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CHAPTER IV
Zayne
If she could, Sirenna Miller would probably fuck me and slap me at the first time, and I’d let her. I’m starting to wonder if she isn’t a witch who put a fucking spell on me. If she doesn’t have a voodoo doll of me somewhere inside that hotel room, which she keeps drenched in a potion for lust.
I’m checking emails on my phone, yet I’m very much aware of her pushing herself against the car door on the other side, her forehead resting against the window. Her hair, usually pin-straight like a platinum sheet of silk, is now ruffled, and all her employees know I’m responsible for that.
I liked the way it felt to parade her through the lobby while escorting her to the limo waiting at the curb, reading the knowledge in people’s eyes that she was mine. It was particularly satisfying to watch that bartender look at her like the goddess she truly is. I should fucking slit his throat for ever thinking she was one of those rich wives that he could exploit. Sirenna Miller could bring giants to their knees, and that piece of shit should suffer for ever thinking he was worthy of her.
The beast inside me is roiling, the chain chafing the skin on its neck as it strains to spring out and bite heads off. Control is going to be hard with this woman so close.
Even now, just smelling her is fucking with my head, especially since I can smell myself all over her every time she shifts, too. I swallow the need rising in my groin. I’ve never had addictions in my life despite–or maybe because–of my past, but it seems I might be developing one. I’m jealous of the alcohol because she’s hooked on it the way I’m getting hooked on her. But I can’t command her heart, so all I can do is force her to come with me. She’s not in mortal danger from the city thugs anymore, but with everyone at the hotel knowing how savagely we fucked, some guys might dare make a move. Even though I’m pretty damn sure some of them also know they’d be risking their fucking lives. They saw it in my stare.
When the car pulls up at the curb of Rose Tower, I offer her my hand to help her out, watching awe spread over her face as she looks up at the all-glass and granite building.
“As the ex-wife of a billionaire, one would expect you to be used to shameless opulence by now.”
“Not this shameless,” she murmurs.
Here’s another thing that both intrigues and impresses me about Sirenna. She never fakes anything. She never tries to pose as someone else. The memory of her releasing her shuddering orgasm onto my face lights up in my mind, sending a ripple down my scarred skin. She contorted and moaned in ways that were so natural, I couldn’t stop watching her. She didn’t even try to look pretty, and yet she looked divine.
The elevator doors open into my penthouse at the top of Rose Tower, and she steps out as awkwardly as Cinderella at the ball.
“Wow,” she whispers, her eyes running over the breathtaking view of the city.
I let her walk in front of me so I can study her from behind, and enjoy the elegance with which she places one foot in front of the other. A beige trench coat fastened at her waist covers her to just under her knees, her pumps showcasing her calves. I lick my lips as I imagine them on my shoulders while I drive my dick painfully deep inside of her, wiping away all memory of other dicks before it.
Her reactions are innocent and sweet for a woman who’s supposed to have lived in luxury for years. After all, Joseph Carter is one of the wealthiest men in New York. Yet the view and amenities don’t keep her attention for long. It’s the bookcase on the side wall across from the mantle, that attracts her like a magnet. She leans her head back to take in the height of it, her eyes widening to see that it stretches up over three levels.
“Wow,” is all she can get to cross her lips.
Dropping her small bag onto the large sofa, she walks closer, setting her hands on the book spines as if to feel their energy.
I watch her, unblinking and bewitched. All I want to do is fade into the background and watch her. It’s the first time I’ve brought a woman into my home, and I already feel like locking her up in here like a stolen princess in an ivory tower.
“I didn’t know you had a passion for reading,” she mutters before I dwell on my reckless thoughts for too long, her hands running up and down those spines as if they’re magic.
“There was a time in my life when books were all that kept me going.”
She pauses, giving me time to expand on that, but I don’t.
“There are enough of them here to make a bookworm happy for a few good years,” she says as if predicting her destiny.
“Each and every one of them is valuable,” I offer. “Some retrieved from ancient libraries around the world. Auctioned at exclusive museum events and then translated into English on my commission.”
“That’s impressive.” She turns around, the lapels of her trench coat open to reveal the top of the little black dress she’s wearing underneath. Her dark, uptilted eyes settle on me, and fuck, it feels good to be this woman’s sole point of focus. “But it won’t be enough to keep me happy in a prison. You’re asking for a lot, Zayne.”
