"Why don't we let the big man judge." I scrunch my nose like I smell something rotten. "Oh, and by the way, you still smell of inferiority. It's overpowering the room."
Her eyes blaze in anger. Her mouth set in a tight line. "The five minutes you had with him is in the past. You’re nothing to him."
She overheard, or he told her. Her words sting. But I'm used to the pain. I've learned to use my words as weapons and know things about Alaric. Things I've overheard pierced my heart, but some things need to be repeated so that they sink in deeper.
"Then why am I here? He has the right to send me away, you know." I turn to her and cup my mouth, lowering my voice. "You need to accept things the way they are, Sasha. You can only suck his cock so much before he gets bored, and then––" I place my finger over my lips. "He sends you home to wash your disgusting spit off his skin." I straighten and smile. "You're not the first or the last he chokes with his cock."
"It tasted great last night," she purrs.
I have a retort on my tongue, but his office door opens, and the man is lust wrapped in a suit you want to suck off. His fitted suit is a dark gray, contrasting with the light gray of his eyes. His crisp white designer shirt is open at the throat, not being bothered with a tie that screams fuck it, I wear what I want. His tattoos are like scriptures you want to read all over his skin, and you need to remove his clothes to discover the secrets of his past.
His eyes flit back and forth between his current fuck and the woman he hates. I know I look childish in comparison. I couldn't keep his attention for five minutes, but I didn't beg him to be here. I'm unsure why I am here if he hates me so much, but I'm about to find out.
"Miss Devlin," Alaric says with formality with a wave of his hand like I'm one of his business associates and has been waiting for me to arrive. Not breaking his stare, he says, “Sasha, hold my calls."
"Yes, sir," she says tightly. His eyes, calm in their gray depths, hold a hidden warning to obey, and I must admit, her last remark stung. I'm jealous. I shouldn't be, but I am.
When I enter, he slams the door shut and pins me to it, holding me by the throat. He has to see the terror in my eyes, but he doesn't waver. He boldly stares at me, rooting me to the spot.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"What I need to do…" He breathes heavily. "We both know I had a hand in you coming here. And do you know why?"
I shake my head.
"Because I want you to serve me." My eyes widen in sheer terror. "Shh…" he coos. "You will serve me until I decide for you to stop and, of course, before you marry the one that shall not be named because I know Veronica. I know enough."
I'm livid. Bastard. Tears sting my eyes as I try to regain my composure. "I hate you," I say through clenched teeth, looking deep into his eyes.
"I won't take you by force, Veronica, but I expect obedience. I won't tolerate you going against what I say. You take what I give and be the good girl I know you to be." His tongue skims my ear and whispers, "You obey, and I will reward you. I can be generous or I can punish you." He slides his hand between my thighs, swiping a finger over the pantyhose and panties covering my slit, and I mewl. "You have the right idea of what I want you to wear when you come to see me, just the wrong fabric”––he slides his fingers deeper between my thighs––"Something so beautiful shouldn't be wrapped in something so cheap."
He pushes off the door, releasing his hand from my throat and between my legs, and then walks toward his desk, picking up his phone and placing a call. I swipe the tears from my face and cross my hands over my chest, feeling humiliated by my reaction to him.
He knows, Veronica.
He knows what I am, and he did nothing to save me.
All I can do is throw him off balance.
What choice do I have?
His eyes meet mine as he speaks into his phone. "Portman, bring the car. Five minutes." He hangs up, opening his suit jacket, sliding it off his strong shoulders, and my mouth goes dry. "From the way you are ogling me, I can tell this isn't hard for you."
I look away, getting caught staring at him because the man is in perfect shape. He's pure muscle with an ideal physique from spending hours in the gym or swimming. My eyes may sell him a fantasy, but my words tell him a different story. "I have had better."
"Sure, you have. I can tell." He places the jacket on his chair. "Let's go."
"Where?" I challenge.
"Wherever I want."
"Right," I answer tightly. "Is there anything I should know? How deep do you want your cock sucked? How wide are my legs to be spread while you pound me like an animal?"
"I'll let you know when I require to be serviced."
He's throwing the same words I said the other day at Draven's party to Garret, ‘Serviced.’
That was different, and it was something horrible that turned into something two single people would do for each other as friends. Even though Garret's father is a prick, Garret isn't a creep like I thought he was.