Deal.
She has no idea what she just agreed to. I could laugh if I wasn’t so fucking furious.
My blood runs hot beneath my skin, pressure building behind my eyes. A tactical error on my part—letting her see that I care enough to be angry. I school my features back to neutral, though my jaw remains tight enough to crack teeth.
Little Miss Take. Every time I think I’ve cataloged all her mistakes, she invents a new one.
She’s standing there, spine straight, chin lifted, like some martyr facing the firing squad. The stubborn defiance in her eyes tells me everything I need to know about why she’s in this position. Too proud to take the money and run. Too naive to understand what’s coming.
Fine. She wants to play the part? I’ll make sure she understands exactly what she’s signed up for.
I stride to the closet, yanking open a drawer with more force than necessary. The wood protests, sliding past its stops. Inside are neatly folded T-shirts—black, white, gray. I select a white one, ball it up, and toss it at her. She catches it against her chest, those wide green eyes following my movements.
“Put this on. No bra.” My voice sounds like gravel under tires. “These fuckers outside? They’re going to be looking at your tits all night anyway. Might as well make them bounce.”
The shock on her face is almost worth it.Almost.
“And don’t give me that fucking virgin schoolgirl look. You want to be my arm candy for Rico’s little party? This is what that means. You’re a decoration, Emmaleen. A fucking accessory.”
I reach for my tie, loosening the knot with practiced efficiency. Her gaze drops to my hands, then back to my face.
When she takes a step toward the bathroom, I move faster, blocking her path with my arm. The wall is cool against my palm as I lean in, close enough to see the freckles across her nose.
“Oh, hell no. You put that on in front of me. That’s what you signed up for, remember?”
I strip my tie off in one smooth motion, slipping it through the collar and letting it fall to the floor. My fingers work the buttons of my shirt methodically, one by one. A performance for her benefit.
She hesitates, then toes off her heels. Her hands tremble as she reaches for the zipper of her skirt, pushing it down her legs without looking at me. Then she’s buying time, folding it with precise movements. Playing for dignity she no longer has.
I don’t help her. Don’t make her more comfortable. Don’t look away, either. This is the consequence she chose.
My shirt joins her skirt on the bed. Then my pants, revealing the knife strapped to my ankle. She looks at it with wide eyes. Like she’s shocked I was armed. I stand before her in black boxer briefs, watching her watch me. The air between us feels charged, dangerous.
When she finally unbuttons her blouse, her fingers fumble on the third button. She’s shaking, face flushed with humiliation as she slides it off her shoulders. The T-shirt goes on quickly, like armor.
“I said no fucking bra. You think those silicone-filled whores out there are wearing underwear? Take. It.Off.”
She turns away, reaches under the shirt, and performs some female magic that extracts the bra without removing the shirt. Meanwhile, I’m looking at her round, smooth cheeks peeking out from either side of the thong riding the crack of her ass.
When Emmaleen turns back to face me, her shoulders squared and chin lifted. The white cotton clings to her curves, outlining every detail I’m not supposed to notice. Her nipples peak against the thin fabric, a physical reaction she can’t control despite the defiance burning in her eyes.
I’ve seen that look before. Saturday night at the hotel, when crystal shattered around her feet and that pompous manager berated her. The same quiet dignity. The same refusal to break.
It’s the wrong fucking move right now.
My cock hardens instantly, blood rushing south with such force I nearly sway. The same reaction I had in the shower that night, when I first imagined having her beneath me. When I planned this entire week.
Her confidence pisses me off. What the fuck does she have to be confident about? She has no fucking idea who Rico is. What he’s done. What he would do to her if I gave him the chance.
“You think this is a game?” I ask, my voice low and dangerous.
She doesn’t answer. Just holds my gaze like she’s my equal. Like we’re negotiating terms.
I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my boxer briefs and drop them to the floor. My erection springs free, heavy and hard between us.
She should be staring. Intimidated. Overwhelmed.
Instead, her eyes remain locked on mine. She deliberately refuses to look down, to acknowledge what’s happening. To fully see me.