by Hannah Ford
What He Demands (What He Wants, Book Three)
By Hannah Ford
Copyright 2015, Hannah Ford, all rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Noah
9:10.
It was 9:10 and she still wasn’t here.
I took another sip of my drink and leaned back in the red leather booth. Had I spooked her in some way, perhaps with that talk in her lobby where I told her that in order for her to be with me, really be with me, she’d have to do things she’d never even considered?
She hadn’t seemed spooked.
In fact, she’d seemed eager and willing.
And according to the text she’d just sent me, she was ready to go, all dressed up in a sexy little black dress that hugged her curves. It drove me insane just looking at her. I couldn’t wait to fill her with my cock, to tie her up, to make her beg me to fuck her.
9:14.
I wondered if she was trying to mess with me, planning to arrive late in order to keep me guessing. The thought was amusing. If she wanted to play those kind of games, she was going to learn fast that there would be a price.
My dick hardened, thinking about the way she’d looked at me in the lobby earlier, telling me she wanted to understand, to learn. I wanted to teach her, to bring her into my world.
But she still wasn’t here.
Disappointment washed over me, and I was shocked to realize that if she didn’t show up, I would head home. I was surrounded by beautiful women, women who had been conditioned and primed to provide pleasure for the men who requested it. And yet all I could think about was Charlotte. Her lush curves, her fiery spirit, the way it felt to hold her close. She was innocent. Pure. Perfect.
Be careful, Noah. Don’t get too close.
I wouldn’t. If she wasn’t here by 9:20, I would leave. It would be better for me. And for her. I would have her fired from helping Colin Worthington. I would tell him it was nothing personal against her, that I just no longer felt comfortable having law students working on my case.
The police weren’t going to arrest me anyway. I was sure of it.
Stop being disappointed. She was too good for you. She would have never understood.
I surveyed the crowd on the dance floor, watching as a blonde girl in her mid-twenties was collared and led to the VIP room.
You should take another woman.
You have to.
Forget about Charlotte Holloway.
You need to get her out of your system.
Find another pussy you can bury your dick in, a woman who will let you do what you need.
That’s when I saw her.
Charlotte.
She was standing just inside the door, wearing that tight little black dress she’d sent me a picture of. High black stiletto heels were on her feet, and the fabric of her dress gathered at her waist, showing off her curves and hugging that deliciously round ass. Even from here, I could tell she was wearing more make-up than usual. Her plump lips were done in a shade of red that made me harden. I couldn’t wait for her to suck me off, taking every last drop of my come down her pretty little throat.
She looked around, confused. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and her eyes widened as she took in the fact that most of the women on the dance floor were scantily clad and grinding up on the men. She bit her lip as she watched a man reach out and put his hand on his date’s skirt, then pull it up and grab her ass in front of everyone.
It was this part – her naivety about sex and the world – that made her so irresistible. Her eyes scanned the room until they locked with mine. She began to make her way over to me.
She was ready to learn.
And I couldn’t wait to teach her.
Charlotte
I spotted him sitting over in the corner, in a booth, one of those VIP ones that was raised up on a platform so that he could have a good look at everything that was going on beneath him.
I hated the thought of him looking at other women, hating thinking that he might have been up there looking at that girl’s ass and getting turned on. The women in this club were extremely beautiful. I knew as soon as Jared pulled the car up in front that I was out of my element.
I’d been to fancy bars before, of course. The place I’d been the other night for Cora’s bachelorette party was nice. But it was professional nice. Classy. The kind of place lawyers and professionals went.
The men here seemed like professionals. Or at least, they seemed rich. They were all wearing sophisticated, expensive-looking clothing. But the women looked like models. Shiny hair, tiny waists, perfect complexions. I was by far the biggest girl in the room, and I instantly felt self-conscious.
Everyone here was wearing designer dresses, and I was wearing a tight little mini-dress that Julia probably got at TJ Maxx. I’d felt beautiful back at the house when I was getting ready, but now I just felt out of place and bumbling.
I told myself it didn’t matter. I wasn’t here to impress anyone, least of all Noah.
I marched over and slid into the booth next to him.
In an instant, he was next to me, his body against me, his leg pushing into mine. But I moved away so that I was out of his reach.
“That’s how it’s going to be, huh?” he said, smiling devilishly. He reached under the table and stroked my knee. “Fine with me. It’ll make it even sweeter.”
I marveled at his change in tone, how he’d been so vulnerable back in the lobby of my building, how he’d seemed like he really wanted to let me in. I thought we’d be going to a nice restaurant, or a movie, or one of the million of other places you could go on a first date. But now, here we were again, in some fancy loud club, and all he was thinking about was sex.
