Page 28 of Under Control

Taking her, controlling her, dominating her.

Making her come.

And I know she likes it, even if she’s resisting me.

“Can I admit something? And can you promise not to take it too far?”

“I make no promises.”

She snorts and drinks her wine. “This night wasn’t so bad.”

“I’m happy I exceeded your expectations.”

“It was strange,” she says, glancing around at the other diners. “But not bad.”

“High praise, coming from you.”

“Don’t read too into it. I still plan on ditching you the second you drop me off.”

“Why?” I ask, genuinely curious.

She leans back, cradling her drink in one hand, her elbow in the other. It presses her breasts together slightly and my eyes are drawn to her lips and her chest.

I can’t help myself with her.

Normally, I have better control.

“Because my life is complicated enough already.”

“That’s not it. You know I can solve your problems if you let me.”

She licks her lips. Yes, she knows exactly what I can do for her. It’s something more, something she’s not saying.

“You treat me like I can be bought,” she says, speaking very slowly. The smile in her eyes fades. “My parents treated me like all I was good for was marriage. You look at me like that.”

I consider her words. They make a kind of twisted sense. From her perspective, I must seem like just another traditional, overbearing man ready to lock her in the kitchen and slap an apron over her head.

But she’s so wrong about that.

I don’t want a wife. I need aqueen.

“When you’re my wife, you’ll be free,” I tell her simply.

She shakes her head. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“There will be rules. There will be limits. But you will have even more autonomy than you do now. You won’t have to think about money. You won’t have to think about work.”

“But I’ll beyours,” she says flatly.

“Yes, you will be mine,” I agree.

She looks away toward the bar and doesn’t reply. The conversation fades and I don’t bring it back up again. She finishes her wine and we leave together. As we go, I put my hand on the small of her back, only inches above her firm ass. I notice men and women staring, and I want them to look, even if it drives me fucking crazy with possessive rage.

How dare they look at my queen?

But Karine doesn’t pull away, and I keep my hand on her until she reaches the car. Anton’s already waiting with the divider up and in place, as instructed.

I sit directly next to her on the bench seat in the back. She looks at me, our legs touching. I lay my hand on her thigh, and I’m not trying to be subtle about what I want.

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