“You have to go take a dump or what?”
He shifts like a nervous kid from side to side. “Are you sure this is the right—”
“Send her up,” I interrupt. There is no other answer. We made this deal years ago. Every night. Seven o’clock. She was already late last week and now she thinks she can ignore it all together? That’s not how it works around here. David’s sigh is deep enough to send the curtains fluttering if I had curtains in this room. I don’t. The decorator called it post-modern chic. I call it cold. I’m fairly certain she made it this way because I refused to sleep with her. After repeated rejections, she’d told me that no sane woman would want to fuck a block of ice anyway. This room is concrete floors and onyx slabs on the walls. The furniture is steel and black. There is nothing soft in this room except for my massive bed and that suits me. The only thing that I do in this room is sleep. Until now. I tighten my grip around the velvet lined cuffs. She shouldn’t have forced my hand.
“David said you wanted to see me,” Orchard says from the doorway.
“I did.” I get to my feet and walk to the door, where she stands just beyond the frame. “But you so rarely obey my requests, I’m slightly surprised to see you. Come in.”
She doesn’t budge. “Since when do I not obey your orders?”
“Orders?” I arch an eyebrow. “I’ve never ordered a thing from you. Since the day I put my ring on your finger, all I have ever done is accommodate you. I’ve given you space, time, money and all I ask is for a few hours of your evening for us to eat dinner together as a family.”
“We’re not a family,” she bites out. “I’m your purchased bride and you’re my keeper.”
My temper flares and I reach out and slap one cuff around her wrist.
“What the hell?” she cries. I bend down and throw her over my shoulder. She flails, pounding her fists into my back. One of her knees digs into my gut but I keep walking until I can fling her to the mattress. She pops up but not before I attach the other cuff to the tether I had made earlier.
“Take this off,” she demands, tugging at the rope.
“I will in a minute.” I walk over to the door, lock it, and then exchange it for the handcuff key which I use to unlock her. I only needed to restrain her for a short time to make sure she was locked in the room.
And it’s a good thing I did because the minute she’s free, she races for the door and tries to wrench it open. I walk over to the minibar next to the fireplace and pour myself a whiskey. She gives up quickly, because she’s smart and sees the futility in pounding on a heavy wooden door when this is my house and that’s my staff, although…David seemed worried about her. Enough yelling and he might feel like he has to white knight her. I’ll deal with that issue tomorrow. She stomps over to me and flings out her hand, palm up.
“Give it to me,” she seethes.
There’s no point in pretending I don’t know what she wants. “No,” I reply.
“You can’t lock me in your bedroom,” she cries.
“Why not?” I sit down in one of the uncomfortable chairs that consists of a rectangle of leather stretched across a steel frame and pretend like I don’t want to pin her down on the bed and fuck her until her hair is knotted and she can’t walk.
“Because that’s not our deal.”
“You broke the deal so it’s over and I’m writing new rules.” I take a drink and watch her over the rim of the glass.
“I broke the deal? By missing one dinner in five years? I didn’t think you’d care.” She turns and kicks the door. “It’s not like you have feelings. You’re a robot. You go to work. You make money. You close deals.”
My fingers tighten around the glass. Not have feelings? I’m a fucking volcano of feelings. I just don’t spill them all over because if she saw even an ounce of them, there wouldn’t be a lock strong enough to keep her from running from me. “And eat,” I say tightly.
“Eat?” She shakes her head. “What are you talking about?”
“I go to work. I make money. I close deals and every night I come home to have dinner with you, my wife of five years, four months, and seven days.”
“Fine. You eat. Whatever.” She shoves a hand through her hair and then turns to me. “What do you want then? What’s this all about?”
Carefully, I set the glass on the table and get to my feet. She watches me warily like you’d watch a dog with bared teeth or a snake rising out of the grass. I keep going forward and she keeps backing up until her shoulder blades strike the wood. I stop when we are but inches apart. The toes of my polished loafers are resting against the toes of her battered, drugstore sneakers. Her pink lips are so close I can feel the heat of them. One more centimeter and our lips would be touching, but she averts her face before it can happen. I want to wrench her chin around and plunder that decadent mouth. I want to part her lips with my tongue and sweep inside to taste every crevice, but she hates me and I would never force myself on her. Even I have a limit, but I allow myself to breathe in her scent, to feel the warmth of her body, to revel in the sensation of her nipples almost rubbing up against my chest. It’s the closest I’ve ever been to her. I allow myself this luxury until I can feel the very thin wire of my control threatening to snap. Time to move, cries my conscience. Time to fuck, demands my dick.