No chance that was happening now. I nodded, anger that had exploded full force making it impossible for me to stay quiet.
“Yeah. I do,” I said.
To my own ears my voice sounded malignant with anger, anger that was unjustified, indefensible, and more intense than almost any I had ever felt.
“Tell me, Senna. What do I do with them?” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly for less than a split second, but his face almost instantly returning to its falsely placid default expression.
I narrowed my eyes at him, saw the slightest change in his expression. I had his complete attention now, and I could see he was curious as to how this would play out.
That was Maxim, always curious, always wondering, but rarely—never—giving anything away. That enraged me further. Why was I at the mercy of emotions I shouldn’t even feel while he got to stay distant, detached?
On any other day I would have tried to excuse my behavior, tried to smooth my momentary lapse over and go back to pretending.
Today wasn’t any other day.
I couldn’t say why, and I had no clue what the consequences might be, but I was feeling brave, stupid with my anger. So I didn’t walk the words back, didn’t try to smooth them over.
I answered.
“She was one of your whores. You fuck them,” I said, proud when my voice barely cracked over the word “fuck.”
Maxim glared at me, his icy stare enough to make anyone cower. I was in no mood to cower, and for once, I didn’t care about his displeasure. He waited, no doubt expecting me to apologize for my language.
He’d be waiting for a very long time.
“I fuck them?” he finally said, his voice deep with his displeasure, his eyes dark with the same.
I nodded, not in any mood to speak.
“How do you know?” he asked, his eyes darkening further, his expression dropping into a foreboding frown.
I swallowed, frowned, and then, finally, spoke. “I saw you once.”
He leaned forward, the curiosity overtaking his anger. “What did you see?” he asked.
I tilted my head toward his desk. “She was there, in front of you. On her knees.”
The words came out jerky with anger I wanted him to see, desire I didn’t.
“And you stayed? Watched?” he said.
I nodded, watching his expression for some sign of a change. I saw it too, a slight deepening of his eyes unlike any I’d seen before.
“What did you think when you saw that, Senna?” he asked, his voice grating out of his throat roughly.
I locked eyes with him, watched the darkness there get deeper, and decided in that moment to tell him the truth, consequences be damned.
“I wished I was her.”
Ten
Maxim
Senna’s words rang in my head, and I searched her eyes for some sign that she hadn’t meant them.
She had.
She stared at me rigidly, standing tall, daring me without words to contradict her.
I couldn’t contradict her, couldn’t do anything but try to keep tight hold on the control that was slipping, could do nothing but try to fight the need for her that had my cock solid.
I’d always attempted to be discreet, had not wanted her to see those things, and had convinced myself she hadn’t. Over the years, those visits had become less and less frequent. It had been more than three years since the last, and I’d only called for one today as a last-ditch attempt to burn off some of the energy that had me on edge and threatened my resolve not to go to her.
One look at the woman, and I’d sent her away because I hadn’t been able to bring myself to touch her. The woman had been beautiful, but she’d stirred nothing in me, hadn’t been able to raise a fraction of the desire that a single thought of Senna could.
I’d chalked it up to exhaustion, irritation at the situation with Santo, but looking at Senna now, I knew that was a lie.
Because when I looked at my little flower, I wasn’t thinking of Santo, the Syndicate, anything but Senna, how much I wanted her.
“Come here,” I said.
She narrowed her eyes, tilted her head stubbornly, but she walked toward me, and as she moved, I drank her in greedily, looking at her through new eyes.
No. Not new. I had trained myself not to look at her too closely, knew that my need might show through, the greedy desire for her might be seen, might be more than my own secret.
But though I’d never shown it, the wanting had always been there, and for the first time, through her anger, I saw some of what I felt in her eyes.
Eyes locked with mine, she walked until she stood in front of me, her knee barely brushing mine. I looked up her lush body, my palms burning with the need to touch her, until I met her eyes. Though I was seated, I was almost as tall as her.
“Why did you wish you were her?” I asked a moment later, my voice rough-edged with need. It didn’t tremble, but there was no hiding my desire for her.