Chapter 6
six
. . .
Calvin
The storm has passed, leaving behind a raw, pink dawn that bleeds through the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse. I've showered, dressed in black slacks and a crisp white shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. Business casual for the most important negotiation of my life.
I hear movement from the kitchen. Soft, hesitant.
When I round the corner, she's there, still swimming in my clothes, hair sleep-mussed and falling around her shoulders. She's at the coffee maker, studying it with adorable confusion, biting her lower lip in concentration.
She hasn't noticed me yet. I take a moment just to watch her, to let the sight of her in my space sink into my bones. This feeling—this desperate, clawing need—it's foreign to me. Dangerous. I've never wanted anything I couldn't walk away from. Until now.
"It's the silver button on the right," I say, and she startles, spinning to face me with wide eyes.
"I didn't hear you," she breathes, one hand pressed to her chest. "I was just trying to—I hope it's okay that I—"
I cross the kitchen in four long strides. She backs up instinctively until she hits the island, nowhere left to go. I cage her in, one arm on either side of her, my body close enough to feel the heat of hers without actually touching.
"It's all okay," I tell her, my voice rougher than I intend. "Everything in this apartment is yours to use. Everything I own is yours to use."
Confusion flickers across her face. "That's—that's very generous, but—"
"I need to tell you something, Wren." I lean closer, breathe her in. She no longer smells of cheap shampoo. Instead, she smell of designer brands befitting her and something uniquely her. Something I'm already addicted to. "And I need you to listen without interrupting."
Her throat works as she swallows, but she nods.
"I've been watching you for months." The confession falls from my lips like a stone.
"Not just since the gala. Since before that.
I saw you at The Oasis Lounge three months ago when I was there for a business dinner.
You were serving the table next to mine.
You smiled at a child who was making a mess, instead of getting annoyed like most servers would. "
Her eyes widen further, pupils dilating.
"I asked about you. Found out your name, where else you worked.
When I heard you'd be serving at the charity gala, I made sure I was there.
Made sure I was in your section." I let my eyes roam over her face, taking in every micro-expression.
"The champagne spill wasn't an accident.
Not on my part. I deliberately moved into your path. "
"Why?" she whispers, breaking my no-interruption rule, but I'm too far gone to care.
"Because I had to meet you. Had to hear your voice. Had to know if you felt it too." I bring one hand up to cup her face, my thumb brushing across her cheekbone. "This connection. This pull."
She doesn't pull away. Doesn't look disgusted or frightened. If anything, her pupils dilate further, her lips parting on a small exhale.
"I've rearranged my entire schedule for you. Cleared meetings, postponed deals. I bought The Oasis Lounge yesterday morning. I own the coffee shop where you work, too."
Now there's shock, her mouth falling open. "You... what?"
"I told you I'd take care of you. This is how I take care of what's mine." I press closer, the heat of her body seeping into mine. "And you are mine, Wren. Have been since the moment I saw you. You just don't know it yet."
Her breath comes faster now, her chest rising and falling rapidly. I can see the pulse hammering in her throat, the flush spreading across her cheeks.
"You should be running," I tell her honestly. "Any sane woman would be. I'm telling you I've orchestrated every meeting, that I've been watching you, planning for you." My voice drops lower. "That I'm obsessed with you. That I would destroy worlds for you."
"Why me?" She sounds genuinely bewildered. "I'm nobody."
Something snaps inside me. I grip her face between both hands, tilting it up to mine, forcing her to meet my gaze.
"Don't." The word is a growl. "Don't you ever fucking say that again. You're everything. You're perfect. You're exactly what I've been looking for without knowing it."
Tears gather in her eyes, and I hate myself for putting them there, even as another part of me—the darkest, most possessive part—exults in her emotional response.
"I don't understand," she whispers, and a tear spills over, tracking down her cheek. I catch it with my thumb.
"I want to protect you. Provide for you. Take away every worry, every fear." My hands slide down to her throat, feeling her pulse jump beneath my fingers. "I want to own you, Wren. Body and soul."
She trembles but doesn't pull away. “But I don’t know anything about,” she weakly protests.
“What do you want to know, baby girl. Shoot.”
“Are you in the mafia?”
I bark out a laugh. “Not exactly, though I guess I’m as ruthless as some of those guys. Next question.”
“H-how old are you?”
“Sixteen years older than you.”
She chews her bottom lip, but I see the way she presses her thighs together. Interesting.
"Does it bother you that I'm old enough to be the daddy you never had?
That I want to praise you and protect you and punish you when necessary?
" My thumb traces her lower lip. "Because it fucking works for me.
Makes me harder than granite to think about you calling me Daddy while I'm buried inside you. "
A small, desperate sound escapes her throat. Not protest. Want.
Fucking hell, little bird.
"I'm going to pay off your loans," I continue, pressing my advantage.
"Buy you a new wardrobe. Give you a job that actually uses your talents.
I'm going to make sure you never worry about money or safety again.
" I press my hips forward, letting her feel my hardness against her stomach.
"And in return, you're going to give yourself to me. Completely. Without reservation."
Her hands have found their way to my chest, but she's not pushing me away. Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, holding on.
"You're mine to breed," I tell her, watching her pupils blow wide at the words. "Mine to praise. Mine to keep forever." I lean in until my lips brush her ear. "This isn't negotiable, little bird. I'm not asking. I'm telling you how it's going to be."
I pull back just enough to see her face, to gauge her reaction. I expect fear, hesitation, maybe even disgust. What I see instead steals the breath from my lungs.
Desire. Raw and unfiltered. Her eyes are dark with it, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed. She looks at me like I've offered her salvation instead of obsession.
"Say something," I demand, suddenly uncertain for the first time in decades.
Wren licks her lips, and I track the movement with predatory focus.
"This is crazy," she whispers, but there's no conviction in her voice. "We barely know each other."
"I know everything about you," I counter.
"I know you cry at animal rescue commercials.
I know you give your tips to the homeless man outside the coffee shop every Tuesday.
I know you sleep on your right side, curled up like you're still trying to protect yourself from the world.
" I brush her hair back from her face. "And I know you want this as much as I do.
You want to be taken care of. Claimed. Owned. "
Her breath hitches, and for a moment, we're suspended in perfect, terrible balance. Then she rises on her tiptoes, brings her mouth to my ear, and whispers the words that seal her fate.
"Show me."