16. Diego
CHAPTER 16
DIEGO
Later that evening, I’ve had a long time to think about what’s happened so far between us and where I want things to go. The public buzz about my ex-stepsister and wife has already begun, and the ruination of the Sinclair name is well under way, but we have a long way to go.
The shop is prepared for us. I called them and let them know to make themselves scarce, though I was tempted to leave more witnesses to her humiliation, this one thing I wanted to savor. I head back to Maeve’s room to pick her up for our date, a design already in mind, my hand already buzzing. I’m dressed in my shop clothes, fingers tingling with my plans, and ready to make my next impression.
“Darling, I’m home,” I say as I throw the door open and find Maeve sitting in the middle of the floor with the mess around her.
I toss a gossip rag at her that raced to the printer for a chance to publish her disgrace, pictures of her dressed in jeans in my shirt with bold printed title spelling out most of the naughty words played. She picks it up and takes one look before scoffing and flinging it away.
“You’re a sick bastard.”
“I’m a sick bastard? According to the newspaper, you want your ex-stepbrother to eat you out. Sounds pretty low, Maeve.”
She turns the most lovely shade of red, but she doesn’t argue. Good, I’m glad she realizes she’s scraping the bottom of the barrel. The mattress is flipped upside down and pushed against the wall, the sheets bunched and hurled to the other side. All contents from the bedside table are emptied over the floor. I wonder where she plans to sleep tonight, considering this is her room now.
She also made sure to check the bathroom’s cabinets and the expensive lotions my maid buys to keep the house stocked. I toe the hand soap closest to me and tip my head to the side, eyeing my messy houseguest.
“Couldn’t escape?”
“Fuck you,” she replies in a raspy voice.
“Just seems pretty rude, Wife.”
She shrugs and flips me off.
“I put you in my guest room. Don’t be so dramatic, Maeve.” I dismiss her complaints. If she keeps pushing, I will find another place to put her. “Go wash yourself, we’re leaving.”
I throw the bag at her, and she waits a minute before she caves, but she can’t resist looking inside for long. I was careful selecting a dress. It’s short and black, exactly how I want her looking on my arm. She’s an absolute knockout, and I plan to show off what I’ve won myself, while also managing to humiliate her and her father as much as possible.
“I’m not going anywhere dressed like that.” She tosses the dress away.
“Then you’ll go naked. I don’t mind that either.”
She turns her chin away from me with supreme petulance. There’s only pleasure running through my veins when I crouch to her level and take her chin between my fingers, forcing her to face me.
“Which will it be? Naked and ready for me or the dress?”
She looks like she wants to spit on me, like her father used to. I fucking dare her.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Funny, when all you wanted was out of this room. Can’t make up your mind about anything, can you? Maybe I should choose for you.”
Her cheeks turn red, making her green eyes even brighter. This all would be so much easier if the bitch weren’t so pretty. I need to remember that’s all it is—a pretty face.
“I’m not wearing that dress.”
I squeeze her harder and shake her slightly.
“You’re mine, Maeve. My whore. You wear what I want, you go where I tell you to go, and you open your legs when I say so.” I’m tempted to tell her to open her legs right now. That’s the most dangerous part of this entire plan, that she makes me want her just as badly.
Her jaw ticks as the wheels turn in her head. She’s a brat. She wants to test me and see what will happen if she disobeys, but this isn’t some fun sex game where I wind up spanking her. She will do as I say or pay for it. Her lips are inches from mine. I want to taste them, but I wouldn’t fucking dare. She doesn’t need another hook in me.
“I can throw you to the lions. What would he do if he had you? Cygnus, ” I speak my own code name, teasing her with all the terrible things out in the world while pretending I’m not everything she fears and more. “All I want is to play dress-up.”
She shivers and seems to think over her options. Finally, she nods just once.
“I’ll wear the dress,” she finally relents, but there’s more she’s not saying in her eyes.
“What?” I demand, ready to force the truth out of her if she won’t give it to me.
“I’m just starting to realize something about you.”
I wait, but she doesn’t tell me, forcing me to ask, to prove that I care about her opinion.
“What’s that?”
“You’ve always had a temper.”
Rage courses through me, and rather than proving her right, I stand and leave her there. The door shuts after me, but I hear her moving to the bathroom, doing what she was told. She might think she knows me. She might consider herself tough, but she’s dead wrong.
I like playing this game. Pretending I’m not the very man she’s so scared of will prove so sweet in the end. I can’t wait to see the look of devastation on her face when she realizes she married me for absolutely nothing. She ran and ran but ended up in my arms, playing by my rules. That it was me all along.
I come to the bedroom once again fifteen minutes later, and she’s ready, waiting for me. Clean, hair still wet, and no makeup but she looks good anyway. It’s actually criminal that anyone could be so naturally beautiful. How she isn’t on the page of every gossip rag just for her face and status as an heiress speaks to just how she plays the game. I changed everything on her today.
She’s all killer curves inside the dress, the hem sitting so high on her thigh you very nearly see a flash of her cunt. She’s so hot I harden in front of her. I have to remind myself she’s not dressed like this as my own personal snack but as a way to humiliate her.
I drop a pair of heels on the floor at her feet and do everything in my power not to audibly groan as she bends over in front of me to put them on.
“Where are you taking me?”
“I have a present for you, Mrs. Rodrigues.”
She shifts me a nervous look. “Is it something I’m going to like?”
I laugh. I don’t know why she would bother to ask. Of course the perfect, prim Maeve Sinclair won’t like what I have planned for her.
“Of course, you’re going to love it.”