Page 58 of Double Down
“Atticus?” I prompt.
“She’s right,” he says. “The bastard’s charging us for a few thousand glass straws for both the Bourbon Room and the steakhouse. Easy two grand a month.”
“Call the vendor back and ask for Ashley,” Phoenix says. “She’s Marvin’s boss and has no idea what he’s pulling. She’ll get you a good deal…and fire Marvin if that’s what you want.”
“Why didn’t you tell us before, Kitten?” Atticus asks.
“Before, it wasn’t your problem,” she shrugs. “They weren’t stealing from you. They were stealing from your parents. And I don’t know if you’re aware, but we’ve all been really busy the last week or so.”
I thumb the remote back on. She jumps—back rigid, teeth gritted.
“Well, that’s helpful. Thank you, Kitten,” Atticus says.
“Anything else you need, Atticus?” I ask.
“No. Programs are running, and the office will be wired to my specs tomorrow. I’m going to crash for a few hours.”
“Sleep well.” I end the call and turn to Phoenix.
Her nails are set into the wood. I consider adding the little half-moon gouges to her list of punishments, then decide I like them. Every time I see those divots, I’ll think of her naked in that chair, under my control, fighting not to come.
“Princess.”
“Yes?” Her voice is a high, strained whine.
“Do you want to come?”
“Yes. Yes—please.”
“Don’t. Not yet. Hold it. Mav isn’t here. And this is his punishment. Do not come.” I push the vibration higher on her clit. She gasps. I can see her thighs clench, her shoulders bow, and her fists knot as she struggles. “Don’t do it. Hold it back. Be a good girl. Be strong for me, princess.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.” I’m not asking. She knows it.
“Please,” she cries, shaking. “I can’t, I can’t… I’m going to?—”
“Don’t you dare. Make me proud, Phoenix. Do not come.”
I count in my head.One…two…three…four…five.
Her face flushes, brows knitting in concentration, jaw locked. She’s perfect like this.Mine.
The entire world—myworld—is going to shit. Things I can’t control detonate around me, and there isn’t a goddamn thing I can do about it. I’m forced to be reactive instead of proactive, and it’s driving me insane. I can’t control my father. I can’t control the wannabe mobster with a hard-on for us.
There is, however, one thing I can control—a single thing that bends and doesn’t break.
Phoenix.
She’s mine, and she knows it. She’ll obey, even if it destroys her.
“Conrad,” she cries. A single tear slips free, tracks down her red cheek to her delicate jaw. It quivers there—hangs, trembling with her entire body.
I can’t answer her, too consumed by the pleasure and pain I see on her face.
“Conrad,” she pleads again. I wait, watching that tear.
When it finally falls, I cut the vibrator. She sags into the chair, boneless with relief.
