“Here.”
He sits in the armchair—jacket off now, tie loosened, like a king on a throne. And for the next three days, I'm his concubine.
2
Maxim
Fuck. I want to blame the drink. I really do. But I can't break my one rule. The only law I live by. Never, ever lie to myself. I thought a little mouse was watching me. Amusing.Entertaining, despite what I told her. Lying to others, no problem. No rules broken. Every time her gaze touched mine, it stroked my cock. A soft glide that made me want to grab her hand, wrap her small, brown fingers around it, and force her to squeeze. Hard enough to make me fucking feel that shit.
That's the greatest danger I face. Day after day, enemy after enemy. What really threatens me? What looms in the distance is that one day I won't be able to feel a damn thing. Every day I draw closer and closer to that end. Hell, I thought I was there until her gaze landed on me. Skittered in and squeaked away, and damn it, I discovered Icouldstill feel.
We check everybody's background. That's the truth. Needing to run a deeper check? That's the lie. I wanted to teach her a lesson. I wanted to scare her. I wanted her to feel afraid, to knowthat she shouldn't go chasing strangers down the hallway. That she shouldn't put her beautiful brown eyes on a man and expect him to show restraint. She's a first-grade teacher, but she has adult lessons to learn.
I intended to drag her into the elevator, scare her a bit, and then send her on her way.No damn it. Never ever lie.I wanted her, and I didn't know if I was going to act on that bombshell until she admitted she wanted me too. Now, I have her, and I am going to fucking ruin her. I won't keep her for longer than three days. That is not a lie. I will take her, claim her,ownher. I will love every fucking second of it. Then I will walk away and not look back. She's too good for my world, too pure.
That is not a fucking lie.
Laura, such a plain name when she is anything but. Her skin is bronze-colored, but the curves it covers are anything but hardened metal. No, her curves are rich and lush. Her breasts are full and heavy, and her ass… Her ass is a perfect sickle. My perfect weapon, now being used against me. She has her hair wrapped in a column shape on her head. The curls carefully slicked, straightened, and contained. I can't wait to wreck them.
I told her to come here, and she did. The steps to stand between my legs are the crossing of a threshold, but now that she's come this far. I will take it from here. "Too many clothes, myshonok. Take them off."
She bites her lips, looks around the living room as if she expects someone to come charging through the door. Her eyes do that flitting thing again, but it's away from me, so no longer cute or charming. "The windows, the door… Someone might see."
"Little one, I thought you were ready for adventure."
"Not ready…" she looks at the window again.
"We're in a penthouse suite. Hardly the same as a street-level tavern. Even if it was, I thought I was clear. When I tell you to do something, you do it."
She bites her lip again so hard I'm sure I will see the impression of her teeth when she's done. She holds my gaze, and I am so proud of her, my little mouse. I like it. I like the way she stares me down. My cock is pressing against my zipper, demanding its freedom. Just from a fucking look. She reaches around her back to begin lowering her zipper. Her little striptease would outdo a seasoned Las Vegas exotic dancer, and she hasn't even taken the dress completely off yet. It slides slowly over her serpentine body before it finally hits the ground. She has some kind of pasty over her nipple area. The surprise of seeing my little mouse, braless, yanks my gaze back to hers.
"I couldn't wear a bra under the dress." She bites her lip again before continuing. "The straps."
I nod. Maybe what she says makes sense. I can't focus on the words. I'm enraptured by the sight of her before me. Nearly nude, wearing nothing but those damn half circles of tape and the small triangle of her thong.
"Take them off," I say, staring at the half-moons. She raises her trembling fingers to the first one, but I grab her hand.
Will it hurt? She shrugs and gives a half-nod. "Maybe. Just a little. Not much. No more than removing a band-aid. If it's done carefully."
I cup her breasts, feeling their weight. Glorious. "Then why would you do it?"
She shrugs. "That's the way of the world. We're supposed to do everything we can to hide our curves. Which doesn't make sense because most men—"
"—want to see them. But be fair, little one. First, men wouldn't get any work done. And second, I couldn't have you walkingaround like this all day. Do you know how many men I'd have to kill to keep my sanity."
Her breath hitches, then sinks to a whisper. "You wouldn't…"
"Of course, I would. If I had to choose between killing someone or letting them see you like this. Mysh, that would be no choice at all. Which is why you don't have to worry about any man coming through that door. Now, let's get these off of you."
"I, uh, usually I'm at home, and I use lotion to help loosen the glue…"
"I have lotion…" I take her hand. "Come with me…"
I lead her down the hallway to the bedroom. Not the bathroom. I want her surrounded by my scent, my space, my fucking bed before I ruin her for any other man. She follows, her small hand trembling in mine, and I squeeze it. Not to comfort her. To remind her who holds the leash now.
The bedroom is all shadows and amber light from the city below. Floor-to-ceiling glass, but we're too high for anyone to see. I release her hand and move to the nightstand, picking up a bottle of unscented lotion. Plain. Functional. I pour a generous amount into my palm and warm it between my hands. "Stay right there, myshonok."
She stands in the center of the room, bathed in the glow of Boston at midnight, wearing nothing but that scrap of a thong and the pasties. Her arms are crossed over her stomach, shy, but her cinnamon brown nipples are hard peaks beneath the adhesive. I can see them straining. Hungry for my mouth already. I close the distance. I don't rush. I let her feel my heat, my size, the way I dwarf her. I cup her breasts again, lifting them, testing their weight in my slick palms. Fuck. Perfect. Heavy and warm, the skin like silk over ripe fruit.
