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“Maybe fair for you. Firstly, I need a quick clarification about something after your little ‘jealous not jealous’ tantrum.”
A huff escapes me at the idea that I’d ever actually be jealous of another man. Ignoring her little jab, I take the civilized route. “What do you want to discuss?”
She smiles smugly. “Since me simply speaking to other men in public is triggering for your fragile ego, I want to confirm you have no issue with me sleeping with other people in private?”
One of the terms is that we can sleep with whoever we want in private. There’s no way I’m fucking her, even though she’ll be my wife, and there’s no reason for either of us to go without for a year. I’ve just added precautions so her whorish ways don’t cost me my future.
“Yeah, you can still fuck your trash men. But they’ll have to go through a detailed background check to make sure they aren’t some sort of criminal or undercover PI.” I wouldn’t put it past Randall Crowe to hire someone to flirt with Tara and get inside info. “They’ll also have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before anything can happen.” I can’t have any random schmuck off the street coming into my home to fuck my wife. You can never be too careful, especially when people are watching your every move. “Fuck who you want in private, just be discreet—don’t announce it to the world that you’re screwing other men.”
“A little extreme, but whatever helps you sleep at night.” She rolls her eyes, and my hand starts itching to give her the spanking she was asking for earlier. But her next question stops me in my tracks. “Will you be fucking other women?”
I smirk. “Who’s the jealous one now?” By the way her body lights up when I’m around, or the way she was scowling at her waitress for even speaking to me, it’s easy to tell I’m getting to her. She’s attracted to me and doesn’t like it.
“I’m not jealous. I just need to make sure I’m not in danger of catching any STDs from you.”
Lie.
“Who said I’ll be fucking you?” It’s true. Mixing business with pleasure never turns out well. She’s hot as hell and I’d absolutely fuck her under different circumstances, but no way will my cock be going near her now. She’s too tempting, and I don’t need her getting the wrong idea about this deal or getting clingy.
“Maybe that raging boner threatening to rip your pants?” She raises her eyebrow, looking down at my aching cock pressing painfully against my dress pants. There’s no point in hiding it. She knows she’s a gorgeous woman, and I’m a man who appreciates that. It’s a natural reaction.
“I won’t be fucking you.”
A hint of sadness plays across her face, but she quickly masks it with a small grin. “Mmhmm. Whatever you say.” She seems rather interested in me fucking her, which makes my cock twitch.
“Not a chance, but I do expect you to be on birth control.”
“Oh, so you control my body now?” Of all the things I’ve said to her or written in the terms, this is what she’s getting the most defensive about?
“Let’s be clear. I fucking own you. You sign that paper, you sign your life to me. So yes, I control you. Every aspect of your life is mine for the next year.”
“You’re forgetting one thing.” She runs her hand down the lapel of my suit jacket, tugging on it like she’s straightening it up.
“What could that be?” My voice remains firm, even though I’m distracted by the heat from her hands soaking through my clothes.
“I own you just as much as you think you own me. If you don’t like what I have to say, if you want to have a perfect trophy wife, find someone else. I’ll never let someone control me like that or think they can turn me into someone I’m not.” She cups my cheek gently, almost too gently, only serving to anger me more before she drops her hand.
“Aren’t you forgetting about your precious restaurant that needs saving?” I cup her own cheek in my hand, continuing this gentle charade she started. I rub my thumb across her perfect cheekbone.
“I’d rather sell my kidneys or fucking feet pictures before I let someone treat me like an object. I’ll marry you, I’ll help you out, but you will not force me to be a robot who bends to your every command.” She attempts to pull back from my hand but I grab her chin, gripping it forcefully.
“Birth control or some form of contraception is non-negotiable. I can’t have you getting pregnant with another man's baby.” If my theories are correct, I know exactly what it’s like to be raised by a man who knows you're not his. To have a father you’ll never really know because of it.
She laughs, almost evilly. “I’m already on birth control, Your Highness.”
What the hell is she playing at? “Why the fuck were you arguing about it then?”
“You’re easy to rile up. Kind of hard not to.” She shrugs, like it’s obvious.
“Look, are you going to sign or keep wasting my time?” I step back from her, crossing my arms over my chest.
“We’ll work on your patience. Surprised someone of your prestige hasn’t learned it yet.”
Part of me wonders if she’s stalling, maybe questioning if she should even go through with this or not. Her and me both.
Her cell phone begins to ring, and she pulls it from her pocket to check who’s calling. Her face instantly pales. I briefly see the name ‘Spawn of Satan’ pop up on the screen, making me curious who that could be. I can see the slight tremble of her body, though it’s so slight I barely notice it.
Declining the call, she puts the cell back in her pocket, then looks over at me. All traces of humor, sass, and her usual fire are gone. Her eyes are hollow, lacking all sort of life, or anything making her the woman I met a little over a week ago.
“Let’s get this over with,” she murmurs. She moves around her desk, pulling out a pen and the contract. She quickly signs the documents, before handing them to me to sign. “There. You can go now. Wouldn’t want to waste any more of your time.”
I go to say something, not liking the way she suddenly seems like a completely different person in a matter of seconds, but I snap my mouth shut. I’m not here for personal bullshit. I just need a wife, and she needs financial help. No feelings will be involved in this marriage.
She heads toward the door, opening it for me to leave. I walk through, expecting her to follow, but she doesn’t. She shuts it the moment I pass the threshold, locking it behind me.
If this ‘Spawn of Satan’ has the ability to make her attitude turn a complete one-eighty, they’ve clearly got history. History that I won’t allow to fuck up this opportunity for me.
Walking down the hall toward the exit, I’m curious who has the power to make this fierce girl act like that. But if she’s worried about whoever the Spawn of Satan is, she won’t stand a chance against the devil himself.
