Her eyes widen and she takes a deep breath in shock. "I wouldn't be allowed to write?"
"Obviously, no. You'd have to sign a non-disclosure agreement, and that agreement would also forbid you from publishing any articles while you're living with me."
"Even if I'm not writing about you?"
"Even then. You're no longer a reporter while living under my roof."
She bites her lower lip as she looks at me, and I can tell she’s contemplating whether she should withdraw from the whole thing. Is this a deal breaker for her? Or did she think she could be my personal campaign reporter?
"You said I can't publish," she says after a while, lowering her eyes solemnly before she looks back up to face me. "But can I write?"
Her question confuses me. Until now, I made no distinction between the two.
"I don't fucking care what you do in your spare time," I tell her. "I just don't want anything out there. You can't be a journalist while we’re together."
"You mentioned that," she retorts, obviously annoyed. "You said I'm no longer a reporter. So what will I be?"
She locks me down with her bright eyes, intelligence sparkling behind the color of the ocean that's distinct to her. She knows the answer to my question, but she wants me to say it out loud. She wants me to seal the deal by giving voice to something we both know already.
So I do.
"It's simple, Miss Ann Porter. You'll be mine."
Chapter Ten
Ann
You'll be mine.
The words echo in my head as he leads me out of the restaurant. His hand is placed at the small of my back, as if he already owns me. I haven't said yes yet, but instead I asked for a little more time to consider his offer. He didn't look happy about that, but he also didn't argue with me. He mentioned that he has to get back to work and offered to drive me wherever I needed to go.
Of course, I tried to fight him. I'm perfectly capable of getting around by myself, and I don't have a problem with using public transportation. The look on his face when I mentioned that instantly told me what he thought of me taking a bus home. He's so bourgeois, so out of touch with the real world.
I stop on the sidewalk as soon as we've left the restaurant, distancing myself from his enticing and unsettling touch to turn around and face him.
"I really am fine," I insist again. "Please don't bother with-"
"This is not up to you," he interrupts, his dark gaze holding me down. "I'll see you home."
I sigh and roll my eyes at him, remembering too late how much he hates that and how he warned me not to ever do it again.
He casts me a look that suggests he noticed and disapproves of my response.
"Will it always be like this?" I ask him. "I can't be myself anymore when I'm with you, because I have to fear... punishment?"
He looks at me for a moment, pondering. I don't know what's going on in his head, but the way he scans our surroundings unnerves me. It's as if he's checking whether we're alone, whether anyone can see us. We're out on the street, but there aren't many pedestrians around, and not even any cars. This is not one of the busier areas of the city.
What is he thinking? Is he planning to do something... to punish me?
And why does that excite me?
Before I can come to a conclusion, he grabs me by the arm and pulls me closer, so close that I'm pressed against his body and met with his warm breath as he leans in to speak to me.
"Listen, baby girl," he hisses in a whisper that's barely loud enough for me to hear, but so vicious that it sends goosebumps along my spine. "My hands are tied here because you haven't fucking agreed to anything yet, but if it was up to me, I'd bend you over my knees right here and now, spank the hell out of that tight ass of yours, and then fuck you into oblivion because that's what you deserve, that's what you need. That's who you're going be when you're with me. You're going to be my slut, and you're going to fucking love it."
My cheeks are burning and my brain yells for me to push him away, to free myself from his grip and get the fuck away from him.
Problem is, my brain is not the part of my body that's in control right now.
I don't understand it, but the erotic feeling consuming my senses is undeniable. Desire, heat, nerves throbbing in places where they shouldn't be – at least not when I'm out on the street like this, not when I'm talked to like this, handled as if I was nothing but a doll, his property, a toy.
You'll be mine, he said.
I've never been so turned on by words alone. Words coming from a man like him.
He's undeniably gorgeous, hot as hell, a rugged character with a matching voice, wrapped in an impeccable exterior. I could stare at his face forever, watch every furrow as his expression changes from serious to amused, from annoyed to relaxed.
And his voice. That fucking sexy voice.
He's still holding me in that super-tight grip, pulling me close to him, our bodies pressed against each other, and our faces are so close, it’s almost as if we were about to kiss. And I swear, if he opens that mouth again and speaks to me like he did just a moment ago, I'd no longer be able to control myself. I would melt in his arms, do whatever he wants me to do, take what I want from him, and I wouldn't even think about arguing with myself.
But he doesn't say another word. It's as if he just needed the time to observe me, to study the effect his words had on me, and now that he has seen everything he needed to see, he lets go of me.
I can't suppress a feeble sigh of disappointment.
Of course, he notices and smiles smugly.
"Just say fucking yes," he says in a calm, deep voice. "And we can do something about this."
"Do something about what?" I snap.
He steps closer, and before I can evade his touch, he has his arm wrapped around me and pulls me even closer than before. He lifts me up a little, so that my chest is pressed against his and I blush at the realization that my boobs are squeezed against the hard outline of his muscular upper body. Even with all the fabric between us, I can tell that he must be built like a Greek god.
"Do something about this," he whispers into my ear. "Your heart is rapping against my chest like a hammer, little girl, and I bet your pussy is drooling all over those good girl panties of yours."
"Shut up!" I hiss, closing my eyes in shame.
He's right. He's fucking right about everything.
I hate that.
He chuckles and tightens his embrace, forcing me to look up at him with the other hand by placing his finger below my chin and tilting my face up to his level. He's so close, the dark of his eyes seething and his lips almost touching mine.
"I wish you had worn a dress for me," he continues. "I could just lift it up and check for myself. I bet my fingers would be soaked if I touched you there, between your legs, parting your hot lips and letting a finger slide-"
"For fuck's sake, will you shut up-"
"Letting a finger slide right between them, maybe two, maybe three? Feel your wet cunt clench around me as I fuck you with my fingers, stretching you while you yearn for my cock. And use my thumb to play with your pink clit, spreading your naughty juices all over it. I bet it's hard right now, swollen and begging to be touched. Isn't it, little girl?"