As frustrating as her disobedience and defiance was at times, it was also a welcome challenge. I may have broken something inside her, but so far it was nothing more than a small crack. A minuscule fracture in her strong and confident shell. She has never been anyone's submissive before, which makes her all the more enticing to me.
I could break her. I could truly make her mine.
This is not what all of this is about.
My conscience needs to shut up for a second. I know all of that. Her first priority is to play a role for the public first, and then satisfy my desires second. I'm aware of that, which is why I'm reluctant to sign when she agrees to become mine under contract.
"You can't forget what this is about, ever," I told her one last time, before she signed her name. She looked at me with that same stern expression I've become so familiar with, and nodded.
"Of course not," she said. "If nothing else, your money in my bank account will be a reminder."
Her voice was strong and cold, delivering as little emotion as the expression on her face conveyed. With the way she crumbled to my feet after I'd pulled that intense orgasm out of her, I expected her to reveal her submissive side to me a little too early. She may have been in subspace at the time, but in no way is she ready to bend to my will as much as I want her to.
She's also still a reporter. She reminded me of that just moments before we signed the contract, once again asking for permission to write - just write, not publish. I don't know why this is so important to her, but I told her that there was no way I could keep her from scribbling down words in her diary or something like that, as long as none of those words were ever shared with anyone else, either during or after our arrangement ends. She nodded and signed her name with quick and determined strokes, as if she wanted to do it before she could change her mind.
And then she moved in with me. She refused to let me help her with anything, and insisted on showing up in front of my house with nothing but a giant suitcase and a handbag that looked so worn out and cheap that I wanted to take it from her right then and replace it with something more befitting her new position. Of course, she refused and defended that horrible bag like a lioness protecting her baby.
Despite her defiance and characteristic confidence, she became oddly shy once we were alone inside the penthouse. She let the doorman carry her suitcase, casting me self-conscious looks as he accompanied us to the upper floor of my penthouse, as if trying to figure out how much he knew about our situation.
Does he know who I am? Does he know what this is?
Her eyes kept screaming those questions, but she never gave voice to them. I had to leave for a business meeting soon after she moved in, an appointment I had deliberately scheduled for that afternoon so I could give her some time and space to get comfortable in her new home.
I've shared this place with others before, but I've never cared much for their well-being. After all, they were hired to serve me. Every girl hired to serve as my partner and personal slut before had spent her first night with her legs spread and my cock buried deep inside her.
Things were different with Ann. It's been a day since she moved in, and I haven't touched her. She was hiding in her bedroom when I got home last night, and I didn't see her this morning before I left for the office - and I was actually happy about that. I don't know why, but I've been acting cautiously around her since that day I convinced her to agree to my offer. I don't know what it is with her, but something tells me that I need to be careful, to keep my distance for now.
I've never been this wary around any other woman, even though I probably should have been. Betrayal is hard to overcome, especial when it has been inflicted by someone close to you.
I have to make sure that Ann will never be in a position to hurt me in any way, no matter how much I crave having her as my submissive. It's just one more reason to take care of the professional side of our relationship. I told my assistant Silas about her before I signed the contract because Ann needs to be introduced to my closest staff members as soon as possible.
It's almost six in the evening when I come home from the office after a long consultation with Silas and my attorney. Time is running out to get things ready to launch my campaign to run for Congress. Ann is just another detail in that upcoming process, and even though I know she shouldn't be my main focus, I can't help the fact that she is.
I'm surprised to find her in the living room, her legs curled up on the couch where she's reading on a tablet, when I step inside the penthouse. Her wide and expectant eyes tell me that she's visibly startled by my appearance. Her hair is tied up in that long ponytail again, and she's wearing very little make-up on her naturally beautiful face. The sight of her clothes reminds me that she still needs a new wardrobe, as I don't want my partner dressing in the worn-out, sloppy look she's sporting right now. It frustrates me that she didn't bother to dress up for me.
"You need new clothes," I tell her in passing, as I make my way to the open kitchen that connects to the vast living room on the left.
"I can’t afford it," she says, annoyed.
I cast her a condescending look. "Yes, you can."
She puts the tablet down and approaches me then, awkwardly tugging at the sleeves of her hoodie that I'd just insulted indirectly. It's hideous. I have no issue with the short sweatpants she's wearing underneath it, though. At least those show off her long, lean legs.
"So, what now?" she asks, leaning against the counter separating the kitchen from the living area. "When does my job start?"
I pour myself a Scotch, evading eye contact with her. "It already has."
She clears her throat, and I can see from the corner of my eyes how she crosses her arms in front of her chest, taking a defensive pose before she continues to speak.
"Is it always going to be like this?" she wants to know. "We live together and you just summon me whenever you want to fuck or need someone to hang on your arm for some kind of public event?"
I take a sip from my drink before I turn back to her. Her attitude agitates me, and she knows that very well.
"Neither of those has happened so far," I say. "All you have done is to get off on my fingers like a bitch in heat, little girl."
"Stop calling me that."
She glares at me as I step closer to her, taking another sip of Scotch before handing it over to her.
"I don't like whiskey," she announces.
"You'll try this one."
My voice doesn't allow for backtalk, and sometimes, even Ann Porter knows when to shut up and simply follow an order. Her eyes never leave mine when she reaches for the glass and then takes a way too big sip from it. The way her face contorts after she's tasted the smoky drink is priceless.
"Disgusting."
"Cretin."
She gives the almost empty glass back to me, and I'm surprised to see the hint of a smile appear on her pretty face.
"Why haven't you fucked me yet?"
Her question catches me off guard, but I don't let it show. I finish the Scotch and place the glass on the counter between us, before deigning her with an answer.
"I am going to fuck you," I promise.
"But why haven't you… yet?"
Because I don't trust you.