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"Everything. Everything you did. Everything you do. How you treat my body like it’s your possession. How you order me around. How your voice goes all deep and dominating when you order me around. How you eat me out like it’s your favorite dessert."
"It’s better than that," I admit.
"How you squeeze my tits like it's your favorite sport."
"It’s more thrilling, actually."
"How you look at my butt like it’s not disgusting."
"It’s not."
"But I’m so big. All my life, I’ve been teased about it. It’s why my stepmother and stepsisters didn’t want anything to do with me. They acted like I was contagious. Like if they ate with me, or spent time with me, they’d become fat, too."
"And if I ever meet them, I’ll set them straight. How dare they shame you like that."
"For a while, I thought I was contagious, too, you know? I’d hide in my room. I wouldn’t eat in front of anyone. That old thing about a fat person caught eating…" Her eyes gleam with unshed tears.
"And your father never did anything?"
"He was never around. He was drowning his sorrows in his work," she admits.
"Just for that, I should hold back from this merger. I shouldn’t transfer the funds he needs to save his company."
"No, don’t do that." She reaches out and touches my shoulder, and a shot of lust zips to my groin. I move away, only because if I don’t, I’m likely to unsnap her seatbelt and haul her over to me, and I don’t want to ravish her here, in the front seat of a car. Also, I wouldn’t be able to stick to my plan of edging her. I wouldn’t be able to hold back, and I must. I need to bring her body to the brink, and then hold back, and do it over and over again, so when she finally comes, the orgasm will be the single most moving experience she’s ever had. Which means, I need to hold myself back, too.
Her features crumple, and I know she thinks it’s because I don’t want to touch her, but that’s so far from the truth it’s laughable. I should set her mind at ease, but I also know if I don’t, when I finally touch her, it’s going to be doubly pleasurable. So, I school my features into a mask and narrow my gaze on her.
"Give me one reason I shouldn’t teach that man a lesson. A man who stood by and let your life be turned into a living hell. A man who didn't hesitate to barter you."
She winces again, then sets her jaw. "Because…I would never forgive myself if his business fell apart because of me. It’s his life. Besides, all of those employees depend on him for support. I will not be responsible for them losing their livelihoods."
I stare at her. And keep staring. The seconds tick by. She shifts in her seat, looks away, then back at me. Sitting here, in this enclosed space with her, her scent intensifies by the minute, and my cock extends by the second. My pants are so tight, I’m sure I won’t be able to walk properly, and I need to, if I need to get her in safely.
"Fine," I snap.
"Fine?" She blinks.
"You want me to go through with the takeover of your father’s company; I’ll do it."
Then, I push the door open and step out. Pausing only to adjust myself, I walk around and open the door to her side. "Coming?"
45
Mira
"A lighthouse?" I gape at the structure looming above us. I was so absorbed in him I didn’t notice where he'd stopped. I didn’t even notice the building when I got out of the vehicle. He held out his hand to help me, and I hesitated before taking it, given his reaction earlier. But he stands there, his features unmoving, his body stiff, and I know he’ll stand there for hours, days if needed, until I take his hand. So I do.
Shockwaves scatter up my arm. I feel him tense further, the muscles of his forearm flexing under the ever-present suit he wears. Then, he tugs lightly and helps me to my feet. Small dots of snow float down and only melt when they touch my cheeks. A wave crashes against the shore. The sound is wild and desolate, but also welcoming. A contradiction. Like him.
"Come on." He begins to lead me over the rocky path toward the edifice standing sentry over us. It’s lit by a single spotlight from the ground. It turns the tower into something out of a painting.
"Wow." I blink. "This is your secret hideaway?"
"I come here at least once a month, to get away from it all."
How like him it is. A building that has the ability to warn sailors, to look out over the sea and surrounding land, to spot a storm before it hits. To stay tall, silent, unwavering in the face of challenges. To persevere. And cut a romantic figure. If there were ever a personification of Edward brought to life, it would be this lighthouse.
We reach the door at the bottom, and he lets go of my hand long enough to punch in a few buttons on the keypad set into the wall. Of course, he has an electronic lock, paranoid as he is about security. The door unlocks with a click; he walks in, hits a switch, and lights come on. I take in the spotless space—a surprisingly spacious hallway, with the walls painted white, a carpeted floor, and two chairs pushed up against the far wall with a window between them.
