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Victor scoots down, teeth piercing my ass cheek. “You’re so afraid,chit.Will I sink my cock in your arse on Valentine’s Day, perhaps?”
Nosettles at the tip of my tongue. Last night, the bones in my body felt like they’d implode while I was denied orgasm.Can’t say no.
“We will see,” I snort.
“You will see.”
My fingertips trail over the buttons of my coat. Victor preselected every item of clothing I was permitted to wear today.
I fit in. Perfectly.
Victor escorts me around Tudor Enterprises. The company’s perched on the edge of a cliff, overlooking Arlington like a sore thumb. Nah, a dismembered thumb. The building is like a Sci-Fi movie if the year is 2979 incorporated in the 1800s.
He introduces me to the analysts on his team and then heads off for his monthly morning board meeting, leaving me in what he called the capable hands of his assistant, Monica.
With the short, cropped hair, a pant suit, and army boots, I wonder if she’s aware of his dark hobbies. Sporting a masculine demeanor, she shakes my hand heartily. “It's so very nice to meet you, Miss Whitson, finally. I've heard so much...about you.”
“Really?” I ask. An instant beam graces my face as I follow her to an office with Victor’s initials scrawled in gold on the door.
“Yes. You’re from New York. You own a flower shop. Your father’s Dr. Jonah Whitson.”
“You run background checks on people for Vic, don’t you?” I fake a laugh, though I’m sure I’m spot on.
“I do whatever he pays me to do.” She winks, turning the doorknob to Victor’s office. “Although, I’ve noticed a decline in threats to my position,person, and general well-being since the beast crashed into your world. So, thank—”
Because of her affable demeanor, I eagerly ask the question that’s plagued me. “Will you tell me how Victor’s the Duke of Arlington and not Somerha—”
All the questions swamped in my psyche dissolve at once.
“Who the bloody fuck are you, and how did you get in here?” Monica gasps, flustered. She scowls at a redhead with not a single tan line on the curvy surface of her body. The woman sits spread-eagle on a leather couch smack dab in the middle of Victor’s office.
“Is that jewelry?” I ask.Did this bitch diamond-stud her pussy?
The redhead’s legs fly closed, and she sits up. “You’re not Victor!” she exclaims to Monica with cheeks the same color as her hair. “And you, you aren't Victor.”
Monica moves her hand to the inside of her blazer, boldly indicating that she has a weapon. “Certainly not. I’m head of the security team and wasn’t advised of your arrival.”
“Wait!” she screams.
At this point, a few doors across the hall fly open. They’re all linked to a large conference room. Very powerful-looking men step out. One so happens to bemyVictor.Emphasis on the claiming.
“Please don't call security.” Pulling two designer throw pillows from beneath her, the woman situates them over her breasts anddesignerpussy.
Monica looks over at Victor for a cue.
Victor steps in, closing the doors behind him.
No emotion mars his perfectly sculpted face. “Angelina, what are you doing here?”
“I heard you were in town and coming to the office today.” She waves a hand with a haughty grin.
Flustered but not one to keep quiet, I ask, “Well, where are your damn clothes?”Pathetic? Maybe.Damn it, at least I found my voice.
“Over there.” She points to a trench coat. Victor starts for it.
“Monica, please,” I hiss.
With a sharp nod, she takes the coat from Victor, who offers a cocksure smile before doing an about-face and glancing at the ceiling. Monica strides toward Angelina.
