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“That’s not how I operate,” he grates out, teeth obviously clenched.
He’s on edge. Where I want him.
“It never has been.” But learning a little give-and-take would be good for Jett. And it might be fun for me.
Or it would if I wasn’t risking everything to be with him.
“Listen, princess—”
“Good-bye.” I hang up. A smile curls my mouth because I know I’m playing with fire.
And I hope very much I’m going to enjoy getting burned.
The car exits the highway and veers right, traveling down a winding two-lane road that seemingly leads nowhere. I have to be patient. It’s not as if I can ask the driver anything, much less plead for information.
At exactly ten, the sedan rolls to a smooth stop. The engine goes silent. The driver exits and shuts his door. I hear boots crunch the gravel outside. Then my door opens, and the driver holds out a broad hand.
With a nod, I take it. He assists me to my feet, then gestures me toward the house.
But it’s not a house, really. It’s a massive white French Country estate in the middle of nowhere with a breathtaking fountain, perfectly trimmed evergreens, and ornate wrought-iron front doors.
I turn to the driver. “What is this place?”
“Ya ne govoryu po-angliyski,” he says with a shrug of his wide shoulders.
He’s speaking Russian, I think. Not that I know the language, but I can only imagine he’s telling me he doesn’t speak English. Leave it to Jett to think of everything. Even if I’d managed to sucker this guy into talking, we’d run straight into a language barrier.
His ploy should probably scare me more, but he’s always paid attention to detail, so I’m hardly surprised.
Just slightly terrified.
“I understand.” I lay a soft hand on his forearm.
He nods and pulls away, casting a nervous glance back to the house.
Does he suspect Jett is watching?
He probably is.
I don’t bother the driver again. This is between Jett and me.
My journey to the front door seems to last a thousand steps. Not because it’s long, but because I take it slow. I want to make him wait. And suffer.
Like I did.
Finally, I push the grand front door open. The white marble floor gleams by the light of an elegant chandelier hanging from the barrel ceiling above. On an exquisite hall table to my right rests a glass of red wine, clearly for me. I pick it up and walk another few steps. I find a white wicker hamper with the lid open. An empty acrylic shoe storage box sits beside it.
He wants me to undress for him. Kneel for him. Suck his cock. Spread my legs. Surrender.
I sip my wine. He can wait.
His stare is all over me. I can feel it. Somewhere, somehow, he’s watching. And he’s impatient.
Ignoring the receptacles for my clothes, I wander through the house. It’s devoid of humanity now, but it has life. I feel the echoes of happiness here. I can almost hear laughter. Once, someone lived a charmed existence under this roof. But not the current occupant. Not at this moment. Jett’s brooding seethes through the silence.
He wants me naked—now.
There must be something wrong with me. I’m impatient to give in to him.
“Hi, Jett,” I call, my voice echoing across the tile.
No reply.
But I’m not fooled. He’s here. He simply won’t speak to me until I’ve stripped myself bare for him. I know that instinctively.
I continue scoping the downstairs, winding past a staircase on the left, then into a beautiful white kitchen with hand-painted tile, a rough-hewn island, and dark rustic beams overhead. Through an arch, I find myself in a cozy family room with a massive stone hearth and simple furnishings, dressed up with colorful accents and an unassuming chandelier. I sink onto a footstool and look out the wall of glass to the backyard beyond.
The swimming pool shimmers. The sound of cicadas singing lulls me. The twinkling summer stars lure me outside.
Not even sure where I’m going or why, I walk out, leaving the door open as a clue for Jett. Not that he needs it; I still feel his eyes on me. But I want this last moment of freedom.
I know he’ll snatch it quickly and trap me under him for the next seven days. That’s a given. Stalling is both foolish and reckless, but I can’t stop. If this is all the rebellion he’ll allow me while we’re together, I’m taking it. I want him to understand I’m not without my devices.
By the pool, the breeze picks up and whips through my hair. I set my wine aside and pluck the elastic band from around my wrist, using it to wind my long hair on top of my head. Then I tread to the side of the crystal-blue water and start shedding my clothes—shoes, dress, bra, underwear. In a blink, it’s all gone, and I’m bare.
