by Ella Miles
I laugh in her face. Breaking down was a mistake, because it causes me to move closer to her and straddle her in the chair. And now I can smell her. And she smells like sex.
What did my little vixen do while I was away at work? She’s been very busy if she had time to destroy my house, read a book, and pleasure herself.
“You’re mad at me because I lied to you?” I laugh again, not able to contain how ridiculous she’s being.
“Yes,” she hisses, completely serious as her face inches closer to mine. So close I could lean forward an inch and our lips would touch. I wouldn’t even have to pretend it was a kiss. Just our angry words colliding.
“I hate to tell you, Siren, but lying is by far the least offensive of the crimes I plan on committing when it comes to you.”
She stops breathing as she looks at my lips. She wants to kiss me too. I can tell in the way her breath hitches and her parted lips moisten.
But I’m too angry to let her have anything she wants. “I own you, Siren. You are mine. I can do whatever I want with you—including lie. But my lies should be the least of your worries.”
Slap.
My head whips so hard to the side so fast I don’t even realize what just happened. For a second, I think that Julian or one of his men have attacked and punched me square in the jaw. But when I turn my head back to look at Siren, I realize the swing came from her. She’s tiny; I have no idea how she was able to give her slap so much power.
It may be hard to believe, but I’ve been slapped by women before. None of which I completely deserved—until now. I earned every sting zipping through my jaw right now.
Siren is panting heavily underneath me. Her body is on alert, and if I say anything else stupid, she will slap me again with the full force of her petite body. She’s definitely been taught how to defend herself. From who? I don’t know. But that wasn’t your average slap.
“Is that all you got? Because that pathetic tap won’t stop me from getting what I want.” I lower myself on top of her, until my body is pressing down on hers. Until my cock is resting against her stomach. Until she can barely breathe beneath me.
“Then rape me already! Get it over with! Stop playing games and get it over with!” she cries before her hand comes up again to slap me. I stop her automatically this time, more prepared than I was before.
I push her hands down into the armrests on either side of her. Now all she can move are her lips, as my head blocks any other movement. But her lips alone are dangerous enough.
“Do it. Rape me. I’d like to see you try. I’ll cut off your dick before you have a chance.”
I lean down until our lips are aligned but stop short of kissing. Her pink lips are taunting me in a way I can’t resist, and her damn fucking smell is pulling me to her like a magnet. My raging hard-on is getting uncomfortable in my jeans. I didn’t think this position through when I pinned her to the chair, because it’s more torturous for me than her.
“Who says I want to rape you?” I say, my eyes searing. It’s my biggest lie yet. Okay, I don’t want to rape her, but I do want to fuck her—badly. I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted anything more.
Her eyes flicker down to where my erection gives me away. “He does.”
I smirk. “Only a weak man lets his cock make the decisions. And I’m not a weak man. I’m a smart businessman who likes money.”
She snickers. “You sure as hell don’t look like any businessman I’ve ever met. And you aren’t very smart with money if you are willing to drop thirty million on a woman when you could easily pick up some woman at a bar with your body.”
“I am focused on my money, which is why I don’t want to rape you. It’s like driving a brand new car off the car lot. You would instantly lose your value if I was the one to break you in. As you said, I spent too much money on you to let that happen.”
Her face drops into concern as she struggles carefully against my body. I’m so close she can barely move without our lips touching. And she won’t give me that satisfaction.
“Then, what do you want from me, if not my body?”
“I want to sell you. We are going to Julian Reed’s Friday night. He’s inviting some of the richest men in the world. Men that would make the boys at the auction seem poor. I’m going to sell you and double my money.”
Her mouth drops open, speechless.
All of my words are lies. I don’t want to sell her; I want to protect her. And selling her to Julian Reed would be sentencing her to a life of torture. But she doesn’t know that. I need her to fear me. I need her obedient. Especially if we go to Julian’s. I don’t need him suspecting I haven’t touched her yet.
“Now, slap me again, and I’ll make sure you go to the most ruthless man instead of the one with the biggest pockets. Understand?”
She nods slowly.
“Good.” Although, I’m not sure I like her so silent. Her body lies to me, I can feel it. There is no way she’s actually attracted to me. No way her nipples are hardening in my direction. No way the scent of sex is growing. No way she is licking her lips because she wants me. When she speaks, she tells the truth. She’s told me as much before. She hated it when I lied, probably because she’s a horrible liar. I need to get her talking.
“How do you know Julian Reed?”
