Page 19 of Tower

He stood and walked around the table until his chest was butted up against her shoulder. Snaking his hand beneath her long hair, he fisted it and pulled her head back, eliciting a soft yelp.

Bringing his mouth to her ear, he inhaled her scent.

“Temper tantrums don’t work for me. Clean up the mess you made.” He shoved her forward until her mouth hovered over the spillage.

“I hate you,” she said in a harsh whisper.

“That’s fine with me. Now, clean it.”

Her hands flailed behind her, trying to get hold of him, but he snatched up the closest one and pinned it to her back, forcing her to use the other to steady herself over the table.

“Your tongue, Azalea. Clean it up with your tongue.”

She stomped a foot, but it made no difference. She wouldn’t be getting back up until every drop of the coffee was clean and she understood who held the power.

After a long pause, her little pink tongue slipped out, and she ran it over the droplets. It took several licks to clean the area, and by the time she finished, his cock was as hard as the granite tiling of the floor they stood on. It was supposed to be punishment, but she made it as seductive as a striptease—and probably didn’t even know it.

“Good girl.” He pulled her back upright and used his thumb to wipe a bit of coffee from her chin.

She pinched her lips together but didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to, he knew anger when he saw it. But he also knew arousal when he saw it, and her eyes were as dilated as they had been at Tower when she’d watched him whip Cassandra.

“I don’t want to hear another word about going home. If you bring it up one more time, you’ll be punished.”

“Some hero you are,” she ground out.

He chuckled and pressed his lips to her cheek. “I never claimed to be a hero, but I’m not the villain here, either. Now, I have to see to some business. I’ve had a few dresses brought to our room. Shower and put one on. Either stay upstairs, or you can explore the estate. You may not leave. There will be men with you if you go outside, but you may wander the gardens as much as you want. The Annex is off-limits until I can give you the tour myself. Do you think you can handle that?”

“Yes.” She spat the word. He didn’t miss her fisted hands or how tight her jaw clenched, but he wasn’t going to console her yet. The sooner she understood the dynamic, the sooner she’d relax into her new home.

He let go of her hair and smoothed it before stepping away from her. “I know you’re confused, and when I’m ready, I’ll explain everything. For the time being, you’re going to have to trust me.”

“Because so far, you’ve given off that trustworthy vibe.” She folded her arms over her chest, covering her breasts but also pulling the neckline of her dress down enough to give him a peek at the swollen mounds beneath.

“I suggest you start controlling the sarcasm and snark, or I’ll do it for you.” He touched the buckle of his belt, and grinned when her eyes widened. If he touched her, he had no doubt he’d find her wet and wanting, but he wouldn’t. Not yet. Soon.

“More threats.”

“I don’t threaten. I mean what I say. Always.” He lived by his word. His father had embedded that into him from a young age. Never threaten, always deliver, and mean everything you promise. His father had lived by that, and Peter would do the same.

“Don’t you have work to do?” she asked, taking some of the bite out of her tone.

He watched her silently then backed away from her. “Go on.” He waved her off.

Watching her leave the kitchen with her back tense, her hands fisting at her sides, made his own muscles lock up, but he wouldn’t go after her. He’d let her stew for a little while longer. Once he had more answers, when he could start piecing the faded memories together then he could tell her everything.

But not until then.

Until then, she’d learn to follow his lead. She’d obey him, or she’d face the consequences.

Chapter 7

The damn dress fit too snug. Azalea pulled at the hem again. She didn’t like having such tight-fitting clothing. She wanted her cotton dress back. Or some yoga pants. Anything that would cover more of her body.

Where the hell had he gotten these dresses?

Azalea made her way down the staircase to the main floor of the house. She kept herself tucked away all morning and needed to get out of the room. His room. Where everything smelled like him and reminded her of him.

He’d slept with her. She didn’t remember him climbing into bed, but she also didn’t remember falling asleep. The last memory she had of the night before was holding the pillow against her and planning to get up and find a way out of the house as soon as enough time passed from his leaving her.

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