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“Because I invested a large amount of money in you. I’m not going to allow it to just disappear in a six-foot grave.” He walks behind me, and I turn my head to follow his movements. “Now… I can untie you, and we can go about the rest of the day in a much more civilized manner, but the choice is up to you.”
“And Sasha?” I ask, needing to know that everyone I care about is safe.
“She’s a Morelli. A real one, with the birth certificate to prove it. The Sidorovs aren’t stupid enough to hurt a hair on her head. And as I promised her, I’ll let you call her once we get you settled in your room.”
“If I say yes,” I nearly whisper, licking my dry lips. “Will you expect sex from me?”
“Most definitely,” he states without even missing a beat.
“So I’ll be your whore?”
“Being a whore is simple. Ordinary. Spread your legs, give your body—” He squats down again and begins to untie my binds. “I’ll expect more than that. If I simply wanted a whore, I could buy my own harem. But that’s not what I’ve ever wanted, and not what I want with you. And nothing about what I’ll expect from you will be simple. Nothing about me or our situation is ordinary. I hate simple. I detest ordinary.”
Chapter Eleven
Nick
I could offer her my jacket to help conceal her nudity. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do, but I’m not that man. Instead, I think it’s far more important to teach my new house guest a lesson in humility. Embarrassment as she parades in front of my staff through the house on full display, will knock her down a few notches right from the start.
Her bare feet pad against the white marble floor, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make my dick hard watching her vulnerability before me. The curves of her body are delicious and absolutely perfect. The flower tattoo along her rib cage beckons my tongue to trace lines along the ink. Her tangled, long, dark hair cascades down to the middle of her back offering the only coverage of her naked flesh.
My dick painfully tents my pants, demanding to be buried up inside her tight cunt. But my self-control wins over as I know there are steps to my plan. I can’t win if I rush to the finish line. A marathon of lust and debauchery is ahead of me. Not a sprint of quick fucking.
Plus, for the first time in a long time, I don’t know what the fuck is going on. Why are the Sidorovs still after her? Or is it someone else? Until I get all my information gathered, I don’t feel comfortable doing much more than keeping her safe. Something isn’t right, and I hate that I—who prides myself on knowing all—am in the dark.
Lyriope turns to me with a heated face as she sees my housekeeping staff, chef, butler, and personal assistants lined up in a row in front of the spiral staircase leading to our destination. They’ve been trained to greet me in such a manner, in their matching uniforms, each time I return home to await my instructions.
It’s pompous. It’s arrogant. And I love every second of it.
I know my staff work hard, and I pay them a wage far higher than anywhere else would to ensure their loyalty and their discretion. My house is one of the largest in Bishop’s Landing, and since almost every surface from floor to ceiling is stark white, they must constantly clean. The only color in the house is reserved for the modern and abstract artwork I collect. I like to have an empty canvas for the priceless masterpieces to shine against.
White. Pristine. Perfection. With colors of madness splashed all around.
Lyriope tries to step behind me to hide from their stares, but I don’t allow it. Instead, I grip her arm and keep her at my side. Not one of my staff members show any emotion in their expressions or reveal their thoughts about seeing a naked woman being paraded in front of them. I’ll reward them with a nice end of the week bonus for their dignified stance.
“Nick,” she barely whispers. “Please.”
The fragility and rawness in her plea make my cock twitch against my pants. So pure, so stripped of her armor, so… perfect.
“This is Lyriope Bailey,” I announce. “She’ll be staying with us as our guest.” When all of the staff nod in understanding, I add, “Go about your day.”
I hear Lyriope release a deep breath as the staff scurry about, no longer watching us. Her eyes are wide as she takes in the massive foyer with more white rooms filled with expensive art branching off from it. Her eyes look up at the large chandelier crafted from Venetian blown glass that casts a rainbow of colors onto the white floor below. Rich reds, blues and greens blend to form a pallet of excellence.
