"Piss off," I snarl at him. My guts churn and my breathing goes shallow. This can’t be happening. How could I have lost to him, and on a Beatles’ quiz? "Hangonasecond," I frown. "How did you know all that?"
"All what?"
"Don’t try to be obtuse; you know what I mean." I stab a finger in his direction, "How did you pick up all those facts about my favorite band?"
He blinks, then cuts the air with his hand. "Everyone knows the answers to those questions."
"No,” I shake my head, “They don’t."
"It’s all there in the public domain."
"So you read up on them?"
He raises his shoulders.
My pulse begins to race. I take a step forward, "Admit it, you did."
"Nah."
"Don’t lie to me, Saint."
"Okay…" He tugs at his collar, "Maybe a little."
"Ha!" I clap my hands, "I knew it."
"Only so I could use my knowledge at the appropriate time."
"When you could take me down?" I grimace.
"Exactly." He taps his foot on the ground, "Doesn’t change the fact that you lost."
My stomach flutters. What does it mean? What’s going to happen now that he’s beat me at my own game? He has all the bloody cards, leaving me exposed. With nowhere to hide, I glance sideways at the alarm button.
"There’s no need for that."
"No?"
He shakes his head, "We’re done here."
"We are?" Shit, why am I echoing his words? This entire encounter has a bit of the surreal attached to it. I bend my knees, grab my purse. It feels solid, familiar; I slip the strap over my shoulder.
"What now?"
"Now? We get married."
25
Saint
I had revealed my hand. Shit! I hadn’t meant to tell her I knew about her, had planned to keep that piece of information to myself. But when she’d almost completely shattered, when her gorgeous lips had parted, her pussy clamping down, reaching for the relief only I could provide, when her sugary scent had deepened, fuck, if the blood hadn’t left my head permanently to park itself in my dick. Reaching down, I adjust myself, then snatch up my phone and shoot off a text message, before following her.
She walks ahead of me, thank fuck, so she can’t see the evidence of exactly how she affected me in there. I’d trapped both of us in the elevator. Because, yeah, cliché much? Couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try to subjugate her, let her know that I hold the power… I sure hadn’t bloody intended to hand it over to her.
She pulls the rug from under my feet… When she isn’t keeping me on my toes, that is. Does she know that?
She pauses at the end of the corridor, where the double doors open into the ball room. We’re on the floor below my penthouse suite on the top floor of Claridge's. I couldn’t have chosen the venue better; guess the Seven have their uses…sometimes. Allowing me to get married and afford a quick getaway after the ceremony with my—hold on there.
I halt so quickly that my heels dig into the plush carpet below.
Marriage.
Bride.
This isn’t real. It’s a quick ceremony to seal the deal. Like it’s something I do every day—not. Treat it like a painful meeting, one in which you're surrounded by opponents looking to tear you down. I rub the back of my neck; right now, I'd take that over this mock wedding.
She turns to glance at me.
"Go on, open the door," I growl.
She frowns. "This really is unnecessary. You know that, right?"
"Is it now?" I draw up next to her. "I think it’s the one thing that will bind you to me, prevent you from running away and spilling everything you’ve seen and heard to your handler."
She flinches. "It…it isn’t like that."
"Oh?" I scrutinize her features. "Enlighten me, then."
She wrings her fingers together, "I... I can't tell you."
"Why not?"
She wraps her arms around her waist, glances away.
Anger shoots through my veins. Damn her, what is she hiding from me? Why did it have to be her to entrance me so? If only I could erase thoughts of her from my mind and return to my life as it had been. I wrap my fingers around her throat.
Her gaze widens. Her pupils dilate. I scan her flushed features, the way she’s arched into my hold on the balls of her feet, handbag dangling at her shoulder, yet every part of her ready, in sync with my needs, her face upturned, her breathing ragged.
"Shit, you like it when I’m rough, don’t you?"
She swallows.
"Is breath play your thing, Gigi? Does it get you off?"
She nods.
"Who else has touched you like this?"
"Nobody else," she whispers.
Could that be true?
"Am I your first dominant? Were you telling the truth when you said your arse is untouched? Tell me Gigi, tell me."
She opens her mouth. "Yes," she chokes out, "it’s true."
"What is?"
"All of it. You're my first... Dom." She hiccups, "And no-one else has taken me there."
"Your arse belongs to me, Gigi."
She stares.
I tighten my grip. Color blooms on her skin and she rubs her thighs together, her gaze fixed on my face as she stalks my features, trying to read my intentions, what my next move is going to be. I pull her close enough that her breasts almost touch my chest. Almost. "Say it," I growl.
"Yours," she whispers.
"What is?"
"My arse is yours."
"And your pussy?" I bring down my other hand to cup the warmth between her legs, knowing she’ll be wet. "Fuck, I can feel the stickiness of your cum through your clothes, you know that?"
She gulps; her chest rises and falls.
"Answer me, Gigi. Who does your cunt belong to?"
"You, Sir."
"And your breasts?" I release her core to pinch her nipple through her dress.
She moans.
"Tell me, Gigi."
"You, they belong to you."
"And your hungry gaze, with which you watch me as I come, who does that belong to?"
"You."
"Your hair, your skin, the nails on your toes, the eyelashes that frame those gorgeous eyes… Whose are they?"
"Yours."
"And you. Who do you belong to, Gigi?"
"You, Sir. I belong to you."
"Damn fucking right." My
