Chapter 6 #2
He sighs, his grip on my neck tightening. “Because I always sweep a place before I enter it. I told you, Bryn. I’m a member of the Cowen Clan. This is how we do things.” He gives me a funny look. “I’m a bit surprised you don't know that.”
I shrug, but don’t reply. I feel suddenly embarrassed by my reaction.
“I always make sure the coast is clear, that no one’s hiding or whatever the fuck. Understood?”
I nod. “Aye.”
And it's the first time since I've met him that I actually wonder if I'm in danger.
My father doesn't care if I am, clearly. But this bloke’s a member of the Scottish mob.
I wonder if he tried to hurt me, if he could dispose of me in a way that no one would ever find me. Does my father know I'm in danger?
Am I?
Maybe I should be more afraid. Maybe I should have some sense of self-preservation.
Was there another reason we ditched my bodyguard?
But I remind myself what my purpose here is.
I don’t want to end up with a man I don't love. I want some freedom. And if I'm going to do this my father’s way, I'm going to enjoy every fucking minute of it.
I don't trust Mac. I don't even know him. But I think that's actually part of the appeal.
So I take his hand, and I walk behind him.
He goes into the flat first and puts the light on.
He points to the floor where I’m standing, and I take it to mean that he doesn't want me to move.
I actually consider disobeying him for a moment, just to see what he would do.
But something tells me I'm going to find out tonight anyway. Instead, I watch him.
First, he slides the little box with our dessert into the fridge.
Then he opens every closet, every door, and even checks the bathroom to see if anyone's hiding in the shower stall. It's an odd sort of routine, but for some reason I like seeing him do this. His body’s taut like a spring, as if he’s ready to pounce at the first sign of danger.
I suspect if anything were to threaten us…
he’d protect me. He's the type that would, I know it.
Strangely, I realize I’ve known this from the very moment that we met.
As he does his investigation, I peruse the apartment. It definitely doesn't look very lived-in. It's immaculately tidy, not a dirty dish in the sink, nothing out of place or a speck of dust anywhere.
But it isn't just the cleanliness of the place that makes me draw in a quick breath. It’s how gorgeous it is. This is absolutely stunning. I can't believe this isn't his primary residence, because if I lived here, I'd never want to leave.
He’s called it a “flat,” but it’s really a penthouse. In front of us is a double height drawing room with a gorgeous glass-encased staircase to a gallery. I suppose the bedrooms are upstairs. I’m eager to see them.
Everything is spacious, wide open, with full walls of sheer glass.
You could sit anywhere on the main floor and see outside.
Though it's nighttime, it's a full moon and the moonlit garden looks glorious outside this window. The furniture’s black leather. There’s a coffee table and end table in front of the couch, looking modern and sleek in blacks and whites.
A black and white checked rug is on the floor, black and white accents throughout the room.
There’s a rocker by the fire, and small vases of fresh flowers on nearly every flat surface. I peek past the drawing room to the kitchen, and gasp when I catch a glimpse. Sleek black countertops, stainless steel appliances. It’s fucking stunning.
We’re not here to see the kitchen tonight, I know that for a fact.
Mac trots back downstairs. “Coast is clear,” he says. “You were a good girl staying there.” He sobers when he reaches the landing, leans a hip against the rail, and beckons to me.
“Now come here, Bryn.”
I walk to him tentatively, dragging my feet, for I have no idea what he will do when he actually has me. But when I reach him, he merely takes my hand and leads me up the stairs. “You’ll like what’s up here.”
My God, his “flat” spans three full floors. The massive living area on the first floor has the kitchen and an open dining area with the fireplace. The second floor has two bedrooms, and even a quick glance shows me there’s an ensuite.
“What’s on the third floor?” I ask.
He gives me a teasing shrug. “You’ll see.”
We walk up another flight of stairs that takes us to the third floor. I cover my mouth with my hand, awestruck.
There’s a wood-burning stove, comfortable-looking loveseats and chairs, books scattered about, and a door that leads to a patio and garden on the terrace, lit by the moonlit sky. There’s another toilet, a small one, as well as a dorm-sized refrigerator and a wooden wine bar.
He tugs me along with him and reaches for the handle of the door that leads to the rooftop.
“It’ll be cold out there, won’t it?”
He shakes his head. “You’ll see.”
