Page 33 of The Gambler's Prize
Of course, I know how much he wants me. He made that obvious, the way he dragged me home from dinner at Breta’s. He wanted to be the one to kiss me instead of Prevana. Jealousy is my biggest turn-on. Well, jealousy and being overpowered. I already knew that he was attracted to me. But now he’s showed his hand, and there’s no going back. The fire burning under his stony exterior shocked me. His desire was like something long repressed bubbling up, refusing to be held back any longer. Volcanic, like his eyes.
We can’t go back to normal after this. There’s something between us. Even an asshole like Grimes can’t deny it. Can’t go back to his monosyllables and half-ignoring me. At least, I hope not. Living here with him would be so much more fun if he’d give in to his attraction. I don’t expect him to release me from the servant contract. He’s much too serious about building his gym, too stern. But I don’t care, as long as he looks at me with that fire in his eyes, the way he did as he threw me across his lap. Maybe, eventually, he’ll even let me kiss some of the sternness from his lips. We’ll be going at his pace, obviously. He’s in charge in every way. That’s fine with me. He brings out my subby side harder than anyone I’ve ever met.
I wonder how long he’ll leave me here. I start to get turned on again as I think about it. It’s totally up to him. I have no right to question him. What’s he doing right now? Taking a bath or reading or something while I kneel here, defeated, with a wet patch on my shirt like a scolded little slut. Iama scolded little slut. I was too disobedient earlier at Breta’s, and I pushed him too far. I was asking for it, and I got it.
After weeks of holding me at arm’s length, tonight was the night that the dam broke. And jealousy was the key. He was so angry when he saw me with Prevana, it was a little scary. Maybe that’s why he’s been so against letting me hook up with someone in town, too. He wants me for himself. So why can’t he just let himself have me? He’s still holding back. He still wouldn’t let me get him off. It’s stupid. There’s no reason for us both to be lonely. We’re stuck here together anyway. Why shouldn’t we share more than just work and meals? There’s no one else here, he’s hot, I’m hot… It’s practically a crime for us to stay cold and distant. If he had any sense, we should be sharing a bed.
Maybe it won’t be long until we are. Even a man as strong as Grimes won’t be able to fight that heat between us for much longer.
Minutes pass. I shift my weight. My knees are starting to hurt now but I won’t move. Not until my boss gives the word. I stare at the blank wall, a satisfied smile on my face.
Chapter 14
Grimes
Iwake up with my head slipping off my hand and nearly hitting the kitchen table. I look around wildly at my oil lamp, the half-empty bottle of agram in front of me, then up at the clock. It’s over an hour since I left Florian in the corner. I run into the living room on shaky, agram-affected legs, and sure enough he’s still in exactly the same position I left him, on his knees facing the wall, his back ramrod-straight. The stupid little fool. Hemust be in agony. I stumble over, the room spinning drunkenly. The oil lamp is burning low, casting a dim light.
“Florian, get up for fuck’s sake,” I yell.
He starts at my angry voice, then tries to move, but stumbles. He’s literally trembling with the stress of being immobile for so long. I grab his shoulder and he looks up at me, his gaze strangely intense. Fear makes me angry. I only meant to leave him here for a few minutes until I calmed down.
“Florian, for fuck’s sake, why didn’t you move?” I demand.
“You told me not to,” he says.
“I fell asleep. You should’ve used your common sense. I swear, you aristocrats have no more sense than you’re born with.”
I’m still yelling at him, but in a hushed kind of voice because he seems so vulnerable now. There’s no trace of debauchery in his eyes. I pull him to his feet and he lets out a groan of pain as his legs and spine make their unhappiness felt. I scoop him gently into my arms, sensing his surprise as his arms wrap around my neck, and carry him over to the sofa.
“Is it really bad?” I ask.
“I’ll be okay.” There’s sweat on his perfect, unlined brow. Tiredness etched deep into his youthful face.
“Florian…” I say, at a loss.
“Are you angry?” he says.
“No, I’m just…” I don’t even know what I am. “Did you stay there because you were afraid of what I’d do if you disobeyed me?” I ask softly.
He shakes his head. “I wasn’t afraid to disobey you. I just… didn’t want to.”
There’s still that strangely intent look in his eyes. Coupled with the amount of agram I just drank, it makes me feel overwhelmed. I retreat into practicalities.
“Get that dirty shirt off,” I say.
I go into the kitchen and pour some water from the big jug into a bowl. I bring the water to him, along with a bar of soap and a towel.
“You can get washed,” I say awkwardly.
I run upstairs for a nightshirt for him, thinking ironically that now I’m the one acting like a servant. When I get downstairs he’s all cleaned up. I avoid looking at him as he changes. I also try not to think about his cries of ecstasy as my palm connected with his ass cheek. Is my handprint there right now?
“You need to get some rest,” I say. “Can you manage the stairs?”
He tries to stand, but shakes his head. “Legs are asleep.”
I go to the chest in the corner of the room and grab a blanket, then pull his feet up on the sofa. He lies back with a little sigh, eyes closing. Exhausted. I throw the blanket over him. And now I’m trying not to think about the fact that I’m tucking him in for the night like... like I care about him.
He blinks at me sleepily. “Night, Boss,” he says. His voice is soft. The affection in it fucking terrifies me.
