Page 5 of Call It What You Want
I forgot how fucking stubborn this girl can be.
And damn if that doesn’t turn me on.
Shifting back, I look down at her and let out a breath. She wants to know why I’ve kidnapped her. Of course, she’d want to know. But telling her the truth isn’t a fucking option, so I settle for a vague non-answer instead.
“You’re here because I want you here,” I say, matter-of-fact. “That’s reason enough.”
The pure, undiluted fury in her eyes is instantaneous. “You’re a fucking cunt, you know that? I can’t just disappear from my life to fulfill some kind of sick fantasy of yours. I have a job, bills, rent to pay, people to—” Wisely, she stops herself short of mentioning Mr. Manbun. She’s lucky I haven’t already snapped his neck.
“Fuck rent,” I say with a shrug. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry—?” She cuts herself off again with a scoff. “Wow. Spoken like a true rich boy. I doubt my landlord would be cool with me just saying ‘fuck rent.’”
My jaw tightens. I hate revealing shit that I’ve worked hard to conceal, but if I don’t admit to this one thing, she’ll never let it go.
“I own the building,” I say. “So, yeah, I’m telling you not to worry about it.”
She snaps her mouth shut and pulls her head back in shock. “What?”
Three years ago, she told me to get the fuck out of her life, and I did. Mostly. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been watching, keeping tabs on her. And when Ava moved into that shitty apartment last year, I made a generous offer on the building—way over market value—and predictably, the owner took me up on it.
I shrug. “My tax guy keeps telling me to invest.”
“Youboughtmy building? What the….?” Then something seems to occur to her, and she glances up at me, her eyes wide. Almost slightly panicked. “You’ve been stalking me…”
“I guess that depends on your definition of stalking…” I say evenly.
“How do you have so much time? Aren’t you going to school or something?”
“I took the semester off,” I say.
Between the article dropping and everything happening with Ava, I knew I wouldn’t have the time—or the focus—for class.
Her mouth parts, and I can tell her mind is working a mile a minute. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s taking inventory of her life right about now, trying to figure out how much I know.
While I wait for her to say something, I watch her closely, hands flexing at my sides. I know it’s not intentional on her part, but she looks hot as fuck right now.
Several strands of her shoulder-length brown hair have escaped her low bun and frame her beautiful, oval-shaped face. Her Isca waitress uniform—black slacks and a white button-down—looks just slightly too small for her. The buttons of her shirt strain against her breasts, which seem ever fuller now, three years later.
I wonder if they taste the same.
A weighted silence hangs between us until finally, her eyes shift to the door for a split second before returning to my face. Ah, my baby girl. I know exactly what she’s planning, and honestly, she wouldn’t be the Ava I know if she didn’t at least try.
A split second later, she launches off the bed and makes a run for the door. She doesn’t make it three steps before I grab her, my hand clamped over her mouth.
She struggles against me—of course, she does—her screams muffled behind my palm. I tug her more tightly against me, her plump ass brushing against my crotch in a way that brings every villainous thought roaring back to life. I’m already rock hard, and I’ll fuck her into compliance if I have to.
That might be fun, actually.
Roughly, without removing my hand, I push her against the wall. She has enough sense to look scared, tears welling up in those wide green eyes, nostrils flaring.
“Bad, bad girl,” I whisper, dipping my head to speak directly into her ear. She’s breathing rapidly, and I can practically feel her heartbeat thundering between us. “I can’t have you trying to escape. I’m going to have to punish you now.”
She shakes her head frantically, the movement constrained by my hand.
“No?” I ask, something in my chest swelling, growing. I fucking love having her like this—pinned against the wall, at my mercy. Three years have felt like an eternity without her in my life, and now it’s like something savage and primitive is stirring awake inside me. “And why should I show you any mercy?”
She blinks back the tears and says something, but it’s too muffled to understand, so I peel my hand back, wet from hersaliva. If she tries to scream, I swear to God, I can’t be held responsible for what I do next.