He picks up a remote on a small table outside the door, hits a button, and an electric fireplace comes to life outside.
“My God, Mac, how can you ever leave this place to go back home?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “When you meet my family you might understand better.”
“So let me get this straight,” I say, giving him a teasing look. “You’ve got an amazing family, you’re clearly filthy rich, and you’re… well, really bloody hot. Is there anything wrong with you, Mac Cowen?”
He grins, prowls even closer, and whispers against the shell of my ear, “I’m kinky as fuck, bonnie lass. I like my woman to be submissive and eager, and I have no fucking hard limits.”
I place my hand on his shoulder to steady myself, since I’m trembling with anticipation and a little nervous at the same time.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He reaches for my chin and tips my face upward, his eyes holding mine for a moment before he kisses me. Hot and sultry, his lips glide over mine with a possession that makes me tremble. I’m panting when he lets me go, and he leads me onto the terrace.
I’m not going to stop him. No matter what he does, no matter what he says, I’m going to let him have his way with me. I tell myself it’s because I want to do what I promised my father, but I know that’s only an excuse.
I want to see what he’ll do to me. I want to see where he’ll take me. I want to be pushed to my limits, taken beyond my safe little bubble.
I want to know the thrill of the chase and the dance of surrender.
Fire flickers in a sphere-shaped electric pit in the center of the patio, surrounded by chairs and cushions. I shiver when the wind picks up, and he reaches for a soft, furry blanket folded across one of the chairs.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, draping it around my shoulders. The night air is crisp and clean, and it feels so invigorating to be out here under the stars. When we draw closer to the fire, I’m no longer chilled.
“No hard limits?” I ask, as he sits in an armchair and tugs me onto his lap. I like sitting here. I want to lay my head on his shoulder, steady myself with my palm on his chest.
“Fine, then, that would be a lie,” he says soberly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. He frowns before he answers. “A third would be a hard limit for me.”
“A third?” I ask curiously, like a damn innocent. What’s he talking about? I realize what he means half a second later, and my cheeks flush with color.
Jesus.
“Another partner,” he says with a trace of amusement in his eyes.
“Right.” I take this opportunity to tease him, because I love how he reacts when I tease like this. I think of another man or woman here with us, and I reject the idea as firmly as he did.
I don’t want to share.
He doesn’t either.
“You sure, Mac?” I trace my fingers along my neckline, gently fingering the swell of my cleavage. “Wouldn’t you like to watch another man take me? You could sit right there on the chaise, drink your glass of—”
But I’m quickly silenced with a punishing kiss, his lips bruising mine, as he lifts me up in his arms and stalks to said chaise nearer the fire.
I bounce a bit when he drops me unceremoniously on it.
“Don’t you ever fucking joke like that again,” he says with a growl, before he divests me of my blanket and flips me over onto my side.
“I don’t watch,” he says, before he slams his palm across my arse so hard I gasp.
“I don’t share,” he says, with another punishing smack.
“Do you understand me?” Each word is bitten out and underscored with a crack of his palm.
I’m gasping, my backside throbbing, as I look up at him, humbled and excited.
A little part of me feels like I should protest, but I feel far more drawn to… more.
“Oh, aye,” I say with a nod. “Quite clearly, handsome.”
I’m most definitely not cold now. I'm warmed through, as if I've been sitting in front of that roaring fire just inches away from me. My skin tingles, every inch of me on fire. His eyes burn with an intensity I hadn’t yet seen, but I'd walk across hot coals to see again. I’m the utter focus of his gaze, as if everything else in the world fades away except the two of us, under the light of the moon, heated only by the flame of fire beside us.
“On your back,” he growls, as he reaches for the clasp of the thick leather belt he wears about his waist. I flip over, not taking my eyes off of him, as he drops to his knees before me.
He spreads my legs open and eyes me hungrily, and I watch as he swallows, like he’s a starving man who’s just stumbled upon a feast.
With a tug, his belt slithers through the loops. He fists his belt buckle, then wraps the leather around his fist to form a makeshift strap.
“You’ve never been spanked,” he says, the look on his face definitely telling me he has every plan of giving me the real deal. “So I’ll assume you’ve never been strapped either.”
I shake my head dumbly from side to side. The little spanking he gave me was surprisingly hot, but… I’m not exactly sure how I’d feel about anything more than that.
With my legs spread wide open, he lowers his mouth to my inner thighs.