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That amuses Marius. “Is Dez running that tight a ship?” he asks.
Markus turns on his heels. “She doesn’t have to. I’ll look into the Clark boy. Check your fucking phone, Rio.”
Rio. That doesn’t suit this man at all. It’s too warm, too cute—like a little boy’s nickname. He’s all Marius, to me. Cold as a stone, an ancient statue, and just as heartless.
18
SARAH
“What am I gonna do with you?” he asks when his brother’s footsteps fade.
Letting me go sounds like a great idea. He doesn’t have his excuse anymore. But we both know that whatever his reason, he did everything he did to me today because he wanted to.
“You took long enough, but you did talk. I like to reward good behavior.”
“I’m not a fucking dog!” I groan. “Let me go.”
“In a moment, your highness.”
I flush.
In truth, I always assumed it was an insult, a way of reminding me that although I was here with him and his peers, I didn’t belong; he called me the opposite of what I am. I don’t have money, connections, or an impressive name, while they’re at the very top of the pyramid, modern-day monarchs.
You hold yourself like you’re royalty.
I don’t think I’ve ever had that sort of praise; the kind that doesn’t seem forced, or given with expectations of receiving something in return. Men have called me beautiful when they wanted me to blow them. If Marius wants something from me, he takes it. His compliment was entirely without agenda.
I don’t know what to make of it, but it’s hardly the most important issue at the moment.
“Why aren’t you letting me go?” I grit between my teeth. “You know I didn’t post the damn video.”
Marius tilts his head, his ice-blue eyes dancing with amusement. “Keep up. I owe you a reward, don’t you remember?”
My eyes widen, and I feel my cheeks flush under my skin.
He can’t mean—
I flinch as he steps in closer.
I distinctly remember exactly what he said to me mere moments ago.
Tell me who you think would frame you and I’ll make you come.
He can’t mean to do that. Not after learning I’m innocent. It was just manipulation, teasing, humiliation—tricks he tried to bring me to heel. It would be insane. The commonsense thing would be to let me go.
But the quasi-stranger who spent the better part of the last two hours torturing me isn’t exactly what one would call the best example of sanity.
Marius gets to his knees right in front of my armchair. His big hands move to my legs, and I immediately shut them, squeezing as hard as I can.
“Don’t!” I squeal. “You can’t—”
“I’m a man of my word, Sarah. You and I both know you’re desperate for relief.”
I shake my head, my eyes closing. I make myself ignore the heat pooling between my legs and the shivers running across my skin. It doesn’t matter what my body craves. I don’t want this. I can’t want this. Marius has shown me he’s one of the worst people I’ve encountered, which in my case is saying a lot. I refuse to even acknowledge my desire.
The asshole parts my legs with embarrassing ease, given the fact that I’m closing them as hard as I can, using all my muscles. His biceps flex, showing off a defined musculature worthy of an ancient Greek sculpture, but I don’t see any sign of effort on his face as he pushes them apart, pinning them against the armrests.
“Marius…”
