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I made damn sure of it.
Still, she didn’t wake up the entire forty-minute drive to my safe house and not even when I tied her ass to the chair in my office. Pouring some water, I set it on my office table, taking off my tuxedo jacket, then ripping the goddamn bow tie off.
After I rolled up the sleeves on my black button-down, I grabbed the glass, leaned against my office desk, and threw the water in her face to wake her the fuck up.
She did, gasping for air. She was completely caught off guard by what was happening to her.
Maintaining a calm, steady composure, I waited for her to catch her bearings. I stayed fixated on the task at hand, not allowing my mind to wander for even a second.
“What the fuck?” she seethed, whipping her body around.
“Don’t you recognize my touch?”
Her head jerked up, instantly peering up at me with a shocked expression on her face that I was the one who tied her up.
No humor.
No teasing.
No playfulness in my tone.
No grin or smile.
I could see her swallow down the hard lump in her throat, trying to play it off and not read too much into the daunting man staring back at her.
I cocked my head to the side. “Did you miss me, baby?”
She didn’t say a word, she just changed the expression on her face to something unreadable, only further pissing me off. All it did was remind me of how easy it was for her to hide from me.
“Did you miss me while you were spreading your legs for the men at that party?”
A semblance of a grimace appeared on her face, but it was quickly replaced with a neutral expression. The silence simply added to my mixed emotions and the questions soaring through my mind.
“Did they make you come like I do? Tell me, Duchess.” I crudely grabbed her chin. “Did they fuck you with their tongues and fingers like I do?”
I leaned in until my face was inches away from hers.
Until my body loomed over her frame.
Until my possessive hold gripped hard, sliding down to her neck instead.
All it would take to even the score would be to choke the life right out of her.
“I just want to know,” I breathed out against her lips, gripping her neck harder. “How many times did they fuck you?”
Through a clenched jaw, she replied, “None of your fucking business, that’s how many times.”
I smiled, big and wide. “There’s my girl.”
The whirlwind of bullshit lingered in the air, in the room, in my fucking soul.
“Do you love him, Sloan?”
Her eyes glazed over, and I narrowed mine at her as if I were searching for all the evidence to back up my accusations and questions. The ones I asked and the ones obviously plaguing me through my tormented glare.
We stared at each other for the next few seconds, going through the emotions running mercilessly through our minds.
“Why’s it so fuckin’ hard for you to respond to one question?”
