Page 47 of Wilt

“You—”

“I wanted to thank you for that blow job. Coming down your sweet throat was heaven.” This I say loud enough to be recorded. “Now sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”

I pull the covers up further, and when she stills, falling back asleep or pretending to—I really don’t give a fuck—I get up and get my phone, switching the video off.

When I get back to my room, I watch it.

How can I not? I stroke myself to orgasm as I do, the need too great, too insistent to deny. After I clean up, I watch it again.

It’s hot.She’sfucking hot, and it shows her clearly. She comes across as someone who’s into me, who wants me. It looks like we do this all the fucking time.

I select Finnegan’s number and load the video, hesitating before making myself press send. If her father wants proof, he has it. He can make of it whatever the fuck he wants. I’ve no doubt Finnegan’s going to go utterly ballistic, but beyond that, I’ve no idea how he’s going to respond.

Maybe the reason Derek never found Steph and Thorne was because he didn’t give a shit. Who knows and who the fuck cares? There’s just one thing I know: Finnegan loves his property, and he doesn’t ever share his toys. To him, that’s what all the people he deems his are.

Maybe he doesn’t give a shit that he still has a daughter, but he’ll definitely care about me, his enemy, touching the woman he thinks might be.

“Game on,” I say to no one. “Game fucking on.”

Chapter17

Rosalind

Iwant to say last night was a dream, but it wasn’t. Even then, I’m not sure that dream is the right word.

Nikolai was there. In my bed. There’s a fresh mark on my breast and throat from him, and my pussy is still wet. I begged him to touch me.

Sitting up, the realization something is different comes over me. It’s not the fact that I’ve given in a little, admitting I wanted what happened in my bed, in his, not the fact I want it all again.

It’s something else.

It takes a moment.

The blind is pulled up a little, letting more morning light than usual pour in. I haven’t bothered pulling it up because what kind of caged bird really wants to see the outside world it can’t get to?

Not me.

The door? I turn. My heart beats faster. The door is open and draped on the edge of the bed is a red dress. Getting up, I run into the shower, washing off last night before I pull on the dress. It’s another number with buttons all the way down the front, this one is more fitted, shorter than the floral one. Folding his shirt, I think of flinging it to the floor, but all that’s going to do is invite needless trouble. I want to get out of here, not stay his prisoner, no matter how much I seem to crave his touch.

My body. Not my mind. It’s just flesh wanting flesh. That’s all.

I make my way out of my room and down the stairs, and when I get to the large foyer, I can see the alarms on the front door are armed. My room might be unlocked, but I don’t think anything else is. As much as I want to explore and test my new boundaries, Nikolai isn’t an idiot. He’s not going to forget a lock.

The smell of food draws me to the dining room, and my pulse skips at the sight of Nikolai, dark and devastatingly handsome in a suit, sitting in his usual spot at the table’s head, the morning paper folded next to him as he drinks his coffee. He’s bent over his iPad, deep, it seems, in work.

Maybe he has spreadsheets of the murders he conducts. I quickly shut down that line of thinking and the dark humor it brings. The last thing I need is to empathize with him. The lines are already blurred.

No, I don’t need to find ways to connect.

“Sit down, Rosalind. I see you found your freedom.”

I glare at his back and stop. He probably put his murder sheet away and is watching me through the cameras in here. Walking past him, I pull out a chair and park my ass down. “It was hard to miss, since the door was left open.”

“Maybe I didn’t want you sneaking around again.”

There’s still a touch of sensitivity across my ass from when he spanked me. It doesn’t hurt, but it brings back so many memorable little bites. I can’t help but wiggle a little, already growing damp at the memory.

Nikolai slides me a look. “Problem?”

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