, Scarlett. Not until we get home. And then I’ll decide on your punishment.”
She stands in the middle of the bedroom back at the penthouse. There’s a bottle of scotch on the coffee table on one side of the room. Next to the table is a small couch set against the floor-to-ceiling window.
I drop my jacket onto the back of the couch and pick up my glass of scotch. My gaze drops to the top of the coffee table where I laid out all the things I might use on her.
It looks like I’m going to some kind of medical kidnappers’ convention. The spider gag and its friends—the mouth spreader and nose hook head harness—keep drawing her eyes.
There’s a smorgasbord of leather and metal headgear, including a tongue trapper and a dildo gag.
The only one of those I think I’ll use is the spider gag, but I do have regular gags and a ball gag set out as well.