I expect her to pretend she doesn’t. I expect her to at least attempt to lie first—she doesn’t.
“No,” she flat out says.
“No? I don’t think you get how this works. I ask you a question, you answer.”
“No.”
I growl.
“You just admitted you wouldn’t hurt me because you’re selling me to another man. You won’t damage me before you do that. So no, I’m the one with control now. And I’m not going to answer your questions.”
“I have a better idea,” I retort.
She blinks, waiting for me to speak, but she still thinks she holds all the power.
“You always tell the truth. That’s what you told me before, when I bought you.”
She shifts beneath me but doesn’t confirm or deny the truth.
“And you hated it when I lied to you, which means for you, telling the truth is your most important value. Something you won’t waver on easily.”
Again, she doesn’t speak.
I smirk. I have her.
“Fine, you don’t want to answer my questions, you don’t have to.”
She grins, thinking she won.
“But there will be consequences to your silence.”
She narrows her gaze at me but doesn’t move. She can’t; I’m still holding her down to prevent another inevitable slap.
“You either tell me the truth, or I’ll commit a sin.” I don’t tell her what the sin will be, but the look in my eyes gives her a clue. I won’t be the gentleman I’m used to being. I’ll unleash the beast. And once I do, there is no going back.
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.”
His words infuriate me, and somehow also turn me on. No man has ever talked about owning my pussy or pleasure like that.
“You don’t own me,” I whisper—not terrified, but not strong enough to say the words so loudly. Not because I’m scared of Zeke, but because on some level, I want a man to lay claim to my body. I want to be controlled. I’m tired of having to do every-fucking-thing for myself. I want a man who can make me come better than I can.
Zeke leans forward until his mouth is against my ear. “No, Siren, maybe I don’t. Because to truly own someone, the other person has to willingly give himself back. But soon, I will. Because you are on the verge of giving me everything.”
He sits back. And once again, I’m left speechless.
“So, how does this silly game of yours work?” I ask, clearing my throat.
He sits back on his heels. “I ask you a question. You tell the truth. And if you don’t want to answer, you have to let me commit a sin against you.”
“And what about me? Do I get to ask a question? Do I get to commit a sin if you don’t answer?”
“Yes,” he answers, surprising the hell out of me. I assumed this would be one-sided. But this might be exactly what I need to be able to get my own answers.
“And if we choose to answer the question, how do we know we are both telling the truth?”
He lets out a breathy growl as if the question I asked is ridiculous. “We both know the answer to that.”
I run my hand through my long hair, wishing Zeke would do the same—come unhinged a little, let his hair down, and stop controlling my every thought. But he doesn’t. His hair stays high up on his head, locked away with a black scrunch
ie.
“You told me you can’t lie. And I believe you.”
“I can too lie…I um…fuck,” I breathe, not even being able to lie about lying.
He smirks. “See? You can’t lie.”
Now it’s my turn to growl.
He smiles in a charming, bright way—fucking asshole.
“Fine, but someday, I might figure out how to lie and how will you be able to hold me accountable?”
He leans forward again. “Because if you find a way to lie with your words, your body will betray you. Your cheeks will shade just the slightest darker pink. More blood will flow to your lips until they are as red as a poisoned apple. Your eyes will dilate. You’ll fidget just the tiniest bit more. And your body will melt under my scrutiny.”
As he speaks, everything he says happens to my body. How can he control me that much?
“And how will I know you aren’t lying? You’ve already lied to me.”
“And you figured out I was lying within an hour of me being gone.”
“So? I don’t expect our game to last an entire hour.”
“I suspect you are a fast learner.”
I laugh. “I’m really not. I’m the worst learner. It takes me forever to master a skill. I have to put in way more than my ten thousand hours to learn something. But once I master it, I never forget. I don’t have to practice anymore.” Why the fuck am I telling him this much about myself? I’m just willingly spilling all of my secrets.
His eyes widen at my admission.
I clamp my mouth shut to keep from admitting any more stupid secrets.
“I grew up in New Orleans. My mother is in prison; my father died when I was five. I worked as a mechanic for a few years in my early teens. I met my first girlfriend in college at the University of Texas. I studied biology, but never finished my degree.”
My mouth slowly unclamps at each of his admissions—wow.
“Did I speak the truth?” he asks.
I think back to how he delivered each sentence. I close my eyes, trying to remember every syllable he spoke, the inflection, and any clues his body gave away. Most people would have said there were no clues—nothing to give away if he spoke the truth or not. He delivered his words with the same calm stillness he does everything else with.
