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She might want me to think she’s ambivalent or even reluctant to be here. She might try to act as if she’s rebellious, hostile, or indifferent. But the way her hungry stare gnaws at me makes a liar out of her. So does her wet pussy.
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
Her voice still shakes…but I don’t think that trembling note is powered by fear now.
“Whatever I want. It’s my forty million dollars.”
The second the words are out of my mouth, Whitney stiffens. Shit, I fucked up. She might be a lot of things, but she isn’t a whore. She’d never do anything purely for money. The question is, did she come with me strictly to help Vance? Or because somewhere deep down she wanted to?
That’s what I need to figure out. That will tell me how to proceed for the rest of the week.
Her face closes up. “Don’t let the money fool you, Jett. You always did whatever you wanted, regardless of anyone else’s feelings.”
That bullshit insult is an argument starter. She’s baiting me, and I refuse to fall into the trap. “I’m not here to talk, Whitney.”
“You’re here to fuck me.” She spits the words like I ought to be ashamed of myself.
“I am.” I have to know what’s left between us before I burn this bridge for good. “And I think you’re here to fuck me, too. Find out what you missed out on all those years ago.”
She doesn’t answer right away. “Think what you want. You always do.”
“I’m done talking.” In fact, I’m over this cat-and-mouse game altogether. She’s naked, spread across my bed, and open to me. Why are we even talking before I’ve stripped away her barriers? Once I’ve made her beg and plead for orgasm, then we’ll see what she really wants.
I cup one of her ankles and reposition her leg toward the corner of the bed, then I bend to retrieve the cuff. She’s gasping when I buckle her in, sliding my fingers underneath to ensure she still has adequate blood flow.
When I’m satisfied, I reach for her other foot.
She jerks it out of my grasp, biting her lip, “Jett…”
I shake my head. “You’ve heard the rumors about me. I’ve given you plenty of proof they’re true. So don’t act surprised. I won’t hurt you, but I want you completely open to me. You agreed to submit to my every whim this week. I’m waiting.”
This is normally where I would give my partner a safe word, but Whitney would only use it to escape her mental discomfort. I won’t put her in physical peril enough to need to speak at all except a gasping, screaming plea.
In fact, I look forward to it.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes…Sir.”
“That’s right. Now give me your foot.” I hold out my hand. In the other, I’ve already gathered the cuff.
Whitney stares at me. I sense her fear. And I smell her desire. She’s confused and she doesn’t understand her reaction.
I simply smile.
Slowly, she slides her free leg in my direction, then places her dainty instep in my palm.
Without any haste at all, I buckle her in and step back. And I stare at the banquet of female spread out before me. My mouth waters.
Since it’s wiser for me to keep my pants on—at least for now—I shuck my shoes, then crawl onto the bed, hovering over her. I study her delicate face.
I remember when I thought I’d be the luckiest bastard in the world if I could just call her mine. It’s been eight years, two continents, and too many meaningless fucks later. Goddamn it if I don’t still think that having her, even just for the week, will make me a lucky bastard.
Whitney looks nervous. “Are you leaving my hands free?”
“For now.” Unless she gives me a reason not to.
When she nods, it takes everything inside me not to give in to my urge to soothe and reassure her. Instead, I dip my head and take her mouth in a demanding kiss. Fuck if I don’t have the urge to stay at her soft, bee stung lips and feast. There’s something so delectable about them. The top bow tempts. The bottom pout lures. How can I not want her?
But there’s more—a lot more—I haven’t touched in what seems like forever.
“These breasts. Hmm…” The words slip out. I’m so busy staring at her swells and the dark nipples tipping them that I don’t even realize I’ve spoken.
“I’ve changed since I was sixteen.”
“For the better,” I murmur as I open my lips to her neck and taste her skin.
She tips her head back and offers me her vulnerable throat. Absently wondering if she understands the unconscious trust she’s giving me, I skim my mouth down her flesh, kissing the pounding pulse point at her neck, tonguing the swells of her breasts, and nipping my way to her hard, tempting crests.
