13
Siren
Tell me the truth, or I’ll commit a sin.
Those words are going to be the death of me someday.
This man is all about playing games, because it’s the only way he can beat me. He wants ultimate control over me. He wants me to spill all of my secrets and willingly give him my body. Not going to happen.
We both stare back and forth, neither of us backing down.
I refuse to be scared of his silly game.
And he refuses to show me any emotion other than absolute stillness.
Zeke’s hands are still on me, but he’s not manhandling me the way I might expect him to. His body is pressed against mine as he sits on top of me, and his hands have mine pinned to the armrests, but he isn’t exerting all of his physical strength over me. His presence alone would have me bolted in place. He’s so intense, unmoving, like a rock that can’t be swayed by anything, even the wind.
He’s a man of steel, only speaking words when necessary—only applying force when he needs to. Because he knows the costs of exerting his physical prowess on others. And he only reserves that for the most serious situations.
I’m the first to move, squirming beneath his hard body. I feel his erection against my stomach. He doesn’t try to hide his attraction to me. He displays it proudly. And as much as I want to make a snarky comment about him being turned on by me—I can’t. Because it would be a lie to tease him for his attraction when I’m equally turned on.
My self-pleasure session earlier did nothing to squash this deep craving in my core that has now spread to the tips of my fingers and toes. Every nerve, muscle, and bone in my body is screaming—I want Zeke.
I want to tug on his man bun sitting on top of his head, until his hair falls gruffly to his shoulders, turning him into more beast than man. I want to feel his stubble against my thigh. I want to feel the power of his hands as he pushes inside of me with his impressive cock. I want to fight back, determined to ride him instead of letting him fuck me. I want him to tame me, convince me that having a man in my life is a good thing.
I want to lose all control and forget how horrible men are. How selfish, egotistical, assholes all men are. I want to forget about him buying me. I want to pretend our only interaction before today was when I saved him.
I want…
I swallow. It doesn’t matter what I want.
My eyes drop back to Zeke, who hasn’t moved and gives me no clue of his thoughts. But I know that he’s thinking. Every move he makes is calculated, including when he is as still as a statue.
His silence is driving me mad. I want answers. I need answers! I need to know the man beneath the shield. So I can hurt him, demolish him, and be one step closer to freedom.
I shift again, pretending I want to get away from him, while accidentally thrusting my hips up into his erection.
His lip twitches. He notices. His body stills, except for his eyes. It’s less than a second, but I see them roll with pleasure.
Why isn’t he going to try and have me, then? He wants me this badly. Does he really want to sell me to Julian or one of Julian’s friends?
“Truth or sin. What does that mean?” I finally ask.
Zeke looks down at my hands gripping the armrest. With an unspoken promise, he releases me. I expect him to be hesitant and wait for me to slap him again. But he doesn’t. He trusts me. How foolish of him.
Zeke stands up and walks over to the far side of the room. He returns with a second wine glass and a bottle of wine. He fills his glass, then mine. This bottle is one of the last of his alcohol supply to survive my tornado. I destroyed or hid all the rest.
I take the glass from him; our fingers tingle when our hands brush. Stupid body, always choosing the wrong men.
Zeke takes a drink, and so do I. He has this unyielding power over me. I almost wish he’d speak. I can fight back word for word. I can use my snarky wit to knock him on his ass and put him on the defensive. But I can’t fight back without him talking. I can’t resist his pull. It’s like gravity pulling me to him, commanding me to follow his unspoken words.
I clear my throat, trying to break free from the spell. “What do you mean?” I ask again.
He doesn’t let my question or uncomfortableness speed up his answers. He takes his time, drinking more of his wine as he waits me out.
I try to sit up taller in the chair while he stands over me. But it’s no use. With his six foot five frame towering over me as I sit in the chair, I can’t help but feel small.
Finally, he kneels in front of me. Reducing his power, but making me more uncomfortable now that we are eye to eye.
“Better?” he asks.
My mouth is dry. How can he read me so easily? I shake my head, trying to wash all feeling from my body.
He raises one eyebrow. “Hmm, well then make up your mind, Siren. Should I kneel or stand?”
“Sit…in a chair.” Like a normal person.
He shakes his head slowly. “That wasn’t one of the choices. Kneel or stand?”
My eyes flicker back and forth, trying to read his. “Kneel,” I whisper.
He nods and continues to kneel.
Holy hell. Why is this big, muscular, powerful man kneeling in front of me? And why is it the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen?
He finishes his wine and sets it down on the end table next to me. He still hasn’t answered my question.
Then he reaches for my wine glass. I let him take it. I don’t need more alcohol in my system if I’m going to have a fighting chance against Zeke. He’s not like other men. And that terrifies me. I don’t know how to play him if he’s constantly two steps ahead of me.
But when he reaches for the glass, he grabs my fingers too. He lifts the glass to his own lips and drinks. His eyes looking up at me as he drinks from the glass I’m holding.
I change my mind; this is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s such a simple move, but I can feel his touch, his breath all the way to my core. My toes tingle and my pussy drenches just from his lips being so close to my fingers. His hand is touching mine in a controlling but kind way.
I bite my lip, trying to keep from gasping and moaning while he drinks. When he finishes the last drop of my wine, he takes a deep inhale.
I think he’s breathing in the wine, but the mischievous look on his face tells me otherwise.
“It appears that you have already sinned,” he says.
I blink rapidly. Can he still smell my cum on my fingers? My cheeks heat at his accusation. I shouldn’t be the least bit embarrassed; I’m a grown woman who can touch herself as much as she wants. I practically paraded naked around his house. I flashed his cameras, showed him how I came. I thought it would be a big fuck you, but right now, I think it’s a big fuck me.
“How do I know?” he asks, asking my unspoken question out loud.
I nod.
He shakes his as he releases my hand. “This is how the game works. You want answers, you have to be willing to give everything. You have to risk the highest price in order to get the truth.”
“Touching myself isn’t a sin.”
“Yes, it is—to me.”
I cock my head, not understanding.
“You belong to me, Siren. You. Are. Mine. You don’t get to touch yourself without my permission. Your pussy belongs to me. Your pleasure belongs to me. You touched what is mine. To me, that’s a sin.”