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I fold my arms across my chest, mirroring Cade’s earlier body language. "And if I refuse?"
24
Cade
She’s here. Of course, she’s here. Zara’s her boss, and the two of them share a unique relationship where my sister, clearly, considers herself a mentor to Abby. Abigail Warren. Little sister of my best friend Knight, who he explicitly warned me off. A warning I did not heed when I decided to make her pay for what she did. What I didn’t expect is this bone deep attraction for her. Every time I make her come, it’s as if I’m losing a part of myself to her. It makes me feel close enough to her to share my deepest secrets.
It’s why I left without a word. I couldn’t face her again after that last time I made love to her—yes, it was making love, not fucking or shagging. It was missionary position, gazing into each other’s eyes, vanilla lovemaking which blew my brain and made me orgasm so hard I saw stars for days after.
The fact that I didn’t need any sex games to bring myself to completion—that being inside her, holding her, touching her, kissing her, hearing her soft moans, and ensuring I satisfied her had been enough to satisfyme—was a mindfuck. Let’s face it, I was spooked. The King had been toppled from his throne, and fuck, if that didn’t throw me for a six—forgive the cricket metaphor, not. I needed distance to gain some perspective, and I counted on the game to do that for me.
And, to some extent, it did. These past few months have been the most successful of my career. Only, I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind. Were it not for the fact that I’ve had eyes on her and could follow her every move in and out of her house, I’d have gone mad. Let’s not discusswhyI’ve had eyes on her. Obsession, much?
Suffice it to say, the last few months have been torture. Watching her jerk herself off to sleep every night and hearing her moans and cries as she orgasmed without my help has been sheer torture. I’ve never been jealous of a vibrator as much as I am of the one she keeps in her bedside drawer. I’ve recorded those videos and jerked off to them every night. I know it’s beyond fucked-up, but it’s the only way I’ve survived. I suppose, if only for that reason, it’s a good thing I didn’t tell her she couldn’t orgasm without me. I know she would have obeyed me, even if she didn’t want to, and then I wouldn’t have seen it.
But nothing comes close to seeing her in real life as she stands here looking at me with her big, green eyes. And of course, she’s not going to accept the proposition that she work for me.
"Don’t recall giving you a choice," I drawl.
Her gaze widens. "Choice?You’regivingmea choice?"
"I’m not," I clarify.
Color flushes her cheeks. "Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?"
"The man your brother charged with taking care of you."
"Excuse me?" Those big eyes of hers grow enormous, until they overshadow any other feature. “Knight never mentioned anything about you taking care of me, and why would he do that anyway?”
"Because I’m his best friend?" I suggest.
“Well, I absolve you of your duty.” She cuts the air with her palm. “You can rest assured; I can look after myself.”
“Apparently, you’re not doing a good enough job of it,” I sneer.
“King!” Zara protests, but I ignore her.
Abby stiffens. “What do you mean?”
I look her up and down. “Clearly, you haven’t been sleeping. You have dark circles the size of Greenland under your eyes.”
“Wh-what?” She opens her mouth, then shuts it, then opens it again.
Before she can respond, I continue, “As for your dress… I can’t believe you wore that out of the house.”
Zara makes a strangled noise at the back of her throat.
I ignore her; so does Abby.
She glances down at her dress. “This’s from Mango,” she whispers. When she looks at me again there’s a downward tilt to her lips.
My chest tightens, my insides heave, and I feel like I’m going to be sick.And all because I hurt her with my words? Fuck that. My feelings for her haven’t changed—not one bit, not at all. She’s still the girl who betrayed me, and I’m still the man who’s going to make her pay for it.
“It’s too short,” I growl.
“Too short?” She looks down at the hem which falls to just above her knees, then at me. “It’s perfectly decent.”
I firm my lips. “It’s also sleeveless and the neckline is too revealing and—”
