That would be the honest reply to her question. I don't understand how I could find myself in this dilemma so quickly. My cock had been hard the entire afternoon when she visited my penthouse for the first time, and it's twitching with need again right now, ever since I first caught sight of her walking up to me with those damn legs that won't stop. She's been in my house for more than twenty-four hours and I haven't laid a single finger on her. On the contrary, I was happy to keep my distance. I wanted to be careful.
Until now.
I close in on her, relishing the moment my hands find her perky ass. She releases a soft moan when I grab her and pull her close to me. I squeeze her firm cheeks and deliberately press her against my growing hardness.
"It's not because I didn't want to," I tell her.
She smirks up at me. "I can tell."
Our eyes meet, and I can't help but see it again.
Danger. A potential threat to me.
Despite the nondisclosure agreement, the contract, the long conversations we've had - I still don't trust Ann Porter, because I still see the potential risk with her, the reporter, the woman who could expose my darkest secrets to the world, if I don't watch out. I was looking for a woman who wouldn't fall for me like the silly girls before her, but a rational and callous woman like her could pose a different kind of problem.
She's different than the ones before her, not only because she's just as cunning and cold-hearted as I am, but because she has the potential to unmask and denounce me.
She could be that kind of person. The same kind that has betrayed me before.
And still, I don't want to stay away from her.
I can’t stay away from her.
Chapter Fourteen
Ann
I don't understand this man. He releases me a moment after finally touching me for the first time since I moved in, and I can't help but wonder why. Am I supposed to be doing something that I’m not? Am I a disappointment to him? Why wouldn't he tell me what's wrong?
More than a day has passed, and I've had more than enough time to read that contract between us again and again. All it stipulates is that I'm supposed to be "submitting to his will" while I'm living with him, and I know that provision is primarily aimed at the sexual part of our relationship.
The way he goes back and forth is beyond frustrating. I'm not ready to say that I regret agreeing to this, but I have to admit that I'm surprised. First off, I'm surprised I agreed to do this in the first place—it’s so bold, so demeaning in a way - but so exciting. When I set my goal to not have to work once I reached thirty, not once did I ever imagine I would reach that goal by agreeing to be someone's private mistress.
Oh, how my father and brother would hate this if they knew! I know it's vindictive of me, but a small part of me did this just to put one over on them. Ann, the perfect daughter, their shielded little flower, deciding to sell herself to someone.
Of course, he is not just any someone. Even with what little contact we've had so far, Jared King has uncovered a side of me that I never knew existed. I don't know what to think of it yet, but I knew I'd forever be wondering about it, about all of this, if I didn’t agree to his offer. I would have been asking myself "What if?" for the rest of my life.
I know deep down inside that I want to do this. And I know I can do this.
But maybe he's the one having second thoughts?
I watch as he turns away from me to refill his tumbler with that terrible-tasting whiskey. He looks troubled, as if he's deeply concerned about something.
"You're paying me to be yours," I say. "Does that not include talking to me when something is troubling you?"
He takes a sip of his whiskey and casts a quick glance over to me, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"What makes you think something is troubling me?"
"I'm not stupid," I say. "You've been acting strange ever since we signed the contract."
"So have you."
Our eyes lock for a few moments, and neither one of us speaks. I might be imagining it, but it seems as if he is just as overwhelmed by normal social interactions as I am. The only way I’ve ever been able to get close to a man has been through one thing - sex. I've never had a meaningful and long-lasting relationship, just a few short-term flings with guys that I dated for a few weeks after random hook-ups, but we always split before the fire between us died down.
"What have you been doing all day?" he asks.
I don't like his question. It reminds me too much of a time in my past when I couldn't do anything or go anywhere without having to answer questions like that.
"Unpacking, reading. Nosing around the house."
His eyes flicker with anger at that last part, even though I'm sure that he knows I'm joking, but barely. Truth is, there wasn't much to find because the entire place is void of any personal touches that would tell me something about him, at least anything that I don't already know. Two of the upstairs rooms are locked every time he leaves the house, his bedroom and office. I'm sure those two rooms would be the most interesting places to search for clues about the man I'm now living with.
"Nosing around, huh?" he says, attempting to be nonchalant about it. "Why not just ask me, if you have questions?"
"I don't have any specific questions," I respond truthfully. "For a journalist, I've never been good with interviews; I prefer research."
He huffs and puts his glass down on the kitchen counter. "Are you hungry?"
I nod. "Very."
For a split second, I'm wondering if he expects me to cook for him, too. He never said anything about cooking, and there's no food in the kitchen pantry to indicate it was part of the plan, but I can't simply assume he doesn't expect it from me. After all, he said he's looking for a "partner", and that could entail a lot of domestic duties that never occurred to me.
"I would take you out for dinner, but you're not outfitted for that," he says, roving over me with a judgmental look from head to toe. "We still have to take you shopping."
"We?" I ask, frowning at his contemptuous behavior.
"My team. You'll meet most of my staff tomorrow. And then afterward, you're going to be fitted for a wardrobe that's appropriate for your role."
I roll my eyes at him, making sure that he notices it, too. He can get as mad as he wants, but I'm not going to let him talk to me like this.
"You know, I don't like you rolling your eyes at me."
He's inching closer to me in slow but deliberate steps. "Are you actively trying to get in trouble?"
I shrug. "If this is the only way to get your attention, then sure."
He comes to a halt in front of me, and for a moment it appears as if he's about to jump at me like he did the last time I infuriated him.
But he doesn't. Instead, he buries his hands in the pockets of his suit pants and casts me a smug smile.
"You don't want to test me," he says. "Trust me on this."
"I'm not trying to test you," I assure him. "But as far as I remember, the last punishment wasn't exactly that... bad."