And if she still walks away at the end…well, I really will know what she values hasn’t changed.
I’m distracted when her fingers find their way under my tie, to the buttons of my dress shirt beneath. She plucks them open and slides her fingers under the fabric, smoothing the tips over my skin. I start sweating. Then she eats at my lips and makes these seductive little sounds that spark an even hotter desire in my gut. She climbs all over my lap, changing positions, trying to get even closer. It’s all I can do not to plaster her against me and forget about everything but the pleasure.
As much as I’m curious to see what Whitney would do and how far she would go if I gave her free rein tonight, I can’t forfeit that kind of control. I need her under my hand, under my command, under my body.
When she tosses my necktie over my shoulder and attacks the rest of my shirt buttons, I grab her wrists to stay her. “Don’t.”
Her breathing is labored, her eyes wide and excited. “Jett…”
I shake my head coolly. But my expression is a lie. Inside, I’m thrilled that she’s so unabashed and eager. That she’s already begging.
“Who’s in control?”
She swallows as a frown settles between her brows. Resignation follows.
Her downshift is a kick to the solar plexus. I hate that I put that expression there.
But I have a plan. I need to see it through.
“You,” she finally murmurs.
“That’s right. I want you on the bed. Flat. Legs spread.”
A wariness I don’t precisely understand crosses her face. If she was ready and willing to jump on me mere moments ago, why is she hesitating now? Do the restraints scare her? Or do I?
Finally, she collects herself and nods before crawling off my lap, chin held high. Then she climbs on the bed on all fours and rolls to her back, meeting my stare with challenge in her eyes. She settles her feet a few inches apart.
That won’t do.
But damn if she doesn’t look absolutely beautiful spread across this sumptuous bed all sleek and rosy-cheeked and ripe for fucking.
Never taking my stare from her, I rise to my feet, standing tall, and slowly tear away my tie. My coat follows, then my half-buttoned shirt. I shrug it off my shoulders and stand over her, naked from the waist up.
She might want me to think she’s ambivalent or even reluctant to be here. She might try to act as if she’s rebellious, hostile, or indifferent. But the way her hungry stare gnaws at me makes a liar out of her. So does her wet pussy.
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
Her voice still shakes…but I don’t think that trembling note is powered by fear now.
“Whatever I want. It’s my forty million dollars.”
The second the words are out of my mouth, Whitney stiffens. Shit, I fucked up. She might be a lot of things, but she isn’t a whore. She’d never do anything purely for money. The question is, did she come with me strictly to help Vance? Or because somewhere deep down she wanted to?
That’s what I need to figure out. That will tell me how to proceed for the rest of the week.
Her face closes up. “Don’t let the money fool you, Jett. You always did whatever you wanted, regardless of anyone else’s feelings.”
That bullshit insult is an argument starter. She’s baiting me, and I refuse to fall into the trap. “I’m not here to talk, Whitney.”
“You’re here to fuck me.” She spits the words like I ought to be ashamed of myself.
“I am.” I have to know what’s left between us before I burn this bridge for good. “And I think you’re here to fuck me, too. Find out what you missed out on all those years ago.”
She doesn’t answer right away. “Think what you want. You always do.”
“I’m done talking.” In fact, I’m over this cat-and-mouse game altogether. She’s naked, spread across my bed, and open to me. Why are we even talking before I’ve stripped away her barriers? Once I’ve made her beg and plead for orgasm, then we’ll see what she really wants.
I cup one of her ankles and reposition her leg toward the corner of the bed, then I bend to retrieve the cuff. She’s gasping when I buckle her in, sliding my fingers underneath to ensure she still has adequate blood flow.
When I’m satisfied, I reach for her other foot.
She jerks it out of my grasp, biting her lip, “Jett…”
I shake my head. “You’ve heard the rumors about me. I’ve given you plenty of proof they’re true. So don’t act surprised. I won’t hurt you, but I want you completely open to me. You agreed to submit to my every whim this week. I’m waiting.”
This is normally where I would give my partner a safe word, but Whitney would only use it to escape her mental discomfort. I won’t put her in physical peril enough to need to speak at all except a gasping, screaming plea.