Page 16 of Reveal Me
‘Why?’ I still don’t get it.
‘Because I learnt more about what turns me on in twenty minutes than I’ve learnt in my entire twenties. Because I’m sick of being treated like a fragile flower, whose sole purpose is to look good, or to make my family look good. I’m sick of boring sex with “‘suitable suitors”. I want something real, raw…before I’m married off into a life of diplomatic dinners and breeding royal fucking robots to carry on the lineage.’ There’s that defiance again. It’s in the straightening of her spine, the way she holds herself. She knows who she is. She knows what she wants. But she has no idea of the ways I would test her limits.
‘It’s not going to happen, Princess.’ I unhook my coat from the chrome hook on the back of my door and hold it out to her. She swats it out of my hands, and it falls to the floor.
‘Quite the secret society you’ve got going on down here.’ The threat in her tone is unmistakable. Her chin juts out as her eyes lock with mine.
‘Are you threatening me?’ Un-fucking-believable.
‘Not exactly,’ she purrs, leaning into whisper in my ear, like we’re not the only two people in the room. The scent ofher perfume wafts into my nostrils. I inhale sharply as it hits me with unexpected force. It’s nothing like the predictably pretty fragrances I’m accustomed to. This is something altogether more complex. She smells like danger and temptation in equal measure.
If she were my submissive, I’d tie her to this desk and fuck her hard enough to remind her who’s in charge around here—and she’d love every fucking second of it. But she’s not mine. And she can never be.
‘I’m just saying it would be a shame if knowledge of this establishment were to get back to your family, or perhaps even the press.’ She makes a show of examining her nails, like she didn’t just threaten to blow my world apart.
‘And what about your own reputation? How would it look if I were the one to go to your family, or the press?’
She laughs then, pressing one hand to her bare chest. ‘Do you read the papers? The Queen is hell bent on setting me up with someone–anyone–with the right title. I’ve been trying to ruin my own reputation for years in order to avoid being married off to some boring, balding heir to a throne—not a leather one either.’ Our eyes meet again, and the air short circuits between us. The chemistry is palpable. She’s threatening me, and yet I still can’t stop thinking about fucking her. ‘Do it—I dare you.’
‘You’re seriously blackmailing me?’ I shake my head. ‘What is it that you want, exactly?’
‘I want to be your submissive. Grant me access to your club for three months. Educate me on this way of life,’ she cocks her head to the side, ‘and I won’t say a word about it to anyone—ever.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘Then you’ll be on the front page of every tabloid ever printed before the sun even comes up.’
The little witch.
Chapter Eight
LAYLA
Blackmail isn’t in my nature, but then again, up until half an hour ago, neither was getting turned on by crawling across the stage in an audition to be a billionaire’s submissive. What I saw tonight, what I experienced, made me feel more alive than I’ve felt in my entire life. There’s no way in hell I can scurry on back to Ardmore Castle and pretend it didn’t happen. Not when it’s the most exciting—and oddly liberating— thing to happen to me, given that I’d be surrendering all control?—.
Silence stretches between us. If looks could kill, I’d be bleeding out on the floor right now. That strong square jaw ticks. He folds his arms across his broad chest. ‘I still don’t think you understand what you’re asking for.’ The resentment in his tone is real. It doesn’t faze me. I’m used to being resented by my parents—for the very same reason—I want to live as I choose–experience exciting new things.
‘I do.’ My eyes fall to his lips. His perfect cupid’s bow. The full bottom lip that his perfect white teeth are digging into. ‘I want to be your submissive. And I want you to treat me how you treat every other submissive.’
‘Did you read the contract?’
‘No. I didn’t get one. I arrived, was mistaken for “number three” by a cross-looking woman with red hair, and saw an opportunity, and took it.’ I shrug, thrumming my nails on the desk behind me. ‘Look, you have a position to fill, and I’m looking to explore. I can keep the mask on anytime we’re in there. I’ll be summoned back to London in a couple of months anyway. What’s the problem?’
‘The problem is you’re attempting to blackmail me into doing unspeakable things to you.’ He flexes his fingers.
My core clenches. ‘Unspeakable sounds unparalleled.’
‘It can be,’ he concedes. ‘Look, we both got a shock tonight. Let’s not rush into anything drastic.’ He changes tack, flashing a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. I can read him like an open book. Mr Beckett believes he can negotiate with me. It would be funny if it weren’t so insulting. I was raised by the Queen of England—who also happens to be the Queen of Manipulation. I learned to spot a deflection before I learned to curtsy.
‘I’ll get you a copy of the contract. You can take it back to Ardmore. Spend a few days going through it, and then we can discuss this again when you fully understand what you’re signing up for.’
I roll my eyes. ‘You mean, the second you get me out of the front door, I haven’t got a hope in hell of getting back in?’
‘I have a better suggestion.’ His face dips closer to mine, temptingly close. ‘Come to my place for dinner. That way we can discuss things properly. Away from prying eyes.’
My curiosity piques. I’d love nothing more than to access his personal space. I bet it’s dark and brooding and masculine, like him.
It’s the best offer I’ve got since I arrived in this perpetually damp, windy country, but I make a show of thinking about it anyway. ‘Fine.’
