“Every single one. But one in particular captured my attention.”
My breath catches. I suddenly feel too hot, and I want to peel the T-shirt over my head, but I don’t want to move. “Which one?” I whisper, half of me hopes my voice is too low for him to hear and the other half yearns for an answer.
“You’re seated. Your knees together, feet apart. You look…conflicted. Like you’re fighting something you want to give in to, but won’t allow yourself.”
My chest vibrates with the strength of my agitated breathing. Beneath the T-shirt, my nipples are stiff, ravenous peaks. My stomach is hollowed out, and a wholly involuntary twitch of my hips clearly outlines my bare pussy against my thin, white panties.
“There’s also a touch of guilt,” he continues, “as if you don’t think you deserve what you’re not allowing yourself to crave.”
“Wow, all that in one picture? You do fancy yourself a clairvoyant,” I dare to tease.
I hear a clink of ice against glass. “Tell me which part I got wrong,” he commands.
I can’t, of course, so I don’t answer.
“There will be no guilt when I fuck you, Lucky. No guilt, no fighting, only your complete surrender.” The statement seethes with purpose, and I’m caught in the web of sensation so strong I experience the tiniest of releases between my legs.
My hips twitch again and I turn and bite the cushion. Hard.
Fuck.
“Do you understand?” he demands.
I blink to try and regain focus. “Y—yes.” My voice is a shamelessly turned on croak.
“Lucky?”
God, the way that electric current vibrates through me! “Yes?”
“Time to head to bed.”
My gaze roves over the room, takes in the stairs leading up to the bedroom. “I don’t think I can move.”
“Why not?”
Because moving will ruin what the sound of your voice is doing to my clit. “I’m…comfortable right here.”
“I see. The sofa is comfortable enough, but I’d prefer it if you don’t make a habit of it. Uninterrupted rest when it’s mandated will ensure your continued health.”
I should be pissed that he’s instructing me on where I should sleep. But the thick river of lust moving through my body is too delicious to ruin with a fight.
I tug the folded cashmere throw from the back of the sofa and drape it over me before I snuggle deeper into my makeshift bed.
“Right. Noted. Thanks for your understanding, Q.” Saying his name makes me smile.
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“Goodnight, Lucky.” I imagine I hear faint amusement in his voice, too.
I turn my head and search for the black box. It’s still on the floor where I dropped it earlier. The green light is still on. I stare at it as languor sweeps over me.
My sleep is thankfully dreamless. When I wake four hours later, my eyes immediately zero in on the box. It’s still where I left it.
But the light has gone out.
And I’m once again left wondering if it was all a hallucination.
13
PLACES
The fitness instructor is done with me by nine. The intense two-hour session leaves me weak-limbed but wide awake as I exit the Wall Street subway and make my way to the Blackwood Tower.
Today, I’m feeling a little less self-conscious—but no less vigilant—courtesy of the eight Bloomingdales shopping bags that arrived on my doorstep this morning. I opened the first one to find a note from Fionnella.
As discussed, dress rehearsal for clothes begins today. Find enclosed first selection.
As discussed? First selection?
Am I that unsophisticated to need a rehearsal for clothes? My frown stayed in place all through breakfast. I was a little out of it last night after my epic rant in the apartment, but I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered a discussion about a new wardrobe. My brain may be a seething mass of fear-induced knots, but I’m sure I would also have remembered a planned shopping trip to Bloomingdales on my behalf. My eventual text to that effect garnered a one-line response.
Apologies. Instructions still stand. The Boss insists.
End of story.
I tug at the scarf around my neck as I hurry down the stairs to the basement and wonder if the problems I’ve managed to alleviate on the outside of Blackwood Tower will achieve the opposite effect inside.
Miguel’s interest has been especially sharp the past couple of days, ever since I started working upstairs. He blithely ignores my evasive answers and probes with more questions.
And sure as shit, he’s the first person I see when I walk into the rec room. There are a couple of kitchen guys taking a break, but one walks out as I enter, and the other is absorbed in his phone and doesn’t look up when Miguel spots me and gives a low whistle.