Sinful

She pales. “Is that why you…are you…going to tell anyone?”

I give her a long dark look, bored already. “No. But I need a date tonight,” I say. “One of my father’s soirées. If you want to keep our little secret, be ready at the south entrance in thirty minutes.”

She gives me an incredulous look. “No. I can’t. Someone will recognize me.”

“I don’t give a shit about that.” When she doesn’t relent, I add. “It’s a masked ball. No one will fucking have any idea who you are.”

“It’s not a good idea.”

I approach her like you would a skittish mare. She’s eyeing the door, ready to make a bolt for it. “I don’t give a fuck. You owe me, Arabella.”

“So you’re blackmailing me now?”

I give her an evil smile. “See it as payback for all the pain you caused me.”

She closes her eyes and then opens them. “Fine. But I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I’ll get someone to send something over.”

After she leaves, I call up my father’s PA to send over a dress. I remember what size she is. She can’t have changed much after all the time we spent together in my father’s penthouse, dressing for intimate dinners and then undressing afterward.

Thirty minutes later, Arabella is waiting for me at the south exit. It’s the only one that’s so far off the main campus that no one goes there. It’s mainly used for deliveries and maintenance. I don’t see her at first because she’s hidden in the bushes, but then I spot her as my car pulls up.

She climbs in, looking uncertainly at the driver.

“Simon won’t say anything,” I reassure her. He’s been my driver for years, and I trust him with my life.”

She nods and turns back to me as I hand her a package. She opens it. Inside is a sliver of a dress—a black and silver lacy number with a mask and shoes to match. She looks up at me from under her lashes. “Where did you get this?”

“Does that matter?”

“No, I guess it doesn’t. Where can I change?”

I shoot her a look and then look at my watch. “In about forty-five minutes, we’ll be in London. You have until then to get dressed.”

Her eyes widen. “You want me to get changed here? In the car?”

“You’ve nothing I haven’t seen before,” I say nonchalantly. “The glass all around is tinted.” I refer to the partition between the driver and us and the windows to the outside world.

She glares at me. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Making everything more difficult?”

“You’re the one who fucked up, remember? Now be a good girl and make it up to me. Chop chop.”

“Asshole,” she mumbles but starts to peel off her clothes.

I make a point of watching her change, unable to keep my cock from becoming rigid in my trousers and my lips from twitching when I see her boring underwear. She wasn’t expecting me to see them. She’s practically livid by the time she’s zipped herself into the Dior number, frothing at the mouth. It makes the lipstick on her lips all the more kissable.

And that tight lithe body, more fuckable.

Almost.

I’m done with the bitch.

I’m just doing this to fuck with her head and win the game. After all, compliance gets the most points in my bet with the boys. I made sure of it.