Page 11 of Secret Confession
I narrow my gaze at her, wondering why she’s asking me this question. “Not that I’m aware of. Why have you not asked your brother, or my son?”
She lets out a huff, rolling her eyes as she says, “Miles is far too overprotective of me, and he shuts me out ‘for my own good’.” Her sneer and the air quotes she creates with her fingers tells me she isn’t happy about this.
“You don’t like being left out.” I frame it as a statement more than a question, but she answers me anyway.
“I’m not a child, and I don’t want to be treated like one.”
I can’t help the way my eyes narrow on her, and I don’t even need to look to know they’ll have taken on a darker colour, as I’m reminded of Courtney’s age.
“You may not be a child, but you’re barely an adult. You shouldn’t get mixed up in our world any more than is necessary. You’re far too innocent for that.”
Courtney glares at me, looking very much like she’s about to argue with me, so I breathe a sigh of relief when the door opens and our server walks in, carrying our food.
As we eat, I decide to keep the discussion to more deliberately neutral topics. I ask her trivial things about her life, about university, and about how she’s liking being at the Mansion. I find myself craving each of her responses, nolonger seeing them as trivial, as I’m desperate to learn anything and everything about Courtney Gibson.
On more than one occasion, she looks like there are things she wants to ask me too, but she holds back. Anything she does ask is simply a repeat of the question I posed to her, rather than her asking what she clearly wants to know.
Once we’ve finished our dessert, and they bring in our after dinner drink, I decide the time for skirting around is over. I have been waiting all night to have this conversation, and as she’s made it clear she won’t be the one to bring it up, I decide to address the elephant in the room.
“Maybe we should discuss your most recent bout of rule breaking?” I say casually, loving the way she freezes, her glass hovering just below her lips as her eyes widen almost comically. “Was there a reason you entered my wing of the house, despite being told it was off-limits?”
She’s clearly startled by my directness, after spending the last hour engaged in random pleasantries, and as she places her glass down on the table, she stutters whilst struggling to find her words.
“I-I… I-I mean, I…” She pauses and draws in a ragged breath, trying to pull herself together, before her words rush out. “Sorry, won’t happen again.”
The side of my lip lifts into a small smirk as I take in the flush on her cheeks. “What I’m wondering is why you stuck around for so long when you knew you’d been caught?”
“I don't know,” she whispers, dropping her gaze to stare at where she’s tightly clutching her wine glass, instead of making eye contact with me.
“Look at me,” I state firmly, my authoritative tone making the words seem louder than they actually are. My smirk grows when she quickly makes eye contact with me again. “If you can look me in the eye while I’m coming down another girl’s throat, you can do so while I’m talking to you.”
Her mouth falls open in shock, but she stays quiet. No matter how much she may want to, she doesn’t look away. Her cheeks flush more, and the rise and fall of her chest has become erratic, confirming she’s just as affected by this as I am.
I lean in closer to her, trying to ignore how her strawberry and coconut scent seems to make my head spin. When I finally get the words out, my voice is deeper and huskier than I expected. “Did you like what you saw?”
She pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth, and since she’s unable to vocalise her response, she settles for a shy nod.
“Did you wish it was you on your knees?” I ask, not able to stop myself from picturing what she’d look like kneeling before me, her beautiful blue eyes staring up at me.
I watch her throat bob as she gulps, staying quiet. I know this is edging into dangerous territory, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I give her a firm glare, making it clear I expect her to answer me aloud, and I wait for her to find the courage she needs to respond.
“You said she’s one of many whores, and is easily replaceable. How many do youhave?” The words rush out, and she quickly slams her lips closed once she’s finished, like she didn’t mean to say that.
I’m a little caught off-guard too. Out of everything she saw and heard last night, any question she could have asked me, why was this her priority?
I’m not sure she wants—or is ready to hear—the true answer, so I settle for a vague version of the truth. “A few, why?”
She ignores my return question, responding with one of her own instead. “Why do you have a few? Why not just one?”
I shrug, trying my best not to sound like an arsehole as I give her an honest answer. “Each one offers something different.” She scrunches up her nose in displeasure, like my answer offended her, and I can’t help but say, “Why do you ask?”
She pulls her shoulders back, like she’s trying to appear a bit more confident. “You asked if I wanted to be the girl on her knees for you. In the moment, I did. But I’d never be one of several whores. That’s just not my thing.”
Even though she sounds certain, there’s no denying she’s more inexperienced than she’s letting on, so I can’t help but ask, “Have you ever tried it?”
She shakes her head, her resolve not wavering. “No, but I know enough about myself to confidently say I wouldn’t like to share in a situation like that.”
My lips lift into a smirk as I say, “But the other things you saw, you would like them?”
