“Maybe.”
“But for now… it’s my turn.”
I frown. “What are you—” But she’s already moving, snapping the cuffs in place.
For a second, I think she’s just trying to turn the tables on me and ride me like she had the first time. But then I catch sight of her expression.
The nervousness. The guilt.
“Renata,” I growl, “what the fuck are you doing?”
I struggle against my cuffs as I sit up. She’s got me well and truly trapped between the bedposts.
She moves forward and drops a kiss on my cheek before backing away.
“I’m sorry,” she says, and I see the regret in her eyes. “But I have to take control of my own life now.”
That’s when it dawns on me.
Renata Lombardi isn’t a pawn anymore.
She’s a player. And she’s just played me.