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I folded my arms. “Or?”
Arsenio looked around us, catching sight of all the people watching the perfect mayor’s son. “I don’t make threats,” he said. “I don’t give ultimatums or second chances. There is no or. You will come with me.”
He leaned back, an amused glint lighting his eyes. “But not because you’re afraid of me. You’ll come”—he put his lips to my ear—“because you’re curious.”
Arsenio set off.
I stood there—determined to make a point, and damned if I knew what. Cursing, I chased after him.
“Will we be finished before eight?”
He narrowed on me.
“That wasn’t arguing. I was asking a question.”
To which I didn’t receive a reply.
I blew out a breath. “Would it make a difference if I said this affects Paris’s safety? She’s your best friend’s sister. I know you care about her.”
“No. It makes no difference.” He pointed to a vintage Chevrolet Corvette shaming every other car in the lot. “Get in.”
Penning in my retort, I slid in the car. Why was I arguing with this guy? If I had to, I’d slip away when we got to wherever we were going.
I would be at that diner tonight. I had the short version of my torment under the Letter Man, proof to show the police, and four days to get them off their asses and arranging protection for three women and two children. If the Letter Man wasn’t going to stop me protecting them, neither was Arsenio Creed.
“Where are we going?”
“Ever been to the Highland Arms?” he replied, surprising me.
“Old-fashioned Scottish pub on the other side of town. Never had a reason.” I ran my fingers over the dash, swallowing what would’ve been an embarrassing sound. “1957, right?”
“That’s right.”
Was I imagining it, or did he sound the tiniest bit impressed?
“My gosh, I can’t believe I’m sitting in this. This car is a work of art, Creed. It is an act of blasphemy to put a single scratch on it.”
“On that, we agree,” he said. “When I fuck you over the back of the seat, I expect you to be careful.”
“Is that what you’re whisking me away to do?”
“No. Highland Arms, like I said.”
I eyed him. “Why haven’t we...?” I trailed off, leaving him to pick up my meaning.
“You’re not ready for me yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means what I said.” Arsenio looked me in the eye, traffic and all. “You’re not ready.”
A sensation went up my spine. Good or bad, I wasn’t sure, but I believed him.
“When will I be ready?”
“When you obey without argument.”
I shook my head, leaning into the leather. “Did Quinn hop, skip, and jump before you gave the order? Because looking at the girl who bitched you out today, I didn’t get that impression. You guys don’t actually want submissive women,” I stated. “You want women who’ll argue, and fight, and push back to make it more satisfying to break them. It’s no fun punishing someone who just sits there and takes it.”
“How would you know?”
He weaved in and out of traffic. Arsenio stayed under the posted speed limit, and still the engine revved and hummed, blissed for its day out.
“So that’s what you want,” I whispered. “Obedient. No fight. No struggle. I drop to my knees for master. I put my ass up when he demands. I spread my legs on his order. You want me when I’m broken in.”
“Hmm. Interesting.”
“What is?”
“Going by the dripping pussy I’m smelling from here, you want that too.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“The first time I have you, I’ll make you come all over these seats, then make you lick every inch clean.” He could’ve been talking about the weather for all the inflection. “I’ll walk you around town on your leash and fit you in vibrating panties. You’ll sit at my feet like a good girl, not making a sound while I claim every drop for all of Bedlam to see.”
“Arsenio.” I squeezed my knees, pulling my borrowed hoodie lower. “Stop.”
He tsked. “I thought you knew that wasn’t how this worked. Open your legs.”
I opened my mouth to argue. Arsenio flashed.
He pinched his fingers in my cheeks, hooking my open jaw. “Don’t even think a refusal. Panties off. Now.”
I didn’t think a refusal. Wiggling my thong down my hips, I let it pool around my ankles.
“Feet up,” he said. “Give me a reason to be... impatient.”
The word poured like honey from his lips. My feet dug in the red leather. Letting my legs fall open, I was as exposed as the open-topped car.
“Ask me what else you want me to do to you.”
What is happening?
We drove by the square, zipping around the lovely couples and families enjoying an evening stroll. The most wholesome picture, and Arsenio was getting me wet to slide me off this seat.
Why is this working? I am not the “yes, sir, no, sir” girl.
“What do I want you to do to me, Arsenio?” I asked, cheeks flaming. The Bedlam Boys were teaching me a lot about myself.
