Chapter 2
CASSANDRA
“One month,” Damien repeats.
I swallow the knot in my throat.
“You give me everything I want or you can leave.”
My pulse hammers.
“And do not ever allow feelings to enter into the situation.”
My head jerks up. “That’s actually one of the rules?”
He stares at me steadily. “Yes, it is. Probably the biggest one. Obedience, I can train. Desire, I can master. But feelings? Feelings destroy. They make people weak. They breed deceit. You keep that part locked away, Cassandra, or we are finished before we begin.”
The seriousness in his tone makes me second-guess my reaction. I close my mouth and wonder if agreeing to this means turning myself into a heartless monster like him.
“If you stay,” he continues, “you obey. If you cannot obey, you leave now and we part without argument.”
The relief that runs through me is so sudden, I heave a subtle sigh.
He sees it, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.
He has given me an out, and he is daring me to take it.
“And the other rules?”
“There are several, but they all fall under three: privacy, precision, and truth. You will not speak of me to anyone. You will do as you are told, precisely as you are told, once you have agreed. And you will not lie.”
My throat tightens. The last one is the worst, and I’ve already broken it.
“Even if the truth is unflattering?”
“Especially then. I can assure you I’m a very careful man. I do not break my toys, Miss Hewitt.”
“I’m not a toy,” I say, surprised by the force behind the words.
“Nor am I a boy who plays,” he replies.
My wrists begin to ache against the rope. It’s not pain, it’s more like awareness. I pull in a breath through my nose, releasing it slowly through my mouth.
“If I say yes,” I whisper, “what happens right now?”
“Right now, you learn the first lesson.”
“And that is?”
“How to obey. Stand up.”
I try to push up with bound hands before I remember I’m attached to the bed. He watches, amused for a moment, before lifting my hands up and sliding the knot over the notch on the headboard. I’m still bound at the wrists, but at least I can move.
I plant my feet on the ground and stand, shoulders square.
“Good,” he says, the word simple yet landing with ridiculous force. “Eyes on me.”
“They are.” The words escape before I can cage them.
Steel-blue eyes narrow at me. “You will learn when to speak and when to stay quiet. Open your hands.”
I turn my bound wrists to show my palms, fingers splayed. He reaches for my wrists, loosening the binding before sliding the rope off and setting it aside.
“Turn,” he says next.
I turn around and close my eyes, savoring his scent of cedar and winter citrus.
“You lack skill, but you are not careless.”
“I can learn,” I once again insist, my voice steadier.
“You just did.” He gathers my hair to one side, his fingers never touching skin. “Now. Say yes.”
I turn to look at him. The city is a glittering map beyond the windows, snow still pattering gently against the panes. In that moment, all I can think about is my sister.
“Yes to what?”
“Nothing in particular. I simply want to hear you say it. I want you to become more at ease with the word. You’ll be saying it quite a bit, after all.”
I take a deep breath.
“Yes.”
His hand comes to the side of my throat, two fingers resting against my pulse. For a moment, I half expect him to bare vampire fangs and drink my blood. He sure as hell looks the part.
“Again,” he says.
“Yes.”
He drops his hand lower, his thumb tracing the line of my collarbone. My pussy clenches, and I can feel my panties getting wet. How is this man, this tyrant, able to turn me on so easily?
“Once again, three rules,” he says. “Rule number one, privacy. What happens between us stays between us. No gossip, no slips, no half-truths to outsiders. You are mine while you are here, and that is nobody else’s business.”
His thumb pauses briefly before he speaks again.
“Rule number two, precision. When I say stand, you stand. When I say speak, you speak. When I say eyes, you look at me. No hesitation, no improvising. No attitude. Precision keeps you safe. It keeps me in control.”
I shiver, caught between wanting to argue and knowing I should obey.
“Rule number three,” he continues, “truth. You do not lie to me. Not about what you want, not about what you feel, not about who you are. I’ll take ugly truths over pretty lies every time. Break this one, Cassandra, and we’re finished. Understood?”
“Understood.”
He nods.
“Kneel.”
My knees instantly find the rug. It is impossibly soft and plush.
“Hands behind you,” he says.
I lace my fingers at the small of my back. He studies me, heat moving throughout my entire body.
