I loosen my grip just a fraction, so she thinks she can break free. She tries, and I pin her harder. The artwork above her head shudders, slanting sideways.
"Why do you want me to work for you so badly?" she says. Her voice is quieter, almost fragile.
I hate what I do to her and don't hate it enough. I'm the only one who ever gets to see this vulnerable, defenseless side of her because I'm the only one who will ever make it hurt enough to crack her armor. I push because this side of her is mine…because I want her raw just like this, just so she never forgets that I'm the only one who knows who she really is.
The rest of the world is convinced she's just another socialite. They think she's just a rich, pretty little girl, with a sharp tongue and too much money to give a shit what anyone thinks. I know better.
"Because it's where you belong," I answer, my honesty surprising us both. "Because I want you where you can't run."
She looks at me, really looks, and her armor cracks just for a second. "What do you want from me?" Her voice is ragged and brittle, like she's about to snap. Christ, she's beautiful when she stops fighting and just lets herself be real. "You don't even like me."
I think about lying. I think about pretending this is about punishment, or payback, or some twisted sense of justice. But I'm tired of lying, even to myself. What I want from her has nothing to do with any of that bullshit, and it never has.
It has to do with her. She's an obsession I've never been able to shake, mine in a way nothing ever has been before.
"I don't need to like you to own you," I say. "I want you in my bed for one month. Thirty full days where you're mine. My rules, my way. You do that, and I'll make sure you get hired wherever you want to work. I'll let you go."
"Are you kidding me right now? I'mnotfor sale," she growls, yanking her hands free.
"Do you think I care?" I arch a brow at her. "I take what I want, princess. I always have. And I want you in my bed."
She shoves at my chest. I let her, but I don't move.
"Let me go. You've made your point," she says. "You can do whatever you want. I'm just a toy for you to amuse yourself with because you're a psychopath. Blah, blah, blah. I don't care what you say, I'm not going to beg you for anything, and I'm damn sure not sleeping with you."
"You will." I brush a strand of hair from her face, letting my fingers linger at her jaw. She shivers. "You'll fight until you break, and then you'll beg and plead. And you'll fucking love every second of it."
Her lips curl in disgust. "And if I don't?"
"Then you can spend the rest of your life flipping burgers," I say, my voice cold. "Because not even Liam will give you a job if I tell him not to do it." We both know that's true. Liam thinks I saved her life. As far as he's concerned, he owes me a debt he can't ever repay. If I tell him not to hire her, he'll listen. He'll think he's doing her a favor. "Or," I add, "you can give me thirty days."
She laughs, a humorless, hopeless sound. "You're insane."
"Maybe," I agree. "But I'm also your only option."
She tries to twist out of my grip. Her knee comes up hard, but I'm expecting it this time and shift just slightly. She manages to catch my thigh.
I grunt, but I don't let her go.
"You disgust me," she hisses, rage in her eyes.
I drag her flush against me. "And you're still so fucking wet you can't stand it," I reply, my voice a rough snarl.
She gasps like she's scandalized.
It's the opening I need. I crush my mouth to hers, hard and hungry, like it'll fix everything broken in us. She fights me, her nails raking my neck, but the fight just makes me want her more. I bite her lip, and she bites back, drawing blood.
The taste of it snaps something inside me.
She makes a sound, furious, maybe scared, but whatever it isn't enough to stop me. I pin her in place, shoving my hand between us to cup her pussy, and kiss her again.
She whimpers into my mouth. It's a sound no one else in the world would ever believe she could make, not the socialite who once told the mayor to go fuck himself with a pole on camera. But I've always seen beneath the razor blades and armor to the woman beneath.
She isn't nearly as cold and savage as she wants the world to think she is. She's just a little lamb, pretending she's a lion, so no one ever sees more than she wants them to see. I see her, though. I've always seen her.
"This pussy is mine to wreck," I whisper against her lips. "We both know it is."
She bites down on my bottom lip, hard enough that I jerk back with a grunt.
