Page 51 of Wilt

“N. C. W.” Rose traces a red-tipped finger over the initials, saying them aloud. “What does the C. stand for?”

I almost say cunt, but I stop myself. She’s spoken out of turn, like she always does, something I don’t usually tolerate. But I like how she does it, like she forgets herself, like she’s just curious. It’ll hit her that she did it at some point and she’ll recoil. Tremble. Remember her place.

For some reason, right at this moment, I’m feeling generous.

“Carter.” I twirl my finger in the air. “Turn.”

She does. The tenseness to her shoulders is all I need to know she just realized her mistake. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Shut up, Rose. You’ll know if I don’t want you to speak. I’ll tell you. My middle name isn’t any kind of state secret.” I do up the delicate clasp and come up behind her, close, so close that my body brushes hers.

I slide my hands over her shoulders then one bring one to her throat, toying with the delicate collar I’ve given her. Her fingers come up and touches me, almost automatically. Her hand jerks, and there’s a cascade of flame and electricity from that touch.

Nudging her neck with my chin, I kiss her, right at her pulse point. “Leave your hand where you had it, Rose.” Like a butterfly, it returns and I capture it, holding her fingers in mine, at my initials, as I bite at her pulse.

She moans, her body going liquid against me.

“Do you like your collar, Rose?” I bite her again, this time adding suction. There’s a tiny bruise there and I want it bigger. I want it to throb every time she moves. I want her to think of this moment every time she touches it. I want her to remember how she melts and burns for me. “Everyone will know you’re mine. Everyone.”

I release her throat and step away. I need a moment; I’m hard and there’s really no one to blame but myself. I adjust my pants and collect my keys for my car. “Come on, Rose.”

“Wh-Where are we going?” Her voice is thick with lust, and passion and need wash over me. I harden my senses against it. Instead of jumping her like I crave, I check my gun under my coat, then cross the foyer to the door. Right now, the alarm isn’t locked. I’m not about to punch in the code in front of her. Tony and Mia will lock up.

I have people around as well as in the restaurant already. Normally, I don’t take such extreme precautions, but this isn’t a normal thing I’m doing and I’m not a fucking idiot. I pull open the door, not missing the brief widening of her eyes. “We’re going to one of my favorite lunch spots in Queenstown.”

I gesture for her to move, and she does, the gravel drive making her wobble a moment before she gets the hang of navigating the uneven ground in mile high shoes. She stops near where three cars are parked, and in the bright sunlight, she turns to me.

It steals the breath from my lungs.

I’ve seen women with expertly applied makeup, the layers like she had on during the pageant. In the sun’s rays, though, I can see that while her eyes and lips are made up, and there’s a touch of subtle color on her cheeks that I don’t think is natural—it’s not the shade she turns when she blushes—that’s it. The rest is all her. The clear, soft skin. The unblemished expanse of it.

I want to smear her lipstick, like she’s just blown me, or like we’ve made out like hungry animals.

I want the mascara and eyeliner in tear tracks down her cheeks from that mythical blow job, or from hot sex where she’s come so hard, she’s cried.

“Which car?”

“This one.” My voice matches the gravel drive as I hit a button on my key chain. The black vintage Jag lights up and dings, locks disengaging. It’s a bit conceited, but it’s one of my few vanity items. The motor purrs and hums as I start the car, a balm to my soul.

I open the door for her, but she just stands there, staring instead of moving. “It’s… beautiful.”

I smile at the marvel in her tone. “Not as beautiful as you. Also, I don’t want to fuck my car. Just you. Now, get in.”

She does as asked and I close the door, going around to my side. When we get through the gates and turn onto the road, heading into the city, I wind through my plan in my head.

Rose sits with her hands folded neatly in her lap and I almost ask her to lift her dress so I can see that gorgeous pussy, but I need to drive. And think. I grit my teeth to stop myself from asking. Instead, I answer her question from earlier. “We’re going to Dietrich.”

“That’s… that’s expensive, and known.” She fidgets with her nails before stopping herself. “Even I’ve heard of it.”

I snort. “I’ll let them know they made it, Rose.”

She makes a small scoffing sound and I bite down on a smile I don’t want.

“I just meant…”

“It’s good,” I say. “You’ll like it.”

It’s one of those places where the exclusivity grants both anonymity and exposure, depending on your needs. It also sits on the border of my territory and Finnegan’s. Places like Dietrich are considered no man’s land, where truce is the name of the game. Still, I trust Finnegan about as much as I trust politicians, hence my security. I’m also bringing his daughter, because I want that bastard to see us together, see how she acts for me.

---