His Terms

Oh who are you kidding? You don’t have an attorney, nor could you afford one.

But the contract had been cut and dry, with nothing in fine print. The problem was it hadn’t been specific either, just that no harm would come to her. A week was nothing, nothing at all, or at least that was what she kept telling herself. Yes, she wanted to be with him, but she had never thought past him fucking her against the wall in the office.

It had been a fantasy, and not something that she ever thought she’d follow through with. He pissed her off daily, was arrogant, occasionally egotistical, and a cocky bastard on more than one occasion. She now sat in the limousine that Rian had sent for her, and to say she was nervous was an understatement.

The bag she had in her lap held everything she’d need for her stay with him, although she didn’t have any designer dresses. What she did have would have to do if he wanted her to go to a party for business with him. The hard grip she had on the handle dug into the skin of her palm, causing the already-sweaty flesh to chafe. For the millionth time she asked herself if she was actually going through with this.

Obviously it was a rhetorical question because she was already in the car, but she was so damn nervous, scared, and also a little excited. Rian lived in a penthouse looking over Central Park, and living in such wealth was probably going to take some getting used to. There was also this very strong part of her that knew what she was agreeing to was wrong on every moral level.

But despite the money being offered, the fact that he had already paid her in full, and she had been able to pay off the mountain of bills she owed, Sorcha knew that she had sold every part of her to Rian.

She had to spend one full week doing God knew what with a man like Rian. The rain right outside of the car was falling heavily, angrily almost, and it made this whole situation seem ominous. But she supposed that was fitting. His apartment was about half an hour from the office, but nearly an hour from her rinky-dink little place, and that was without heavy traffic or bad weather.

Sorcha closed her eyes and pictured Rian. Just looking at him she knew his desires ran on the darker side, or at least she had to assume a prick like him would like rough and hard sex. He also seemed kind of sadistic in nature, given the fact that the last time he had touched her in any form was when he almost had her coming for him. She could only imagine how he was in bed: probably all raw and demanding need that matched his tough, stone-cold exterior. He was controlling, that was for damn sure, and that frightened and aroused her.

Would he try to control her in bed? He said she wouldn’t be harmed, but that pain might be involved. What did he mean by that? Would he tie her up, spank her until she begged him to stop? Or maybe Sorcha would enjoy it? She certainly was getting aroused just thinking about it, even if a part of her grew disgusted that she could even contemplate liking such things.

Sorcha certainly wasn’t a virgin, and had been with a few men, but they had been safe, ones that liked bland, vanilla sex. They were nothing like Rian. A man like Rian Hartford seemed like he had an animal lurking inside, a dangerous and wild one, and all it would take was a small amount of provocation to unleash it on her and everyone else.

“We are approaching Mr. Hartford’s residence, Miss Case.”

She straightened when the deep male voice of the driver came through the intercom. The privacy screen was up between the back and front of the car, and she hadn’t realized until right now that that small piece of glass separated her from an entirely different world. It seemed weird to think of it like that, but being in the back of this limo seemed to make her feel like she was living another woman’s life. It was definitely an unnerving situation.

It was only about five more minutes before the driver pulled the vehicle into the underground parking garage, and then found a spot. For a second after he cut the engine all she did was sit there and listen to the sound of her heart starting to beat a fast, hard rhythm. But then one of the back doors was opened and the driver was standing on the other side holding his hand out to her. He wore black livery, kept this stiff posture, and was so professional he hadn’t even made eye contact with her yet. She had refused politely to allow him to take her bag when he first picked her up, and so she tightened her fingers on the strap and took his hand with her other one. The garage was still and quiet, with only the faint overhead and orangey lighting to break up the shadows.