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That one hurts. A stab wound to the heart. “No.”
I spread my legs.
He makes a low sound at the sight of me. “I could smell you while you were pouring water for all those motherfuckers. I could smell how much you wanted to be fucked.”
My voice trembles. “I barely noticed them. All I could think about was you.”
“Did you think I was going to make you suck them off?”
“I thought you might.”
Will pulls a chair up and sits between my legs. His hands on my thighs make me shiver. He pushes them open wider. I feel the stretch in my muscles. “Maybe I should call them back in here and show them how wet my secretary gets. Did youwantme to make you suck them off, Ms. Anderson?”
I stare at the ceiling, burning with shame and hurt and confusion. “It’s not really about what I want, is it?”
“No. Would you have done it?”
“I would do whatever you said.”Because you made my siblings happy. Because you fixed my apartment. Because of the way you curl close to me when you’re asleep.
“That’s right. Because if you don’t, you’ll get arrested, and then you’ll be trapped. All locked in.”
That’s the second time he’s mentioned beinglocked in.Notlocked up.It gives me pause.
I would do whatever you said.
The truth spills out of me. I shouldnottell him this. Not with his hands on my thighs and his breath on a very sensitive place. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m worried about you.”
“You should be worried about yourself. You owe me quite a bit of money.”
“I wish I owed you even more money. I wish this wasn’t only two weeks.”
A low laugh. Will licks me. Firm. Possessive. “That’s sweet.”
He licks me again, and I gasp. “Why? Why wouldn’t I want you? I thought—”
“You thought fixing your apartment was proof that I’m a nice man. That I’m interested in you. That I care about you. I don’t, Bristol.”
“That’s not—”
I don’t get the chance to saytrue,because Will buries his face between my legs. It’s hot, forbidden pleasure. The conference table’s hard underneath me. In less than twenty minutes, those men will file back in to talk about money.
I’m squirming in Will’s grip when he stands up, the heat of him gone in a heartbeat.
“No,” I whisper.
Will replaces his tongue with two fingers, pushing them in deep. So deep it hurts. I try to fuck them in spite of myself.
“Tell me about the postcard in your bedroom,” he demands.
“I thought you weren’t interested in me.”
He pumps his fingers in and out, then stops. Holds still. It’s mean. “This is a question of fairness. You spent the weekend in my apartment, going through all my things. Or did you want to be in debt for that, too? You’re indebted. You have to do anything I demand, even answer my questions.”
It was one picture. That’s all I looked at. But it must have meant something.
“The postcard,” he orders.
Somehow this feels more personal than sex. More intimate than his tongue on my clit. It makes me shiver with forced vulnerability. “It was another vacation spot. A beautiful beach.”
