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She is exactly where I left her. Blindfolded and kneeling, waiting for instruction.
She jumps as I bark, “Stand up.” As she does, I reach for the blindfold and pull her dress down, rearranging it, minus her panties.
Her eyes blink against the harsh lighting and I say softly, “You have pleased me, Miss. Kensington. Or should I say, Mrs. Ortega?”
Her breath hitches and her eyes cloud with lust and just like that, I want her again. It surprises me, so I say roughly, “Now go and take your seat for landing.”
She scurries off and I glance at my reflection in the mirror and note a different look in my eye. I move across and stare at a man who has lost the bitter expression and appears almost animated. There can only be one reason for that – the game. I love this shit, and she is proving a worthy opponent. Will she complete the course, or will she fail? I’m more interested in that than defeating my stepmother, which surprises me more than anything.
Tearing my attention back to business, I crush my desire for my wife with an iron fist. I willnotlet her weaken me. She is a project, a means to an end, and Iwillsend her back to her future without me in it.
I head outside the bathroom and purposefully join Cesare at the rear of the aircraft because I need distance from the woman who is shaping up to be even more manipulative than my stepmother.
CHAPTER14
ABIGAIL
I’m still shaking after what happened in that bathroom. I loved it. The power of the man and the way I emptied my mind and allowed him to control me. It turned me on, and the bastard doesn’t even realize how much. He believes he’s humiliating me. That only happens when someone does something against their will. I want this. If anything, I am using him to get off, a thought that makes me smile as I picture him as a human vibrator.
* * *
When the aircraft lands,I wait for instruction. I am interested to learn what he has planned next, and I hate that I’m hoping it involves more of the same. I am fast becoming addicted to the freedom sex gives me. I tell myself he could be anyone. The nearest port in a storm and, if not him, then anyone else. But I’m only kidding myself. He is the reason I love it. Knowing it’s him makes it more pleasurable and the fact we’re married doesn’t even bother me anymore.
For a brief second back in Vegas, it bothered me a lot. The fact he gave me no choice and ordered me to marry him caused the anger to fire up my soul. Then I saw him, waiting by the altar, like every fantasy I ever had. A dark presence completely out of place in the chapel, as if God was about to strike him down for daring to think he had the right to walk inside. Then, when he watched me approach, I felt his dark stare consume me and beckon my soul from my body to his. I belong to him now. That’s the message he gave me, and his subsequent actions demonstrated I was right and, for some fucked up reason, I liked it.
Belonging to a man like that is intoxicating—for me, anyway. When I imagine my future bridegroom watching me walk toward him, it leaves me cold. Jefferson Stevenson is nowhere near the man Matteo Ortega is and never will be. Dark, dangerous and deadly. Qualities I shouldn’t crave but can’t help myself. I am drawn to the darkness and crave it with a thirst that nothing can sate. However, he is a problem that needs dealing with and that will be the first thing I tackle when we get to wherever the fuck he’s taking me.
This time when I exit the aircraft, I am directed to the third car by an unknown face. One of the silent soldiers who accompanies us everywhere and there is no sign of my new husband or his constant companion.
As I take up my seat in the car, I am alone and as the cars move off, I imagine him in the car in front, plotting more humiliation to heap upon my already burdened shoulders.
I stare out at the familiar landscape and realize we’re in New York. I have been here many times because my father owns a penthouse in Manhattan that we visit often.
We pass the familiar streets, and I’m excited to see where we’re heading.
The cars turn off fifth avenue into the underground car park of a superior apartment block.
As they come to a stop, my door remains closed for at least five minutes before Cesare opens it and peers inside.
“Mrs. Ortega.” He says reverently, indicating I should exit the car, and as I straighten up and stare around at the cold, bleak car park, I shiver inside. It’s like a scene from The Sopranos, because there are men in black everywhere, their expressions set in stone. I can’t even locate the bastard I call husband and wonder if this is just another one of his games.
Cesare directs me to an elevator and, as we step inside, he presses the light for the penthouse, and I resist rolling my eyes and maintain a blank expression.
The air is thick with unspoken words as we make the journey at opposite ends of the elevator and as it stops and the doors open, I regard a modern apartment in neutral colors that appears to survey the whole of the State.
“Mr. Ortega has requested that you remain here until he comes for you.”
I nod and wait for him to walk away before I venture into the apartment. I’m no stranger to wealth. This is similar to my father’s apartment, but for some reason it surprises me that he has the same taste. I’m not sure what I was expecting really, but, in my mind, I suppose I imagined darkened walls and chrome and steel. This is minimalist and chic, and I like it a lot.
I move across to the wall where a table stands, holding a tray of spirits, and I help myself to a glass of red wine from the decanter. I may as well make myself at home, so I take it across to the window and look down on the skyline. It’s certainly impressive and I note the blue sky and trees in full leaf in the park below.
Freedom.
It’s ironic that this is the most freedom I have ever felt now I’m away from under my mother’s watchful eye. I briefly wonder if she is concerned for me at all, or just angry that her well-laid plans are not going as smoothly as she wanted them to.
“Abigail.”
His voice slides down my shivering back and grips my heart, squeezing it until the life flashes before my eyes.
