Page 75 of His to Possess
She smiles at me, looking shy but also really damn proud of herself. I’m proud of her, too. More proud than I can say.
“Don’t clean up,” I tell her. “And don’t wear panties to the restaurant. I want you wet and thinking about me all day.”
“Yes, sir,” she whispers.
I could sit there and look at her dreamy, satisfied face for hours, but my cock desperately needs me to take care of matters. And there’s also the fact that I do, in fact, have work. So we say our goodbyes and I resist the urge to say fuck it to my day and go home to her.
I’m in a much better mood after a quick trip to my private bathroom. How could I not be? It took me about three seconds to explode but I’m sure I’d have zero problem getting hard again right now if I saw her. Never in my life have I considered what it would be like to have a woman waiting at my penthouse, but today I can barely sit still with the prospect of coming home to Lilah.
I send a quick text off to the submissive of one of my friends at Wyld, asking if she has room to fit Sabrina in for a massage at the end of the day at the spa she owns—the same spa I sent Lilah to on Monday. If I’m going to apologize to my secretary for my bad behavior, I may as well go all out.
I should send Lilah in for another massage, another day of pampering at the spa. I picture her coming home to me, skin all pink from treatments, body boneless and languid from a good massage.
But then I remember that the spa employs several male masseuses and the idea sours in my stomach. Another guy’s hands on my girl’s skin is completely unacceptable.
And I’m allowed to make those decisions,I think, fierce satisfaction ringing through me. Lilah wants to learn to be submissive to me. Lilah wants to try.
And I’m damn sure going to make sure her effort is worth it.
It’s much easier to work after that. Sabrina is pleased when I forward her the info about her massage and the rest of the staff stops looking at me like they’re afraid I’m going to bite their heads off. I pound through the afternoon’s work, meetings with my team and calls with investors. Calvin Wynn, the little bastard I met in New York, has decided to invest with us, and I make sure everything is set up for him. It ends up being one of the most profitable work days I’ve had in quite some time and between that and the promise of seeing Lilah soon, I’m feeling pretty damn good. So good that I decide to abandon work at five, something I never do.
My buzz is dampened by the call I get just before leaving the office. “Can you talk?” Jane asks in her brisk, no nonsense manner.
“Sure. Do you have new info?”
She’s quiet for a beat, just long enough for my heart to drop out of my chest. Jane doesn’t pause. Jane doesn’t collect herself or search for words. She’s never measured or careful. What the hell did she find?
“The stepfather is a real asshole,” she finally says, and my heart drops another foot.
“What kind of asshole are we talking?”
Another pause. Fuck. “He’s spent a lot of money covering his tracks,” she finally says. “That’s why it took me so long.”
“What the fuck did he have to cover?”
“Three charges over the last five years,” she says. “Two employees and one waitress. All three claimed sexual assault. He paid a lot to get them to drop charges and even more to get his record cleaned out.”
Fuck. Lilah’s stepfather is a fucking predator?
“What else?” I bite out, my temper already stretched to the max but sure there’s more.
“Several trips to the Philippines—where his company has no footprint.” So he wasn’t going there for work. It’s not too hard to imagine what else he might be doing in a country popular with Westerners for sex tourism.
“Can you get anything on that?” I ask, even though I doubt I really want to know. It’s a special kind of asshole who would cross international borders to be able to take advantage of women. Probably young women. Damn it.
“I can look, but it will take a while.”
“Do it.” She’s quiet for a moment, long enough that I wonder if she might have ended the call. “Jane?”
“The three girls who filed charges were all nineteen,” she says. “I also found some records from escort services. He made the same request each time—teens only.”
My fist clenches against my desk. Just who you would want your twenty-year-old daughter to live with—a fucking sex criminal with a penchant for young women. What in the hell was her mother thinking?
“I got my hands on the books for one of these places,” she says, her voice a shade harder. Jane soundspissed. “He made special requests for the girl. Wanted a brunette, no taller than five three. Pale complexion. Blue eyes.” I can hear her swallow. “Specifically asked for a girl with messy curls.”
My entire body goes cold. Lilah’s stepfather was hiring prostitutes who looked like her.
“Fuck,” I bellow, not caring if anyone outside my office can hear me.
