Page 41 of Forbidden Mistress

And obviously I’ll have to find another consultant to help me get my dad’s company back. Maybe he can recommend another attorney I can talk to?

To distract myself from the wait for him to return, I turn on my heel and look around at the room. It’s large, of course, decorated in pure white linens and natural wood grains. It’s simple, elegant, and a lot more airy than I would have guessed for someone as complex and mysterious as Hart. This is actually more along the lines of something I would pick for myself.

I’m guessing a female interior decorator dressed the room, and Hart just went along with whatever she suggested. But by far the most stunning feature of the room is the floor-to-ceiling glass door that opens out onto a balcony overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It’s dark, but the moon is hanging low in the sky and it casts a long golden glow on the surface of the water. It’s startlingly beautiful.

After admiring the view for far too long, I turn my attention back to the room itself. As the decor is sparse, there isn’t anything personal on the nightstands. And short of going through the drawers, I’m given no clues as to who Hart is as a person. In fact, his office in Beverley Hills is more personalized than this space, and I find that really odd. Wouldn’t his home say something about him personally? The only clue is the artwork hanging on the walls—gorgeous but somber oceanscapes. They’re exquisite, but the mood is lonely. Melancholy, even.

I’m looking up the artist on my phone when Hart walks in, still masked. Without a word, he snaps the door shut and switches the light off. The room is drenched in darkness, except for the pale white glow of the moon. But that is soon blotted out by the automatic blinds that lower to close off the window. Now, I barely distinguish shadows, the most prominent of which is Hart’s large frame stalking toward me.

I’m rooted to the spot.

Finally, I find my voice. “What happened with Willow?” I ask.

When he reaches me, there’s a movement, and I know he’s pulling off his mask and tossing it aside. It’s too dark to make out the distinguishing features of his face and I’m itching to flip the light switch on, but still, I don’t move. I’ve seen his face before, and we’re not inside Obscura, but maybe he still needs to keep that material separation between us? I don’t really know.

He says nothing as he dips his head and takes my mouth in a kiss. There’s an urgency in the way he pulls me close and devours me. His tongue pushes into my mouth, and every thought I had about Willow immediately evaporates. It’s been a few long, agonizing days since he has touched me, and I’m desperate for the feel of his skin on mine.

His hand comes up to cup the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair—always that subtle bid for control. It’s ever-present with Hart, but this time, I’m willing to submit to him. Without taking his lips off mine, he growls, “You look so fucking hot tonight.”

I smile against his lips. I’m a little more curvy than the average woman, and I don’t always feel confident in my body. But I can tell Hart loves my curves. He’s always touching my shapely hips and my large breasts. Sometimes, I feel like he’s worshiping my body—inflicting pain, invoking desire, gifting me with release. His relationship with my body is intense, for sure.

Breaking away suddenly, he steps back. I can hear his breath coming hard and fast, like he’s on the brink of losing control. “I need to fuck you, Cassandra. If you don’t want that, leave now. Leave while I can still let you go.”

I’m equally as breathless when I reply, “And if I don’t leave?”

He shakes his head, his frame still cast in shadow. “Then I can’t account for what I might do.”

Chapter 17

Darkness and Violence

I blink, shocked by his words. No accounting for what he might do?

“What do you mean?” I ask, half-afraid of what his answer will be.

I hear him push out a breath. “I don’t want to hurt you, Little Fawn. But I crave dark things.”

My heartbeat races from fear and…something else. I was afraid he’d say something like this and have a feeling the spanking he gave me days ago is only the tip of the iceberg. But I can’t deny the fact that I need him inside me. He ignites my desire like no other man I’ve ever encountered. So, I need to ask him, find out just how dark his desires run. I need to know the worst of it, so I can make my choice.

“What dark things?” I ask, my voice trembling. I hate that he can probably hear the fear, but I can’t help it. Like I said, open book.

“I crave violence and your ultimate submission.”

The submission, I knew. I’d seen it with Willow. But violence? “Like, what kind of violence?”

It’s a full thirty seconds of heavy silence before he responds. “Choking. Whipping. Bondage...cutting.”

I swallow. “Have you actually ever hurt anyone?”

I need to know how deep this goes.

I feel the motion of him shaking his head. But there’s still hesitation. I can tell this is difficult for him to admit. Not because he’s ashamed—I mean, he’s probably been doing this in Obscura with different subs for years—but because he’s afraid it’ll be too much for me and I’ll run. And honestly, I just might. I haven’t made that decision yet.

“No,” he says. “My subs have all been into it.”

Subs, plural? A stab of jealousy slices through me again. These subs were obviously more suited to whatever he needs sexually. I honestly doubt I can be that for him, especially given my lack of experience.

“Okay, then why would you choose me? I’m not into any of that and obviously not what you’re looking for.” I don’t even try to keep the hurt out of my voice. Why is he even entertaining a three-month fling with me if my usual thing is vanilla?

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