His arm tightens. “Give me one more night of holding you like this.” His voice is a low rasp against my ear, rough with something that sounds like it hurts. “Just one more night.”
“Okay,” I whisper. The request is so unexpected, so unlike the commanding man who crashed my wedding and claimed me as his prize, that I find myself nodding before I can think better of it.
His nose traces the line of my neck and he inhales deeply. “You smell of sunbeams and light,” he murmurs, and the words are so tender from a man whose hands have held guns and signed death warrants that my eyes sting with tears I refuse to let fall.
The last thing I feel before sleep takes me is the brush of his lips against my shoulder and the pressure of his arm holding me like he is afraid I will disappear.
When I wake, the bed is empty. But on the nightstand there is a single red rose and a note in angular, confident handwriting. I sit up and reach for the paper with fingers that tremble despite my best efforts to remain unmoved.
I will be home late this evening. I owe you a conversation.
Beside the note sits a velvet box and a sleek new cell phone. I open the box first and find a pair of diamond earrings that probably cost more than my college education. I move them this way and that, the stones catching the morning light and throwing tiny rainbows across the sheets.
I set them aside without putting them on and pick up the phone instead.
There's only one number programmed into the contacts, and I don't need to guess who it belongs to. My thumb hovers over the call button for a long moment before I press it, bringing the phone to my ear as it rings once, twice...
He picks up on the third ring. “Good morning, little dove.”
“Thank you for the rose.”
A warm pause. “A gift for a gift.”
“Ah. So there are strings attached. Okay. What do you want in return for the rose?”
“A picture. Something to carry me through this tedious day.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “What kind of picture?”
“You, right now, in my bed.” His voice drops to something lower, more intimate.
The request sends heat flooding through my body, pooling low in my belly where it has no business being. I should refuse. I should hang up and throw the phone across the room and demand to be treated like a person instead of a possession.
“I want to see what I'm missing while I'm stuck in meetings all day.”
I lean back against the pillows and before I can talk myself out of it, I reach up and trace the tips of my fingers over the swell of my breasts through the thin silk. My nipples tighten under my touch, responding to the memory of Rafael's heated gaze tracking over my body in his office two weeks ago, and I roll the sensitive peaks between my fingers until they are stiff and visible through the nightgown. I angle the camera, capture the mess of violet hair across white pillows and the evidence of my arousal straining against silk, and hit send.
Thirty seconds pass. Then a text.
Good girl.
I stare at the screen, heat crawling up my neck and spreading across my cheeks. Those two words shouldn't affect me like this. They shouldn't make my thighs clench together or my heart race or my breath come faster. But they do, and I don't know what that says about me or what I'm becoming in this man's orbit.
I shower and dress, telling myself that if I’m quick I can step outside for some fresh air. The clothes he left for me are beautiful—a flowing skirt in soft cream, a summery blouse that leaves my arms bare, sandals that probably cost more than my first car. I grab one of his shirts, roll the sleeves and tie it at the waist. It’s a cute summer fit that leave me feeling less exposed.
I braid my violet hair and apply minimal makeup, trying to look like a woman who has her life together instead of one who's slowly losing her mind in a penthouse prison.
I'm done being held in some tower like my life is on hold, waiting for someone else to decide what to do with it.
My fingers fly across the phone screen before I can stop myself, typing out a message that's equal parts frustration and desperation.
I can't keep living like this. I need answers. I need to know what happens next.
His response comes faster than I expect.
We'll speak tonight.
You said that three nights ago.
