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CLARA
Iwas in Tatum’s penthouse, wrangling with the new accounting software I couldn’t seem to figure out. Numbers were not my forte, but I was determined to get a handle on a program supposedly made for civilians like me. After pouring hours into trying to figure it out, my frustration was at a boiling point. I wanted to slam the cover of my laptop shut and hurl it across the room.
Realizing I wasn’t getting anywhere, I wrapped up in a cashmere coat, took the penthouse elevator down, and went for a walk. Skirting around the busy traffic of Columbus Circle, I passed a huge silver globe sculpture on my way to Broadway. It was a bright sunny day, despite the cold, so I strolled north toward Lincoln Center. The crisp fresh air helped dispel my frustration, which I realized wasn’t only about the software.
I was falling for Tatum. It wasn’t hard to see why, with his rigid sense of honor, his love and tenderness for his family, his way of taking care of me. But this was uncharted territory for me. I’d never trusted or depended on anyone outside my family or clan before.
Oh, and did I forget to mention I was also addicted to Tatum’s brand of fucking?
Dear God, the way he fucked…like a man stranded in a desert, clutching his last flask of water. If it had simply been a good fuck, I could’ve handled it. If I’d simply lost my virginity, I could’ve handled it. If I was no longer the Virgin Queen, I could’ve handled that, too. But what I couldn’t cope with was how well he handled me. He used every weapon at his disposal—tongue, fingers, cock, and words—with deadly precision and went for the kill. The kill being capturing my heart.
I reached Lincoln Center, with its Christmas tree decorated in blue-white snowflake-shaped lights in the plaza surrounded by three stately buildings. As cold and miserable as I thought the city would be, I couldn’t help but admire the backdrop of the open-air pop-up Christmas market surrounding the tree. The white limestone façade of the Metropolitan Opera House was beautiful in the bright sun, with its five tall arches, large glass windows encased in bronze. The crisp blue sky soared above it, like a block of color in a geometrical abstract painting.
Like this city, Tatum had disarmed me. Broken me. And the worst, the absolute worst part, was that he’d scraped the pieces of me off the floor and put me back together again. In his image. Yes, his image…of me. And that image was bad. Truly bad. It was the image of a woman who sought his approval, who sought out the best way to serve him, to surrender, to submit.
I wandered around the stalls, stopping to get a cup of hot cocoa with whipped cream, and then made my way back to the penthouse.
Until last night, I didn’t realize the depth of this desire. Sure, I’d ached for a man’s touch, but I’d assumed it was because I’d been a twenty-one-year-old, sex-starved virgin. Turned out, the yearning went much deeper.
What was the big deal about feeling this way? Wasn’t this just swapping out one man for another?
No, no it was not. I loved my father, respected him, and yes, I’d been brought up to defer to him, but I wasn’t driven to do his bidding. If I thought something he’d asked of me was wrong, I stood up to him. I already planned to confront him about this Virgin Queen business.
But with Tatum, I yearned, I ached to please him. The drive was like a spike of cocaine in my system. I got high off him and on letting him do whatever he wanted to me. What if it made me weak? What if I wasn’t able to stand up to him? Worst, what if those were unfounded fears and he was perfect?
I naively thought once I’d had sex, I could pick myself up and go on with my life just as before. But he’d demanded so much more than my virginity. He’d demanded my very soul. And I gave it to him, lock, stock, and barrel. I was so confused. Was this good? Was it bad? My body and soul wanted to turn themselves over to him, but my inner bossy bitch told me it was wrong. It was the antithesis of what I should be. I should be the queen everywhere, as much inside the bedroom as out.
I was in the middle of this inner battle as I opened the door of the penthouse. Tatum took one look at me from the couch where he was sitting, stood up, and stalked over to me.
The blast of his forceful personality shot out, enveloping me in the blistering heat of his intensity. Tatum came off as quiet, but it only added to the aura of danger. He was the stealthy type, the kind you had to be careful around. I thrived on knowing I was his Achilles’ heel, as he was mine, but I also resented how a man I used to hate had unexpectedly invaded my life, made me question my values, and turned my world upside down.
“What is it?” he demanded, as he distracted me by stripping my jacket off and dumping it directly on the floor. His broad shoulders and wide chest loomed over me.
“Nothing,” I replied mulishly, glaring up at him. I was acting bratty but couldn’t help myself.
He rocked back on his heels. “You’re lying.” He paused. “Is it your father? Grigore?”
“No,” I snapped. My gaze fell away, and I covered my face, embarrassed by my conduct. “Nothing like that.”
He took my hand and led me to the couch. Sparks exploded on my skin at our point of contact. I withdrew it, or at least tried to, but he tightened his clasp on me. I jerked my hand out of his and fell back, accidently shoving my laptop off the couch. It crashed to the ground, but I couldn’t bother to check if it was still intact.
“I’m not letting you go,” he informed me in a clipped tone that was more growl than gravel. “I’m warning you, that’s never going to happen.”
My spine straightened. “Is that a threat?”
His brows slammed down, his eyes morphing into two black pits.
His hand dove between my thighs, seizing my pussy. “Sweetness, I don’t require threats. I have better methods in my arsenal to subdue you back into the tame little rabbit I own.”
To my embarrassment, I let out a moan.
Oh, God, that felt so good. I needed his touch and his bossy words to anchor me. It was so wrong, but it felt so right.
Fingers tapping my clit, he chuckled darkly. “Baby girl, if you wanted a fight, all you had to do was ask. I’ll match you any day.”
A rush of desire dampened my panties from that one sentence, dammit, which only made me madder. I gritted my teeth. How did he read me so well? He knew my compulsions before I knew them myself.
“You’re ready for your first lesson, I see.” Releasing me, he took a seat beside me, spread his legs open, and pointed to the ground. “On your knees.”
