Chapter 2 Amon
AMON
I’m lying in the bath, smoking a Cuban cigar and sipping scotch when I realize it’s going to be impossible to take my mind off her. The one girl I should not be obsessed with.
My goddamn step-sister.
She’s not blood-related, so I don’t really give a damn. But Dad will. Her mom will. I may be a cold-hearted son of a bitch, but it’s not my goal to let my lust blow up this family.
I should back away. Let her leave. I just don’t think that’s possible anymore.
I’ve barely spent any time with her, yet my desire has embedded itself in my veins. Cemented itself into my core. I woke up three times last night thinking about her.
This is absurd. I’m Amon Bleakson. Girls fall at my feet wherever I go, if not for me, then for the hopes that I might wife them up and give them a chance at my money. I could have them all. So why do I want her?
My cell rings. It’s Chuck, my number two at Bleaks Capital, my own hedge fund that I started a few years ago. Dad doesn’t pay it much attention. He thinks it’s just my own side project that I’ll get bored of.
Little does he know.
“Yo, Chuck,” I grunt, twisting my cigar in my fingers. “What’s the news?”
“That Chinese tech company. You were right. The bad press was fake news, spread by their competitor. Stock’s rising like a goddamn rocket.”
“Where’s it at now?” I ask, sipping my scotch with a smile. The sweet taste of success.
“Twenty-two and still moving. Amon, we keep on this ride and the firm could clear two hundred million—”
“Relax, Chuck,” I bark. His tone’s too eager. The key to winning in this business is maintaining control of your emotions. “Keep watching it. The second it starts to dip, sell it all. Then go buy yourself a Porsche. My treat.”
“Shit, thanks, Amon—”
I hang up and take a victory drag from my Cuban. Yeah, it’s moments like this that remind me why I do what I do. Money is power in this world. Anybody who tells you different doesn’t have any.
Dad used to boss me around—tell me what to do. Not anymore. And why? Because I could buy this whole house ten times over if I wanted. I could buy his whole company too.
No one tells Amon Bleakson what to do.
Speaking of telling people what to do…
I thumb the buzzer on the wall. It only takes a couple of seconds for Joan to respond. “Y–yes?”
Her voice is so timid. Damn, her mom and that convent really did a number on her. I could see the shame in her eyes when she looked at me.
“Bring my food up,” I tell her. “The tray is in the kitchen, along with the list.”
“Okay…” she replies, so nervous.
I hang up and think back to last night.
She couldn’t have been more covered up. Head to toe in black fabric. Even her hair was hidden. But all that cloth did nothing to hide her curves.
Curves she has no idea she even owns. She’s just so innocent, it’s like she’s never been out on a date before. And given the fact that she was on her way to becoming a nun, that wouldn’t surprise me.
It also wouldn’t surprise me if no man has ever touched her.
I feel myself getting hard beneath the bubbles as the implications hit me. She signed the contract without hesitation. She didn’t even read it. That tells me all I need to know.
There’s a timid knock at the door. That was fast.
“Come in,” I call out.
Joan enters, wearing all black. Only this time, instead of a habit, she has on loose pants and a turtleneck sweater, which is stretched to its limit over her seriously ample breasts.
My mouth is already watering, and it has nothing to do with the food on the tray she sets down beside me.
She’s trying to be proper—do everything right. But as she straightens up, I catch her eyes lingering on my chiseled abs. Just like I thought: not as innocent as she thinks she is.
“Momma doesn’t let you have any normal clothes?” I ask, dragging my eyes up her body.
She’s slim, almost lanky, with big wide eyes and lips that beg to be kissed. Unlike most the girls I’ve been with, they’re not pasted up with lipstick or gloss either.
For some reason, the fly on her trousers gets my blood flowing. The pants are proper and modest, like something a CEO would wear. Not like the anatomy-huggers most girls wear these days that leave nothing to the imagination.
“These aren’t normal?” she replies, her voice soft like a flute.
Her shyness amplifies my desire, causing my muscles to tense and my jaw to clench. She even smells untouched. Clean, no perfume. Just her. And it has my blood surging.
She glances at the floor, and I quickly correct her. “It’s okay, you can look.”
Her body goes tense. She knows she’s been caught in the act. “Look?”
I smile and take a puff from my cigar. Her nose twitches like a little rabbit. She’s never been around expensive smoke before.
“Don’t be coy, my little nun. I saw you looking at my abs. It’s fine. That’s what they’re there for.”
Her face instantly flushes red, and she turns, looking at the wall like it’s somehow interesting.
“I…I was just trying not to spill—”
“Don’t lie to me, Joan. I’ll always be able to tell.”
Her denial pulls at me. Excites me. What is she trying to hide?
I inspect the tray. Everything’s there. The toast, the butter, the orange marmalade, the fresh fruit salad…
“Will there be anything else?” she asks. “Or can I go?”
“You can go,” I reply. She turns, but before she can exit out the door, I snap my fingers, causing her to freeze. “Wait!”
Her body is trembling like a leaf in the wind. “Yes?”
“This is an orange, Joan,” I say, pointing to the sliced fruit before me. “I asked for grapefruit.”
Her face drops. She looks at me, twisting her fingers together nervously.
“I’m sorry. I’ll go get you one now—”
“No,” I reply, my voice low and restrained. “You didn’t follow instructions, Joan. This is not what I asked for.”
She stands before me, so vulnerable and innocent. If I were a religious man, I’d thank God for creating her and sending her my way. Her beauty is spellbinding.
“I’m sorry, Amon. Let me just fix it for you.”
“That’s not an option,” I reply, setting my cigar aside. “You must be punished, Joan.”
Her jaw drops, giving me a glimpse of her little red tongue. “Punished!?”
She’s almost shouting. “That’s right.” I nod. “According to your contract.”
I watch as she realizes the full implication of her actions. Her emotions play out so adorably across her gorgeous face. She doesn’t know how to hide them.
Her eyes shift left to right. I down the rest of my scotch as I watch her processing, thinking back to when she so casually signed her name with her finger.
“What…punishment?” she finally whimpers.
“Oh, you’ll see.” I smirk as I stand.
Joan looks away as the soap suds drip from my naked body. I grab a towel and wrap it around my waist, feeling the pressure against my swollen manhood.
“It’s time you learned, Joan. You don’t make mistakes when it comes to me.”
I step out of the tub and gesture to the door. She turns and quickly walks ahead of me, giving me my first real view of her ass. Even her plain pants can’t hide its shape.
My hands buzz as I think about just how easy it would be to reach out and grab it. Give those plump cheeks a nice squeeze.
That would really rattle her.
She sucks in a breath as we walk. “Where…are we going?”
“This way.” My heart pounds against my ribs as I place a hand on her shoulder and guide her down the hall.
She’s so small beneath my grip. I have complete control and power over her.
When we reach the closet door, I stop and stare down at her. She can barely hold my gaze for more than a second before looking away.
Poor girl. She’s still trembling, her tiny knees knocking together as she stands, barely even coming up to the middle of my chest.
Gently, I run my finger across her cheek, feeling the smooth skin…the warmth…
Then I open the closet door. And what Joan sees inside causes her to drop to her knees.
“No—” The quiver in her voice sends a jolt of excitement through my chest.
“You didn’t follow my instructions, Joan,” I state, taking her by the arm.
“Amon, please…”
Poor girl. I almost feel bad as I grab the bundle of rope from where it hangs and wrap it around her wrist. “You didn’t listen to me, Joan. Now it’s time for you to learn your lesson.”
And then, with my hand on her back, I lead her into the closet.