I WILL SLAY YOU #2
“Hardly. Trust me, I’m studying it. If anything, my professor would disagree with me. How can addiction be consensual?” More at ease now that the shock of his presence has settled, I sink back into the seat. “Do you want to take over?”
“I think my masculinity can handle you driving us to the meeting point.”
I roll my eyes. “How magnanimous of you.”
He hums, but I know he’s laughing at me.
“You look beautiful. I like that lipstick on you.” The cold tone belies the heat that his words inspire in me. “Wear it when you’re around me.”
“Is that an order?”
“A request.”
“And if I request you always wear a vest?”
He chuckles. “I’ll listen.”
“Then we have ourselves a deal.” I lick my lips. “Will I be around you… a lot?”
“Favors pile up and I have a lot of events to attend. Perhaps you can keep the cackle of hyenas away from me.”
“I thought you liked that,” I snipe. “Don’t all men enjoy being fawned over?”
“Jealous again, Victoria? There’ll be no need if you’re the one on my arm, will there?”
“You mean that?”
“Isn’t that what last night was about? Staking a claim?”
I tilt my chin up. “I’m tired of being seen as a child.”
“I haven’t seen you as a child for a long time.”
“Then—”
“An education is priceless and you’re no vapid doll. If I lock you away in my brownstone and let you act as my babymaker, it’ll end up with you starting a gang war from our bedroom—”
“Hey!”
“It’s a compliment, I assure you.”
“Is that what you used to want? A babymaker?” I hate that my voice is shaky.
“I thought that was what rich men wanted,” he answers. “Their women tucked away, safe. Raising babies. Building a family.
“For a boy from the streets, that made sense to me. Such things should be precious. Then I came to New York and realized quite the opposite.”
“What do you think now?”
“I think that once you’re in my bed, Victoria, I won’t willingly let you out of it.”
Feminism aside, MELTDOWN IMMINENT.
How I don’t gasp is a miracle.
“You’ll chain me to it? 24/7? Sounds impractical.”
“As I said, I no longer want that.”
“But the two don’t correlate.”
“Yes, they do. You’ll want to be there. I’ll make you miss it when you’re out of it. I’ll make you addicted to what we share as I show you what it is to be my queen. But, a brain such as yours would be wasted if not permitted to work, and I’m too smart to waste resources.
“Therefore, I will keep you safe while you amass power and connections, knowing that at the end of every night, you will be in our bed, in our bedroom, in our house. That you’ll want to be there. That you’ll miss it if you’re not there…”
I don’t think he could have said anything hotter to me.
He wants my body and my brain?!
As we come to a stoplight, I find my gaze ensnared by his when he smoothes a finger over the band circling my throat and down the inverted V of my top. When his thumb slides beneath the fabric, tracing that same downward path, a breath hisses from my lips.
Honking behind me makes me jolt, but he croons, “Ignore them.”
“I’m holding up traffic,” I say weakly, arm sagging as I turn into his caress.
It’s innocent, yet that ache—it’s back.
I want him to touch me everywhere. I need him to—
“I’ll make you crave my touch, Victoria.”
“And what about you?” I demand, vexed by my body’s reaction to him when he sounds unaffected. “Will you crave mine?”
Another soft flick of his thumb, one that has my toes curling yet again, punctuates our conversation. “I already do.”
That he seems so matter-of-fact bewilders me.
He wants me.
So, what’s the reason for the delay?
It’s as if he’s a smorgasbord for me to feast on but there’s a glass wall between us so I can look, but not touch.
I want the touching, dammit!
“I don’t understand you,” I croak.
“Good.”
Agitated, I growl when another round of honking assails my ears. I set off, and his hand falls in a controlled drop to resettle on his lap.
I bitterly resent that I miss his touch. Already.
“Are you teasing me?”
“You’d know if I were teasing you.”
“How would I?!”
“I’m engaging in reconnaissance.”
“Reconnaissance? I’m not a battlefield.”
“Since when? Shouldn’t I figure out the best way to approach you?”
“Haven’t you done that already?” When I pull in again, it’s to park. “Isn’t this you approaching me?”
He doesn’t answer until we’re in the space, and I’m grateful because if he taunted me, I might have crashed Shay’s birthday present from his uncles. “This is me testing the waters.”
Because I’ll throttle him if I don’t change the subject, I remark, “Thank you for the package, by the way.”
“You thanked me already.”
“Not in person.”
“How did they collect the proof? Email?”
“Nope, they’re old school. Courier. They only expected pictures.”
He dismisses that: “I’d have sent his tongue as well but I still need it.”
I cluck mine. “Ears and tongues are noticeable.”
“And hands aren’t?”
“Okay, maybe you should ease up on the amputation stuff.”
“Why? You clearly enjoy my gifts.” My eyes widen at his audacity. But before I have a chance to argue, he drawls, "Stay in your seat.”
I watch as he climbs out of the car, rounds the fender, and then opens the door for me. I don’t catch his expression, just glance at what’s right in front of me.
And I swallow.
I’ve seen enough hard-ons to know that Maxim’s packing one.
Unapologetically.
The internal quiver is something that needs shoring up. I pack it away to think about, to fantasize over later, and I accept his hand as I get to my feet.