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Well, not in the traditional sense.
I might have to serve my balls up on a platter at some point.
Can’t tell any of that to Debbie.
When he first reached out to offer me a safe house, I asked him what was in it for him.
His answer made me smile.
“Watching those fuckers lose.”
If there’s anything a billionaire enjoys more than money, it’s competition. And when it comes to competing, it can be as pleasurable to deny another person their victory as it is to be the winner.
Another thought, creepy and uncomfortable, filters into my stream of consciousness. As of now, we have three Viking Virgins. Paigelynn and one other are the only matches for an incurable kidney disease. Killing Paigelynn would cause a bidding war by the two families with that condition.
The auction is, in some ways, a formality. Everyone knows who wants what, why they want it, and how much they can afford to spend.
Removing an asset changes the balance of power.
Someone likes change.
“Cam? Mmmm,” Paigelynn groans as she gobbles the plum like she’s teabagging it. Keeping my cock in my pants is going to be increasingly hard – like me – as time passes.
No Basher to kill. No bodyguards to outsmart. No cars to steal. We’re in the ultimate luxury palace and have at least a few days to recover here.
Keeping my hands to myself will be a challenge.
She’s sending me plenty of signals, and I’m not misreading them. Virginal Ms. Paigelynn has the hots for me – whether I’m her king or not – and while I know deprogramming her doesn’t mean deflowering her, if she asks…
Is there really a difference?
“How’s that plum?”
“It tastes like freedom.”
“Then you’re going to orgasm when you have lasagna.”
Her eyes get huge as I say the wordorgasm, cheeks turning pink.
DING!
Saved by the bell.
The glass container has two servings in it, so I grab two plates, another fork, and split it in half, sliding her serving across the counter.
“I’m too hungry to be formal,” I inform her, shoving my fork deep into the dish, hacking off a corner. It’s hot but not enough to burn the roof of my mouth, and as I eat the first bite, I realize I’m starving, too.
While she slept, I had coffee and some toast. This – this is a meal.
Looking at the plate uncertainly, she takes the edge of her fork and cuts off the tiniest amount, giving me a furrowed-brow look.
“You – you’re sure? The Mother won’t yell at me for eating off my program?”
“Has she done that before?” Blind rage turns my vision nearly white.
“Oh, yes. It’s the only time I’ve ever been yelled at.”
“Really?” My heart wants to explode from my chest, find the woman, and strangle her with my left ventricle. Even Debbie doesn’t know the truth.
