1
Benedikt
She doesn’t move at first.
She just stands there, eyes locked on mine like I’ve just asked her to put a bullet in her own skull.
Her lips are slowly parted. Those pretty, sharp little things that never shut up when I want them to, and I watch her chest rise and fall in uneven breaths.
“You’re serious,” she finally says.
Not a question.
Just disbelief wrapped in that tone I’ve been fantasizing about since the moment she first waltzed into my office with a birthday cake and flour smudged on her face.
“Do I look like a man who jokes?” I ask, loosening the top button of my shirt like it’s suddenly too tight.
It’s not. She is.
I’m in control, but the way she’s standing aimlessly in my office like she’s looking for outside help, and I’m the person who is about to assault her, is making me hot.
Sienna crosses her arms. “You want me to get on my knees and suck your dick just to finalize your little hostage agreement?”
“No,” I murmur, leaning back against my desk like I’ve got all the time in the goddamn world. “I want you to mean it.”
“Fat chance,” she immediately shoots back. “What got lost in your mind that formed that idea?”
“The one where you’ll enjoy it.”
“You’re a psychopath.”
“You should’ve read the fine print.”
“Ofwhat? I haven’t received anything but heard your insane needs to keep my father alive.”
“This deal is about more than words, princess. I’m not shaking your hand like some weak politician who made you a promise with no means of keeping it. I meant every word I said. If I’m going to own you, publicly, intimately, and legally, then we’re going to start with something honest.”
She makes a face. “And sucking your dick is honest?”
“My dick’s the most honest part of me.”
She exhales sharply, furious and flustered in equal measure.
And she’s beautiful like this. Sweatpants hanging low on her hips, oversized T-shirt bunched at the waist like she’s been dragging herself through hell all morning.
She didn’t even put on a bra.
That should piss me off, but all it does is make me want to peel that shirt up over her head and see if her attitude keeps up when her tits are in my mouth.
She takes a step forward. Then another. And my cock starts to throb in anticipation, because I know exactly how this ends.
“You’re a fucking pig,” she says, but she sinks to her knees anyway on the polished wood floor.
“And you’re an ungrateful brat. But here we are.”
“A brat is someone who expects something. And I don’t want anything from you.”
“You want your father alive.”
