16. The Enticement
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE ENTICEMENT
Orion
I’m still smiling as I throw a black T-shirt over my head and run my hands through my wet hair. The gray sweatpants sit low on my hips, and my situation is very obvious because I didn’t bother wearing boxer briefs. Layla retweeted a picture of gray sweatpants last year that had this caption: Have you been harassed during gray sweatpants season? You might be entitled to some compensation.
So I went out and bought five pairs.
I thought messing with her as Starboy was fun, but this? Tempting her as Orion? Making her realize what she’s missing, what’s right in front of her? She has no idea what or who she’s dealing with. Online, she thinks she’s getting close to someone she can trust, someone who understands her. As Starboy, I’ve become her confidant, her secret obsession . She spills her heart out, thinking she’s safe behind the screen, completely unaware that I’m the same person standing in front of her now.
Layla’s always had this naive charm, thinking she can handle anything and anyone. But I’m a storm she can’t outrun, a shadow she can’t escape. Not seven years ago, and not now. Her composure is bound to shatter. What happened in my bathroom a few minutes ago is proof that I— Orion, her stepbrother —is her one weakness.
The jealousy.
The lingering gazes.
How long has she had feelings for me? Has she always denied them to herself, tucking them away somewhere in the back of her mind?
And why did I want to use those feelings to my advantage?
I read dark romance because I always fall for the villains. I want someone whose intentions are good, but instead of buying me flowers, he cuts off my ex’s hands. Nice guys are just that—they’re nice . But I want someone who will be all-consumed by me no matter what.
You don’t become a sadistic Dominant without learning the art of manipulation, turning hearts and minds into my playthings. Layla is no different. The question is, am I willing to do this? Am I willing to draw her into my life like this? The allure, the danger, the promise of something she can’t quite grasp?
And when she realizes she’s in too deep, when she understands she’s fallen into a trap she can’t claw her way out of, it’ll be too late.
Just like my father.
I feel a twinge of guilt at that thought, but not enough to stop.
There are so many boundaries I’m willing to cross when it comes to her.
I want someone who will be all-consumed by me no matter what.
Well, Little Dancer… you got your wish.
Walking out of my bedroom, I glance at the closed door of one of my guest rooms, jaw grinding when I think of how she’s probably in the shower.
Is she obeying Starboy’s orders?
Or is she being a bad girl and touching herself?
I decide to find out.
Once I’m in the kitchen, I pull my burner phone out of my pocket and text her.
The rules still apply, even now. Remember, I’m here for you, but I need you to keep me informed if anything changes.
She doesn’t answer right away, so I start pulling ingredients out to make us a late breakfast. I assume she still loves waffles, so I pull out the waffle maker to warm up while I mix the batter. Just as I crack an egg into the bowl, a text comes through on my phone.
LittleDancer
Don’t worry. As hard as it’s been these last few days, I’m being a good girl.
I smile as I lock and pocket my phone. She’ll obey me, and it’ll just make it more entertaining for me as Orion to try to break her. Who knew I’d ever be in competition with myself in this way? Certainly not me.
I finish the batter and begin ladling it into the waffle maker. While it cooks, I pull the fresh strawberries out of my fridge and macerate them in sugar while I wait for the waffles to brown.
I’m distracted, whistling a Sleep Token song as I finish washing my hands, when I catch movement behind me.
Layla leans against the back wall of the kitchen, watching me with an open expression. A pensive shimmer passes behind her eyes, and I drink in her outfit—black yoga shorts and a brick-red tank top that matches the shade of her hair. Her glasses are perched on her nose, and her long hair is thrown up into a loose bun.
She becomes increasingly uneasy under my scrutiny, awkwardly clearing her throat before pushing off the wall.
“S-sorry about earlier,” she says while looking at the floor.
I finish drying my hands on the towel before slowly walking over to where she’s standing. She squirms—visibly—and my eyes clock the way her throat bobs, the way she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. I keep my expression neutral as I get closer, as I relish in the way she begins to blush after her eyes flick to my sweatpants.
I’m fucking addicted to this version of her—of the stammering, unsure, shy, aroused version of her.
I am so fucked.
“I got turned around, and I didn’t realize I’d stumbled into your room until—until?—”
Her voice is small, almost feeble. The corners of my mouth quirk up as I stop a foot away from her, arms crossed.
“Until what?” I ask, fully smirking now.
“I didn’t—I mean, I wasn’t?—”
I reach out and place a finger under her chin. “Are you saying it was an accident?” I ask, my voice a low purr.
She swallows as her eyes flick between mine, trying to ascertain my mood.
Tell me it was an accident, I want to tell her. Tell me you didn’t mean to watch me. Tell me you didn’t take a cold shower or wish you could have been in that shower with me as I pumped into your cunt.
I dare you.
“Layla?” I ask, eyes on her lips as she opens and closes her mouth.
She has such a pretty fucking mouth.
“Of course it was an accident,” she rushes out, cheeks red. “Anyway, I’m sorry, and it will never happen again.”
My ears ring, and I can’t help but think back to the day of her audition. For some reason, her eyes have that same cloud of resolve around them, and it terrifies me.
I don’t ever want to see you again.
I shut down.
I have to.
This was a terrible idea. How did I ever think I could face rejection from her again after what happened? After she rejected me twice before?
I drop my hand as disappointment fills me. “Of course,” I answer, my voice cold. “Breakfast is ready. Take a seat.”
“I’m not?—”
“Sit down now,” I practically growl. Her eyes go wide, and I pull my emotions close, feeling guilty for lashing out. “You’re hungry. So eat.”
Her eyes flash briefly before they flick downward. “Okay.”
I walk back over to my kitchen island and pull a stool out for her to sit on, and she sits without saying anything else. I slide a plate of waffles over to her, topped with strawberries, syrup, and powdered sugar. Once she realizes what’s in front of her, those gorgeous hazel eyes snap back to mine.
“You made waffles.”
I dip my chin and walk my plate over to the chair next to her. “I remembered that you used to like them.” Sitting down, I begin to eat, and Layla stabs a strawberry with her fork before looking up at me.
“They’re my favorite,” she says, chewing.
“I know.”
We eat in silence, and I talk myself down from the ledge.
I’m sorry, and it will never happen again.
Those words out of her mouth triggered the same knee-jerk panic I experienced seven years ago, and even though we were talking about something entirely different today, hearing Layla make forever promises still scares the fucking crap out of me. Hearing her declare that she could never let herself be curious about me, how she could never allow herself to be turned on by something I do is hard.
An idea strikes me.
Maybe I’m not being obvious enough.
Maybe I’m not getting enough of a rise out of her, and she has no problem constructing and reconstructing that wall between us.
I need to do something that will throw her completely off kilter.
Something she won’t be able to stop thinking about.
Maybe I’d have to dangle the possibility of losing me in front of her.
And I had just the thing for that.
When she finishes her breakfast, I hand her a strawberry-flavored sparkling water.
“I need to make some phone calls for Inferno. I’ll be in my office. Help yourself to anything,” I tell her brusquely.
“I’ll clean up,” she offers, hopping off her stool and gesturing to the dishes.
“Sure. Thank you.”
I turn and walk away, knowing that Layla is now intensely curious about me and my life despite telling herself she can’t feel this way about me.
On my way to my office, I stop by my bedroom and hide my burner phone in a drawer on my bedside table. And then, with a heavy sigh, I pull a turquoise bag down from the top of my closet, setting it on a shelf at about eye level.
It’s all coming together.
Smiling, I walk out of my room and down the hallway to my office, anticipation rushing through my veins.
The bait is set, and now all I have to do is wait for Layla to take it.