“You killed someone?” Her fingers grip the doorframe even tighter, and her second hand meets the first, both hands on the doorway, holding herself as if she’s been trapped in a gust of wind and might blow away.
What is the surprise here? Everyone she knows lives by the code that I do.
“Get inside.” I don’t wanna justify myself to her. I don’t want to tell her things she should already know. I’m not usually so short-tempered; goddamn if I don’t just wanna do my job and go to bed.
“So that’s it? You’re not going to answer my question?”
I walk over to the chair by the bed and strip out of my suit coat. I lay it across the back of the chair and sit down. “Get in here.”
I remember what Romeo said. I think it’s good advice.
“I don’t think it’s right that you don’t answer my questions, and you just… blurt out these orders or something. You just agreed to be my husband, not my father.”
Something stirs in me. This woman needs a firm hand. She needs to know that I am the bottom line. She needs to know that I’m the one in charge of this relationship.
But the thought of mastering her… the thought of dominating her… it’s more than duty.
My voice is thick with arousal when I reply to her. Now that we’re in the dark, warm recesses of my bedroom, with a lingering smell of burnt candles and melted wax, fresh linen, and fresh flowers in the air, I look at the large bed in front of me and imagine the possibilities. Her tied to my bed, naked. Gagged and blindfolded, submitting to me with just enough fight to make it worth it.
“That what you need? A daddy?” She stands there staring at me.
“You’re a kinky bastard,” she whispers. “Aren’t you?”
I don’t answer at first. Of course I fucking am. “There’s a tray next to the bed with chocolates and two glasses of wine.” The newlyweds’ reward. “You see them?”
She nods. “Of course I do.” That tone.
I will enjoy every minute reddening her ass. “Drink it.”
“And what if I don’t drink?”
I slowly slip off my shoes, one at a time, and line them up beside my desk. She bends and straightens them.
I don’t reply at first but hold her gaze when I reach for my necktie. I slowly slip the silky fabric from the knot, slide my tie off my neck and, still holding her gaze, wrap it around my fist. “You’d deny wine from my family’s orchard?”
“Ah, well why didn’t you say so?” She sashays past me as if she owns the place, lifts one of the glasses, and downs it. She sighs contentedly.
Well, that was a lot of to-do for shit.
“You do like wine, then.”
“It’s damn good wine.”
I nod. “Thank you. Bring me mine, please.”
She walks to me and hands me the glass, then backs away as if I’m going to bite her. I curse in Italian and shake my head. “You scared of me?”
She doesn’t answer. She is but doesn’t want to admit it.
Good.
A feeling of expectancy hangs in the air. It feels so good to breathe freely, to have the space to move, to know that if I wanted to take a fucking car ride to wherever, I can. Romeo pulled some magic.
“And what if I say…that I don’t…like that.” I watch when she swallows, her throat working.
I watch as her fingers flutter nervously in her hair and her gaze lingers on the tie wrapped around my fist. “Like what?”
“Kinky…stuff. What if I say I’m vanilla?”
Would a girl who is truly vanilla even know to call it that?
“I’d say it’s my job to teach you.”
“Teach me to like…kink? Isn’t that like a nature or nurture thing?”
I don’t know if she’s intrigued or terrified. Maybe both.
I tighten the tie, smoothing my thumb over the silky silver fabric. I want to push her a little. See how she responds. “So you’re one of those girls that overanalyze the shit out of everything?”
She doesn’t flinch, or avert her eyes, or even look away. She just meets my gaze squarely. “I am. And are you just one of those guys that doesn’t have patience for girls that can think for themselves?”
Oh, no. Oh no she doesn’t. “Did you pay any attention to those vows you took downstairs?” I don’t try to hide the tension in my voice.
“You thought those meant something? Vows are for people who choose to be married.”
I stand, and for the first time since we came upstairs there’s a little bit of fear in her eyes. Scratch that. She was afraid when I told her that I came from prison just now. She was afraid when I told her why. But now she’s afraid for herself.
She takes a step back when I walk toward her, and I don’t care that she’s afraid. I want her to fear me.