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“You’re here. That’s bad enough.”
Ignoring him, I air my complaints.
“I was working and minding my business when my dad came to my home a little over a MONTH ago to announce my engagement to you. A deal they made. I fought him on it. REFUSED to meet you. I get an eviction notice from your dad the next day since he controls most of the real estate and my dad controls the rest. I tried to go back to the mansion, but my dad told me to go to your house. I was staying in hotels until my dad froze all of my accounts - since he owns the freaking banks - including my personal account where my paychecks are deposited.”
My skin is flushing again from the low-level rage boiling over. My vexation has me approaching him as I spit every detail of my now fucked up life. I find myself in his space as my rant continues.
“When I asked him how I’m supposed to support myself, he said to ask my fiance. Then my car was towed. All I have is an U-Haul truck with my possessions packed in it and twenty bucks to my name!” Feeling bold, I poke him in the chest. “You still have your job, your home, and access to your money, yet you have the nerve to pretend I wanted this! I don’t want you, either. We’re stuck! They own us.”
Oran’s jaw clenches as he stares at me. He bares his white teeth just before grabbing me by my jaw and adding pressure until I flinch. The heat of his fingers burn me.
“Correction. According to your account, I own you.” He pulls me close until I collide with his hard chest. The contact is weirdly arousing despite this fucked up situation. I breathe him in as our stare down continues, I refuse to look away first but his pink tongue darting out to moisten his lips gets my attention. “You’re just another possession my dad bought. A prize he won and passed off to me. A trophy.”
Oran glances past me as a wicked smile stretches his surprisingly pouty lips. He releases my jaw but grabs my upper arms with his fingers digging into my skin. Lifting me, he seats me on the counter where some of his awards are lined up. One of his framed degrees is nailed to the wall just above my head.
“Now that you’re with my other trophies, you’ll stay there and shut the fuck up until I give you a new instruction if you want my help.”
Never have I ever been made to feel so discarded the way Oran does it. He has me on display with the rest of his shit, but I’m not an award he wants. Either way, I’m a possession to him. An inanimate object with no needs or feelings.
A few hours later, after my ass and legs have fallen asleep more times than I remembered, Oran rises, stretches and begins packing up for the day. I hate that my eyes greedily eat up every movement of his powerful looking body.
I frown when his lights go out and he leaves me in the dark office. I’ve almost successfully plotted his murder when he returns.
“Let’s go, Trophy. Hurry before I leave you here with the rest of them.”
I hate him.
Chapter 2
Oran
My dad has me fucked up if he believes he can throw some helpless pussy at me and expect me to put a ring on it. No matter how intoxicating her scent is or how interesting her green eyes with small flecks of gold and brown look, I’m not interested in marriage and I definitely don’t want her. This must be some sick joke. Who the fuck still arranges marriages, anyway?
Stalking outside with my unwanted guest trailing behind me, I stop short when I notice the U-Haul parked near my burnt orange Aston Martin DBX. At least she wasn’t lying about that. When my dad called to see if my fiancee arrived like she said she would, I lost my shit. I don’t do relationships and marriage is the ultimate hell no. I still know the details outside of what she said because I’d hung up on him. I don’t have time for games and bullshit. Internally, I calculate ways to get away from her. I’d be damned if she were coming to my home with all her bullshit in tow. Until I figure out what’s going on, I’m dropping her ass off somewhere out of sight and mind.
Decision made, I turn to give her her walking papers but watching her trying to climb into the U-Haul, slacks pulled taut across her ass - a juicy ass - while she props one leg up in the truck’s cab, has me thinking thoughts I shouldn’t think about my not-so-future-missus. Raking my bottom lip between my teeth, I run my fingers through my hair. I don’t want
her, but my tightening dick appears to disagree. Irked, I palm her ass; it feels much more tempting than it looks, and push her the rest of the way inside.
The pain in the ass falls forward, her elbow hitting the horn and making it honk its protest.
“My shoe,” she yells dramatically as it falls off her foot and bounces on the concrete. Her dazzling eyes spear me - at least they try - when she speaks. “What the hell! Why did you push me?”
My eyes roll heavenward, “It’s called assisting, princess. You were taking too long.” I sweep her shoe off the floor, grab her bare ankle, and push it into place. “Your shoe, Cinderella.”
Huffing in a way that makes her breasts alluring, she pushes some hair that escaped her ponytail out of her face. “Don’t call me that. I’m nothing like her.”
I shrug, giving her a look of mock apology. “You’re right, you’re nothing like her.” She nods, satisfied until I complete my sentence. “She had somewhere to sleep, and the prince wanted her.” Her plush lips part in indignation, and before I could stop it, the image of me sliding my dick between them flashed unexpectedly. My low-level arousal darkens my mood. “Follow me and keep up. I don’t care if you get lost.”
Pivoting on my heel, I go climb into my SUV and peel out into traffic. I give the order to call Jagger the moment my Bluetooth connects.
“Yeah!” He answers with all the attitude I’d expect from my moody best friend. It’s one of the many reasons we get along, matching low bullshit tolerance.
“Apparently, I have a fucking fiancee now.”
“You, too?” Jagger has been dating and is very much in love with a girl named Layla.
“You proposed to Layla?” I ask wearily.
