“Started working at Bulbs, Blooms, and Blossoms,” I say. “During the winter, you worked at Lionel’s Diner. During the other three seasons, you worked at both places for the next three years. I know what you’ve done, Cassandra. I did my research.”
“So, you’re a raging jerk because you had a shitty childhood and you wanted to get under my skin like I’ve gotten under yours?”
“That’s not quite how I remember last night,” I counter.
She scowls. “It’s just like a man to have a selective memory,” she says, moving to the edge of the bed to stand beside me. “For the record, the reason I didn’t leave the diner is because I needed the money. I wasn’t a damsel in distress or whatever you want to see me as. I worked my ass off and I didn’t need anybody but myself to keep myself from drowning.”
“I never said that you did.” There’s no reason for me to believe her—deceit is in her DNA, if my history with her father is anything to go by—but I imagine some version of it is true. It takes character for someone to leave their wealthy family behind and work two jobs to get by and I’ve already taken note of her tenacity and intensity. I have to, because it marks her as a possible threat in the future. I need to get control of her before she figures out how to use it against the Bratva.
She rubs her thighs. I can imagine how sore they are after last night. When she started, it passed through my mind that she’d burn out quickly, but she surprised me.
I don’t like surprises.
“The Q&A is over. Time for you to get ready. Our evening awaits us.”
“Is this the part where I click my heels together and salute you?”
I suppress a laugh. “This is simply the part where you do what you’re told. Now, go shower.”
She opens her mouth to say something, then stops and tilts her head to the side, like she did before. Once again, I feel the same flush of warmth. It really is a cute quirk of hers. So innocent. So inquisitive. Like a small animal dropped into foreign territory, trying to figure out how this new world works before it eats her alive. “Shower—sir, yes, sir. This is definitely the part where you give me some privacy, then.”
I offer her a thin smile. “No, princess, I don’t think I will.” I sit down on her bed.
The hatred in her eyes flares, but there’s another source of heat there, too. Something she doesn’t want me to see just yet. Lust, perhaps. Desire.
“Oh, you don’t think you will?” she echoes.
“Your hearing is in fine form tonight, Cassandra.”
She laughs bitterly. “So you’ll be staying, then. Front row seats to the show.”
“It is my lucky day.”
“So be it,” she snarls. “I’m not afraid of you.”
She starts to unbutton her shirt, waiting for me to look away. I don’t. Each button loosed reveals another few inches of pale skin slicing down the front of her torso. I want to stroke it with my fingers, run my tongue from the base of her throat down to the lacy edge of her panties, peeking just above the edge of her pants.
She whips off the shirt, letting it fall onto the bed. Her bra pushes her breasts up, soft and tempting. I watch her hands on her pants as she undoes the clasp and zipper and pushes them down to her feet.
As she steps out, I drink in the sight. Her legs are flawless, though I notice a mottled bruise on one thigh from where I seized onto her the night before. Once again, the memory races through me, and despite myself, I shudder.
Clad only in her black bra and matching panties, she walks into the bathroom, but she doesn’t close the door. I watch her pull her underwear down to her ankles and step out of it, her ass firm enough to ensure a handful would be worth the squeeze.
Her movements are crispy and military. There isn’t an ounce of sexuality in them, and yet, I am hard as a fucking rock as she turns on the water for the shower. The water cascades to the tile floor and steam begins to swirl out of the bathroom. She unclips her bra, dropping it beside her underwear. I note with wandering eyes the red indentations that the underwire left on her rib cage. Those, too, I feel myself longing to touch, to run a finger along, to rub away.
She disappears into the shower. I don’t move an inch, instead just watching the steam cover the mirror. My erection is surging up against my zipper. I consider joining her, fulfilling the fantasy I had before she came, but still, I refuse to let myself move.
Her game seems to be to control me through sex. I might string her along for a little bit, ensure that I get as much of that ass as possible before she realizes she never had any control over me, that I have always had all the power.
I close my eyes and let my thoughts drift away, strolling down the paths my plan might yet take. It has been what I expected so far, and yet also not at all. Cassandra has surprised me at every turn, though I have not let her see that. Most surprising of everything is the feeling that keeps bubbling up when she tilts her head and looks at me. It’s not rage. It’s not a desire to break, to
