The Deception (Filthy Rich Americans 3)

His voice went low. “She can’t move past this until you allow her to.”

Vehemence coated each word. “I don’t care.”

“But I do, and unfortunately for you, that’s all that matters.” His eyes traced his hand wrapped around my neck, and I had the sinking feeling he liked the way it looked. “Tomorrow, when Royce goes out with everyone else for the slopes, you’ll stay in and listen to Alice’s full confession and apology. I’ve made it part of her penance.”

“No,” I hissed. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. You don’t have control over me anymore.”

Amusement faintly lit his eyes. “Don’t I?” His index finger lifted and pressed over my lips. “Open your mouth.”

What?

I split in two at his order. My mind filled with fury, and my body with shameful heat. “Excuse me? No. We had a deal.”

“You’re correct, we did.” He put extra emphasis on the past tense. “But it’s null and void now. I won’t say it again. Open your mouth.”

In my confusion, I did—only to protest, but it didn’t matter. He used the opportunity to slide his long, cold finger past my lips, and my eyes went wide. My head was already back against the wall, and as I tried to turn away, the rest of his fingers pinched my face and held me still.

It was shocking to have any part of him inside me, even in the relatively safe place of my mouth. It didn’t feel safe, though. His finger pulsed in and out in a deliberate stroke, and it was horribly sexual. Intimate.

It was impossible to speak and not to think about the sex act he was mimicking.

“You told me,” he said, “you wanted us to be done, but as I suspected, you lied.” His shoulders lifted in a deep breath. “If you really wanted that, you wouldn’t have allowed last night to happen. Or, by the very least, you’d have told Royce about it, but you didn’t, did you?”

The question was rhetorical. He already knew from the guilt flooding my eyes what my answer was.

Victory burned through his expression. “We’ll be waiting for you in my room tomorrow after breakfast.”

He left off the threat, but it was implied. If I didn’t do as he said, there’d be consequences. At least one of them would involve him telling Royce how I’d let him watch us, and that he’d pleasured himself during.

God, I was a stupid mortal. Maybe I deserved to be tricked by the gods for being such a fucking idiot.

Macalister withdrew his wet finger and dragged it slowly down my chin. His gaze focused in on my lips like he was remembering all the times he’d forced his kiss on me and was considering doing it again now.

“I’m not going to your room,” I blurted.

His voice was quiet, yet it filled every goddamn inch of the stifling room. “The lounge, then. The time has long since passed for you to stop avoiding what needs to happen.”

My heart ground to a painful stop. What, specifically, was he talking about? Alice’s apology, or the interest he claimed I still owed him from denying him his turn during the initiation?

The striations in the color of his eyes were tiny, menacing teeth. “We’re so similar, after all. We know it’s best to deal with problems as soon as they present themselves.” He stepped back, giving me space to get out from beneath his shadow. “The closure will be good for all of us.”

Anger gummed up my system, making everything slow and too disorganized to respond immediately. He gave me a final once-over, taking in the fire in my eyes and my hands pressed to the wallpaper at my back, and left the room wearing a satisfied look.

Royce pushed his head through the neck of a gray long-sleeved thermal shirt and eyed me still nestled amongst the covers of our bed. It was early, and he was lit by the soft morning light, even though the sun hadn’t peeked out over the mountaintops yet.

I hadn’t realized the full benefits of sleeping in the same bed with him until I’d done it. Morning sex. And now I got to watch him get dressed after his shower too, a sexy reverse striptease.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” he asked. “I could teach you.”

“I have zero interest in learning how to snowboard.”

It wasn’t a lie. I wasn’t even a good skier and had given up years ago. The last five Thanksgiving holidays my family took in Aspen I’d spent it curled up by the fire in the lodge with my iPad, reading. Essentially, the perfect vacation.

Finished getting ready, he glanced down at the screen of his phone, checked the time, and looked displeased, although I couldn’t tell if it was because he was late, or the current situation. He strolled to the bed and sat, jostling me into his arms.