“Good,” he says. “Very good.”
I hate how much I love the praise. He reaches down, tracing my jaw with one knuckle.
I’m eye level with his manhood when a surprising thought crosses my mind. If he told me to pleasure him right then and there, I’m unsure how I would respond.
“Tell me why you are here,” he says.
“Because I need money,” I answer.
He crouches in front of me, so we are eye to eye.
“You learn quickly.”
He rises. I remain where I am until he says, “Stand.”
He gives me a once-over. “Naturally, you will live with me. Not here, but at my villa on Long Island. You will receive clothing, and you will wear what I send when I say. You will respond to messages within five minutes. You will not accept invitations without my prior consent. You will not use intoxicants unless I give you permission. You will not place yourself in danger.”
“Does working for you count?”
A slight twitch appears at the corner of his mouth. “You will also eat. Properly.”
I tip my chin. “Does that mean I’m on a diet?”
His gaze moves over me, slow and unapologetic—lingering on my mouth, my hips, my thighs, like I’m a feast he fully intends to devour. My pussy clenches, and I can’t believe how much that look undoes me.
“No,” he says. “Not at all. I just want you to eat healthy so you can stay strong.”
“Is that an order?”
“It’s a condition.” He steps closer, closing the space between us, the scent of him threading through my lungs.
“Here are the others: You will receive a small advance today, enough to satisfy your bills. After ten days, if you have performed satisfactorily, you’ll receive more.
The rest will come when the month is complete.
Fail, and you’ll get nothing beyond what you receive tonight. ”
The words slam into me hard. “So I’m only paid if—”
“If you please me.” His tone is flat, final.
“I’ll cover your apartment rent for this month and January, as well as all other expenses while you’re in my employ.
” He holds my gaze, daring me to argue. “But if you break any of my rules—privacy, precision, truth—you’ll be sent packing without a penny more. ”
He reaches into his jacket and sets an envelope on the table between us.
The weight of it is obvious before I even touch it.
I slide it open, and a stack of cash stares back at me, more than I’ve ever held in my life.
On the front of the envelope is a schedule with dollar amounts, written in neat, precise handwriting.
Advance. Ten days. Final.
My eyes go wide. The advance alone is more than my annual salary at the boutique. My chest tightens with relief and dread in equal measure.
Damien watches the way I look at it, his face expressionless.
My throat goes dry. “What about appearances?” I ask.
“You’ll be on my arm at my Christmas party.”
His Christmas party. The one whispered about in coffee shops and backrooms. The one with a reputation of an orgy dressed up in champagne and holiday lights. I don’t know if it’s true, but the rumors make my pulse race.
“And if I accept?”
His mouth curves slightly. “Then you’re mine. For one month. Unlimited.”
I swallow. I want to take time to think about it, to really consider what I’m doing. If I accept, I’m his. In every way. For a whole month.
There’s really nothing to think about. Clara needs me.
“I accept.”
“Good.” He steps behind me, pulling a beautiful red silk ribbon from the nightstand. He ties it lightly around my wrist with an elegant knot. It is unmistakable.
“A reminder,” he says. “That you’re mine. This is never to come off. Understood?”
I open my mouth to argue. What about when I’m sleeping? Taking a shower?
But his icy gaze answers without me asking.
“Okay. Understood.”
“Good,” he says again. The word rolls off his tongue and tingles through me, shameful and hot. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Tomorrow, a car will come for you at your home. Noon sharp.”
I nod, trying not to float away on the fact that something so ordinary is sheer intimacy when he says it.
He leans in, the closeness now a secret I’ve been sworn to keep. I breathe him in, my pulse ticking hot and fast.
“Good girl,” he says, ruining me with two words. The room seems to rearrange itself around them.
He tilts his head toward my ear. The snow ticks softly against the glass, and the lights hum while I wait for whatever comes next.
“This is just the beginning,” he whispers.
Everything within me silently responds yes.
He taps the ribbon on my wrist.
“Remember—this never comes off. Now, I trust you can see yourself out?”
“I can.”
He looks me up and down one more time before he leaves. I’m left alone in a strange, sensual room, wondering what the hell I’ve just gotten myself into.
And if I’ll ever be the same once it’s over.