She shifted in her seat, making her aware of the dull throbbing and the sticky mix of nervous perspiration and proof of her sexual desire between her legs. If only he’d permitted her to wear real panties, she wouldn’t be so cognizant of the man’s effect on her. Every moment in his presence reminded her of the power he held over her.
And he’d never had a clue. Had no idea the teenager of his business partner slid her hands under the band of her underwear every night and fantasized about what it would mean to belong to a man like Cole DeMarco.
Even then, naïve and sheltered, she’d sensed something different about him. Something that set him apart from the boys who groped with sweaty hands and her father’s married friends who stared at her with lust. It hadn’t been until later, when Tasha told her about Benediction, that she understood what had attracted her to Cole. Like Danielle, he was a sexual deviant.
He still hadn’t mentioned their shared past. Did he know the child of the man he’d condemned to death sat before him?
His eyebrows rose, and he cocked his head as he assessed her. “Were you aroused by the sight of my slaves’ submission?”
“What?” She squirmed, her heart pounding so hard she swore she could hear it. “No.”
“I think you’re lying.” He leaned forward, pinning her to her chair with the intensity in his eyes. She felt a compulsion to avert her gaze, one stronger than the usual kind brought on by her shyness. But rather than give in, she held her ground. He smiled predatorily, his teeth white against his mocha skin and a sparkle of gold in his dark brown eyes. “Perhaps I should check.”
Chapter Three
SCREW BEING LADYLIKE. She uncrossed her legs and squeezed her thighs together. “Check?”
“Yes,” he said, the damn arrogant smile that made her insides quiver still on his face. “As your Master, it’s my right. Of course, I always abide by my slaves’ hard limits, but since your application we received last month indicated you have none, I can do whatever I want with you.” The smile melted, replaced by a curl of his lips and flaring of his nostrils, both of which reminded her how dangerous this man could be. “I can pull up your skirt, push you over my desk, and work my fingers into your pussy, one by one, until you’re full of me. Until you come over and over and over and you’re mindless and begging for me to stop. I can call five of my closest friends and order you to fuck each and every one of them. I can—”
“No,” she whispered, her throat too dry to protest louder.
The kidnappers had submitted her application a month ago? How long had they planned this?
“No?” He folded his arms across his chest, accentuating his massive forearms. “Then why didn’t you provide your limits on your questionnaire?”
She hadn’t seen the application, but based on the research she’d done in the last few hours, there were numerous choices when it came to BDSM. “There must have been a computer error.”
“A computer error. That is disheartening.” He frowned. “Your application was approved based on your answers.”
Her heart plummeted to her feet as she shot from her seat. “Does that mean you’re going to reject my application? Because I dropped everything and flew across the country for this opportunity. I might lose my docent job at the Phoenix Art Museum. Doesn’t that prove I’m serious?”
“It proves nothing.” He slid off the desk and inched closer, towering over her. “Now tell me the truth.” He softly gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Why are you here?”
The urge to tell him the truth about Tasha’s kidnapping had her nearly spilling everything. But how could she trust the man who’d provided fabricated evidence of her father’s embezzlement and security fraud to the FBI? The father she’d known and loved wouldn’t have cheated his clients out of their money. For her, there was only one explanation: Cole DeMarco had set her father up for the crimes. He’d been her father’s business partner in his wealth management firm, Walker Investment Securities, and yet he’d completely escaped liability.
No matter how much she’d pressed her father about the accusations against him, he’d remained silent on the subject, going as far as foolishly pleading guilty to all charges and accepting a life sentence in federal prison.
The last time she’d visited her father there, she’d begged him to hire the new attorney she’d found who believed he could overturn the plea deal, but he’d stubbornly refused.
Less than a week later, he’d committed suicide.