Page 51 of Take A Chance

Emma

Blake’s apartment in the city wasn’t as large as I expected it to be, not after seeing his home in Scarsdale. This place felt like a tiny home compared to that, despite its two-thousand-square-foot open layout. It had three bedrooms, all with a view of the Upper West Side. I could see Columbia University from his master as I peeked out the window while changing. It still felt intimidating to know he was so wealthy and yet he wanted me. He wanted me enough to overlook my omission of facts and the truth when it came to light.

As I pulled the clean hoodie over my head, I winced at the pain in my cheek and touched the bruise on my face. He hadn’t asked me about it yet, but I knew he would. He’d been so angry last night, stomping around the crime scene and speaking to the cops. We stayed up all night answering questions, going into detail about who I was and my alternate identity. I was terrified, and Blake brooded a lot, though he was quite secretive about how and where he answered questions. I got the feeling that maybe he, too, had hidden a past shrouded in mystery, but I didn’t ask.

“Feeling better?” Blake asked, walking into the bedroom.

“Just exhausted,” I told him, picking up my dirty clothes. I glanced around the room, and he nodded at a door to my left, so I pulled it open to find a closet with a large hamper. I tossed the clothes in and shut the door, uncertain what to do next. If I slept, I’d have nightmares. If I stayed awake, I’d obsess over what was going on. My stomach crawled, morning sickness eating away at me.

“You look pale, like you’re coming down with something. You should eat.” He was abrupt, not in a rude way, but not like himself. I could tell this entire situation was eating away at him too, and it upset me. I had brought this all on him, exposed him to the world of dangerous men who take what they want. “Let’s get something to eat.”

I followed him to the kitchen, where I sat on a barstool and watched him prepare an omelet. It was nearly ten a.m. by the time we got here, and I’d all but written breakfast off. The food smelled so good cooking, though. I watched in silence as he prepared it for me. His state-of-the-art appliances and high-end décor looked better suited for a maid or a cook, but he darted around the kitchen like he was a pro. It was good to know he wasn’t so wealthy he couldn’t care for himself.

“I’ve never seen you cook, except a cup of tea.” I planted my chin on my palm.

Blake glanced up at me with a placid expression. “No man is powerful unless he is fully self-sustaining.” Guilt needled my conscience. He was so tense, so distracted. This was my fault. I did this.

Nothing I could say or do would make it better except to help the authorities bring my father down so Blake would know I wanted out of that life. I wanted nothing to do with it. I had been brutally honest with the police last night, so much so that it scared Greta. Blake sent her and Katelyn to Maine to stay with his parents. He had no idea who Greta was, but it was the best thing he could have done. If my father found out about her, he’d kill her—no mercy.

When he slid the plate of food in front of me, I thanked him and dug in. It was delicious, one of the best omelets I’d ever eaten. And when he sat next to me, sipping a cup of coffee, looking like he’d been through a war, I offered him a bite, dangling my loaded-down fork in front of his face.

“No, thank you.”

I retracted the fork, laying it on my plate, and wiped my mouth. “Look, Blake, I know—”

“Stop,” he said, pursing his lips. He turned to me, reaching into his pocket. “I told you a few weeks ago that you were mine now, and I don’t share my things.” He kept his head down, and I couldn’t see what was in his hand, but I felt nervous.

“Blake, nothing happened there. I didn’t do what my father accused me of, and I certainly didn’t do what he asked me to do.” Nor had anyone laid a hand on me other than to smack me around a bit, but I wasn’t sure that was what he meant. Besides, how could something like that be my fault, anyway?

“I think you are missing my point.” He opened his hand, and I saw a ring on his palm. He grabbed my wrist and held it, sliding the ring on my finger. There was no fancy proposal, no fanfare, just the ring thrust upon me. “I told you you’re mine now. I take care of my things.”

Confused but strangely happy, I stared at the ring, his hand still wrapped around my wrist. I’d never seen this side of him, gruff and distant, and I could only assume that it was due to the fact that we were facing a very uncertain future. So I was patient with him.

“I love the ring,” I whispered, and he leaned in and kissed me, rough and demanding. His hands cupped my cheeks, and he slid toward me on his stool, his knee driving between my thighs the instant I turned to face him. He was aggressive, feral even, not like our “lessons” before. “Blake, I...” I panted, trying to catch my breath, but he covered my mouth with his again, only allowing me to suck in one gulp of air.

“You’re mine, Emma.” He stood, bending over me, and I slowly turned on the stool until the tips of my toes touched the floor. I wanted him, to feel his power and strength as he dominated me the way he had on the kitchen counter a few weeks ago.

“No more lessons?” I asked, rising as his hands gripped my hips and pulled me toward himself.

“There are so many more lessons for you to learn, I can’t even number them. Today’s lesson will show you why I’m in charge and you do what I say. Because if you do what I say, you have everything you need or want. But if you disobey me, you get punished.”

His words turned me on, intrigued me. I wondered what he meant by punishment, and I didn’t care. My body was aflame already, craving his touch on my most intimate parts. I whimpered as his hands gripped my sides hard. He backed me toward the bedroom, growling from deep in his chest. His dick was hard, rubbing against my thigh as we went.

“Is that what that was yesterday in the car? My punishment for having a walk with no security?” I ran my hands through his hair, and he took both of my wrists, stopping to pin me against the wall near the bedroom door.

“That was me reminding you nicely that I am the one who owns that pussy and I am the one who pleasures it.” His eyes burned with desire and anger mingling in his gaze but being expressed silently. “Just a reminder that I’m the one who will protect you, hunt you down if necessary, and take care of every need you have.”

I lifted a leg and draped it around his body, pulling him toward me. His hard cock pushed against my stomach. I wanted to suck it, taste the salty precum and hear his gasps of pleasure. I reached for his belt buckle, loosening it, and a knock at the door interrupted us. He pressed his forehead to mine and growled loudly.

“Don’t move.”

Blake pulled away, and I lingered there, watching as he buckled his belt and moved toward the door. No one knew I was there except the authorities, though Blake had acquaintances, I assumed. So when he opened the door, I was surprised to see a man and a woman dressed in button-down shirts with dark blue jackets, the lettersFBIemblazoned on the left chest in bright yellow. My shoulders tightened as the woman spoke.

“Mr. Emmerson, I’m SSA Morgan, this is SSA Grim. We’re here to speak to you and Ms. Clarke about what happened last night.” The woman was petite, probably only five feet tall. She had an upturned nose and dark, boxy glasses. The man was balding, heavyset, with wispy gray hair. They stood waiting as Blake glowered at them, glancing at me as I approached. He said nothing at first, but I knew there was no getting rid of them. I nudged his side, and he spoke.

“Haven’t we answered enough questions?”

“What Blake means is, of course we’d be happy to answer any questions.” I pulled on his arm, a little frustrated with this sudden shift in his personality. “Please come in.” We stepped aside, and the agents walked past, looking around at the apartment as they went. Blake shut the door, and I followed them. “SSA, what does that mean?” My eyes followed him. He looked familiar, too familiar. As if I’d seen him before.

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