Nick stands up, towering over me. Crossing his arms, he smirks. “And you are to allow Diane to dress you. It’s the way of royalty,” he says, his teeth glimmering on display, “and you, my precious flower, are my queen while you live in my kingdom.”
“Dress me? As in you just want me to stand there and allow this woman I don’t know to see me naked and—You want someone to dress me?”
“Yes.”
“That’s crazy.”
He laughs, but the darkness in his eyes does not appear amused. “It’s not ordinary. I’ll give you that. But like I said earlier, I detest ordinary. And in my kingdom, we are extraordinary. So yes, you will allow Diane to dress you. It’s not up for negotiation.”
“So, let me get this straight. I have to be dressed by a stranger, and you’re going to keep me in this mansion all cooped up?” I look at Nick, ready to take him down a peg or two. Which is dangerous because I also get the feeling he’s losing patience with my constant questioning of him. And yet… part of me wants to see how far I can poke the bear. “What if I get bored?”
With a movement quicker than lightning, he grabs me by the arm, pulling me close. “You will be far from bored,” he nearly growls. “I can take care of any boredom you may have.”
The erotic scent of man permeates my nose, shooting tingles between my legs. His head lowers to mine, his lips so close I can see the texture and all I want to do is run my tongue across them. When I lick along my bottom lip, wondering how he would taste, feel, I watch his eyes darken even more, turn smoky, and I become aware of a hardness pressing against my stomach. Suddenly I want to taste a different part of his anatomy and can’t suppress the moan that escapes me at the thought of my lips wrapped around his cock.
Something is wrong with me for having these thoughts and feelings. It’s a sickness, a disease, and if I’m not careful… fatal.
At the sound of my moan, stemmed from complete madness, he reaches to tuck a strand of hair that has escaped my ponytail behind my ear, but his hand doesn’t stop there. It continues to slide to the back of my head, fingers twisting into my hair, closing into a fist, his eyes smoldering. He holds me in place as his head lowers farther, and before I can even think of pulling away, his mouth descends on mine. It isn’t a kiss exactly… well, not like any kiss I’d ever had.
This isn’t a kiss. This is a claiming, a man marking what is his.
His tongue isn’t softly brushing against my lips as if asking permission to come inside. No, he pushes through like he has every right. Like I belong to him. The pressure of his mouth on mine is that of a warrior celebrating his victory. The moment his tongue demands entrance, insisting upon collecting his spoils of war, my lips part in surrender.
Every cell in my body is screaming for oxygen, my heart pounds as he continues to ravage me with nothing more than his mouth, his lips, his tongue. As I shove against his chest, desperate to push him away in fear of completely losing myself, his only response is to hold me even closer.
When his teeth bite down on my lower lip, I feel my pussy clench, and I discover I don’t need to breathe. I just need more of his madness. Suddenly, his mouth leaves mine. My legs are shaking, and I’m wondering what has happened when I hear footsteps enter the room.
“Mr. Hudson. Dinner is served,” a man wearing a black suit with a white towel draped over his arm says.
He breaks the kiss, takes a step away from me and scans my workout clothes again. “I’ll allow you a pass tonight since it’s just you and me dining. But in the future, you will wear a dress, heels, and jewelry to dinner. Diane, of course, will make certain of this.”
I don’t say anything as I struggle to regain my breath and composure.
“You aren’t a soccer mom, and we aren’t in the suburbs.”
Before I can recover from the whiplash of the emotions growing inside of me, he extends his arm for me to take and leads us out of the room, his cane beating against the white marble floor.
The brightly colored art in the dining room of rich reds and majestic purples match the energy that is still buzzing inside of me leftover from the kiss. Nick is correct, the white surroundings make the artwork shine. I imagine it’s what’s done in those fancy art galleries I’ve always wanted to enter. All my life I’d stop in front of the picture window of galleries and wish that I could walk in and not just browse but actually purchase. I never walked in a single gallery in fear that they’d know I was too poor to ever buy a piece of art. They’d know I was an imposter, that I didn’t belong, and therefore I was wasting their time.