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“Absolutely.” He laughs. He actually laughs at me. “No secret boyfriend, Red. You haven’t had sex in about a year. The last date you went on was four months ago.”
The world veers sideways. How the hell did he know that?
“Can we not do this here?” I glare at him, and he gives me that mildly amused look that I want to smack off his face. “We’re on the street?—”
“And it’s late enough that this part of SoHo isn’t that active. This is the rich fuck mecca for shopping. Stores are shut down so it’s pretty quiet now.”
“Says the rich fuck.”
“Coming from a rich bitch.”
I curl my hand into a fist. He grabs me, hauls me over to a black car I didn’t notice, one of those smaller-type limos. And then he opens the door and pushes me inside.
Glaring at him, I lean forward on the seat as he gets in after me, blocking me with his body. He taps on the window partition. It lowers. “Drive.”
Then it goes back up and he flicks me a look.
“You’re such an insufferable ass.”
“And you keep walking on dangerous ground,” he says. “Where the fuck were you going?”
“Contrary to what you think, you’re not my boss or warden. You make me stay here with you and I’m doing that to help my family, but beyond that?—”
“Beyond that, what? You understand the terms of our deal, Scarlett.” He eyes me from head to toe. “You understood them this morning when you crawled to me, sucked my cock, and then sat on my face. Until this ends, you’re mine to do with as I please.”
“And where were you?” I snap, trying to get myself back under control.
“I don’t answer to you.”
“If you want a fake relationship, maybe you’d better.” I’m flying toward the sun, playing with fire I shouldn’t, and his expression hasn’t changed.
But the atmosphere has.
It’s charged with so much that it chokes me.
And right now, I don’t care.
I poke a finger at his chest. “Don’t tell me you were at your sick little club.” The one that turns me on, thinking of the things he could do to me while we’re there. But I ignore that. “Because you weren’t. I called.”
He stares at me. “You called? Like some kind of fucking jealous little wife?”
“No—”
“It’s cute, I’ll give you that, your dedication to our little ruse.” He grabs me by the waist and hauls me over to his lap, his arm an iron lock around me. “But you should know the people who work at my club don’t give a fuck who you are or what you are to me. They don’t know. Front of the house doesn’t give a flying fuck about you.”
Those words hurt and I don’t know why. “Let go of me.”
He flips me so I’m stomach down, plastered on top of him. Like this, in the moving car, the space closes down to just him and me and very little air. I slam my hands on either side of him and struggle to sit up, but his grip on me is too strong.
“At least you wore a fucking dress.” He flips my skirt and yanks my underwear down.
“I don’t want to play?—”
“Too fucking bad. And who said a thing about playing?” His voice turns to dark, liquid silk. “This isn’t play, this is punishment.”
“Let me up.” I struggle as much as I can, but he refuses to release me. And hot tears burn my eyes.
“No.”
