Page 44 of Prized Possession

“You didn’t answer the question. What type of wine isyourfavourite?” I ask, stressing that this is about her.

Her face scrunches up, like she’s wincing. “Well, I like either. I will drink whatever you decide to open.”

I shake my head as I stalk over to her, purposefully keeping my strides slow so she can see me coming. She’s frozen to her spot in the kitchen, and I’m thankful she’s already taken the pasta off the stove and placed it onto our plates, as it would be burning right about now.

Her eyes are fixed on my slow deliberate movements, stopping only when I’m right in front of her. I’m so close, I hear the small intake of breath when I stop in front of her, my fierce gaze fixed on hers.

“This is not a difficult question, Mio. I don’t give a shit about what you think the right answer is, or whatever the hell you were saying about trying to please me… All I want to know is what your favourite wine is,” I growl, loving the way she trembles as my breath flutters across her face.

If I take one tiny step forward, she’d be able to feel how hard I am for her,and I’d be able to touch her lips with mine, to see if they’re as soft as they look. But I keep myself frozen to the spot, waiting for her to answer.

“Sorry,” she mutters, her gaze dropping down to the floor, so she doesn’t have to make eye contact with me. “I’m so used to just doing whatever I’m told, or what other people want. I can’t remember the last time someone asked me what I like.”

Her voice is so small, and that murderous rage begins to flare to life under the surface, making me want to go back to her family home, so I can punish every last person who made her feel less than she is.

“Do you even like wine?” I ask through gritted teeth.

She quickly nods, though she still doesn’t lift her head to meet my gaze. So I place my fingers under her chin and lift until she has no choice but to make eye contact with me.

“I do. I actually prefer rosé, but I drink any,” she mumbles, her eyes flicking around slightly before she finally holds my gaze, pulling her shoulders back just a touch, like she has found a little of her confidence.

I can’t help but smile at her honesty. “I like rosé too. I have a nice bottle that I think you’ll like. Sit and I’ll grab it,” I say, pointing to the table before I head to the corner of the kitchen, where I keep a wine rack.

I scan the rows of wine, landing on the bottle I was thinking about. On my way to the table, I grab two wine glasses and the corkscrew before taking my seat opposite Chloe.

She’s already placed the food and has taken her own seat, though she appears to be waiting for me before she starts to eat.

The smells in the kitchen are amazing, and they’ve become even better once all the food is together on the table. My mouth is almost watering, and not just from the gorgeous girl with dark hair and stupidly short shorts.

“This smells delicious,” I tell her with a smile as I uncork the wine.

After doing the bullshit test that you see posh twats like my father do, despite having no clue what the hell I’m looking for, I deem the wine to be fine and hand a glass of the rosé over to Chloe. She doesn’t even bother with the theatrics, and just takes a small sip instead.

A low moan breaks from her lips over the rim of the glass, and it hits me straight in the dick. “You’re right, this is so good.”

“I like hearing you say that I’m right,” I joke, and Chloe rolls her eyes at me, picking up her fork to begin eating her pasta.

I have to drop my gaze. I can’t focus on my own food when I’m watching her cheeks hollow as she sucks a string of pasta into her mouth, or the way her tongue licks the sauce off her lip. My dick throbs painfully, and I have todiscreetly use my hand to adjust myself, so I can make it through this meal without blowing my load in my boxers.

“Is now a good time to have the security talk you mentioned this morning?” Chloe asks after taking another sip of her wine.

I wince, hoping I could delay things a little longer before having this particular argument. Jake used to tell me stories about how much she hated her security, and the rebellious phase she went through where she’d lose them at every available opportunity.

“We can…” I start, sounding just as hesitant as I feel. “What are you used to?”

“Back home, we had the main security staff that guarded the house in general, though we were free to move around the house without having anyone follow us. Naturally, my father has significantly more security than the rest of us.

“Whenever I’d go out, I had a couple of guards who were specifically assigned to me, and they’d be with me whenever I left the house. They’d have to stay with me at all times,” she explains, sounding annoyed.

“I think that’s pretty standard for most people in our line of work,” I reply with a shrug of my shoulders.

“You don’t have guards in your house,” she snaps.

“That’s because I own the whole building. I have guards covering every possible entrance, and you need a fingerprint to get in the garage and the lift, so there’s no way anyone who shouldn’t be in the building is getting in. Plus, I have CCTV that’s constantly monitored, and plenty of security that can be in my flat in seconds, if I need them,” I reply, watching as her eyes grow wider.

“You own the whole building?” she asks incredulously.

I chuckle at her look of bewilderment. “Yes, I do.” I pause as she shakes her head in disbelief, though I’ve no idea how she didn’t know this already. “So you’re used to having guards with you when you go out?”

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