His touch was sending heat pulsing through my core, and I cursed him for being able to have such an effect on me.
I reached into my messenger bag (I’d had to bring it instead of the tiny little clutch—it didn’t match the outfit, but some things were more important) and pulled out the file folder Professor Worthington had given me, slamming it down on the table.
“What’s this?” Noah asked, looking dismayed.
“Oh, nothing,” I said, flipping open the folder and pulling out the photo, the one of Nora and Dani. “Just an interesting picture of two women you used to date, two women with the same marks on their wrists that I have.”
He picked up the photo and looked at it.
I’d been replaying this moment in my head the whole way over here. At first I’d thought that I wouldn’t even come, that I’d just leave Noah waiting. I’d never talk to him again, I’d resign from the case and build up my reputation with Professor Worthington through hard work in his class.
It was too dangerous.
What were the chances that the two murdered women had both dated Noah and had the same marks on their wrist at the time of their death? The marks looked fresh, like maybe he’d just been with him. Was that what he did? Tied them up and fucked them until he got bored, then killed them and tossed their bodies?
In the end, though, I decided to come because I wanted to confront him. I wanted to put the evidence right down in front of him. I’d pictured us in a restaurant though, the kind of place where he’d tell me to keep my voice down and get a panicked look on his face before begging me not to call the police.
You came because you wanted him to convince you it wasn’t him.
I ignored that thought and waited for Noah’s explanation.
He gl
anced at the photo as if it were nothing, then placed it back in the folder before sliding it back across the table toward me.
“Is that why you came here tonight, Charlotte?” He took a sip of his drink and regarded me over the table, his gaze piercing.
“What do you mean?” I shifted on the booth, uncomfortable. Somehow he had already turned the tables, and now he was questioning me, instead of the other way around.
“I mean did you come here tonight because you wanted to accuse me of murder?”
I thought about it. “Haven’t you already been accused of murder?” I shot back.
“Have I?”
“You’re talking in circles.”
“Why did you come here tonight, Charlotte?” he pressed.
He was making me nervous. He was looking at me like he wanted to fuck me, his gaze smoldering, his eyes full of want. But he’d taken his hand off my knee and now he was leaning back against the booth. He was wearing a soft-looking black sweater and the sleeves were pushed up, showing muscular forearms.
I didn’t like that he’d moved away from me. Now that I was here, I wanted him close to me. I hated that he had this power over me, hated that I’d come here to confront him about something, and now he was the one in control.
But why had I come here? I wondered. Was it that I wanted an explanation? If I did, then why didn’t I just come out and ask him for it?
Because you’re afraid of the answer.
“I came here because you invited me.” My hands twisted in my lap, and I wished I had a drink to keep me busy. I looked around for a waitress and spotted a beautiful blonde in a gold minidress setting a round of glasses down on a table a few booths down.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you, Charlotte,” Noah demanded.
It was like a reflex. I turned my attention back to him, my eyes snapping back onto his.
“Good girl,” he said, like it pleased him that I could follow directions. He’d said the same thing when I was sucking his cock. That I was pleasing him turned me on—then and now. “Now answer my question. Why did you come here?”
“I came here because you invited me,” I repeated. “And because I wanted to get to know you better, like you said.” It sounded lame and cliché and such a girl thing to say, but I didn’t care. I did come here because I wanted to get to know him better. I wanted to know something about him, anything. If he had brothers and sisters, if he liked his job, what his favorite color was. Right now he was like a completely closed door, and the lock was proving impossible to open.
“And you thought you could get to know me better by accusing me of murder?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I wasn’t accusing you of murder.”
“You came here and showed me a picture of two dead girls, which by the way, I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be doing in such a public place, and then you compared the marks on their wrists to the marks on yours. Marks that I put there.”
“I wanted an explanation.” I kept my eyes on his, daring him to contradict me. I didn’t care how devastatingly sexy he was, or how successful, or how much he turned me on. I deserved an answer.
“For what?”
“For the fact that two dead women have marks on their wrists identical to the ones you put on mine.”
“So what you’re saying is that you believe I am the only person capable of putting marks on someone’s wrists, is that correct?”
“Don’t talk to me like a lawyer.”
“Then don’t make me feel like I need one.”
He took another sip of his drink. I wanted to look away from him, because he still had that look on his face, the conceited look of a man who is completely in control of a situation and knows it.
“Fine,” I said. “Yes, I think it’s a little suspect that you happened to leave marks on my wrists that are identical to two murder victims who also have a connection to you. And while in theory, yes, there could conceivably more than one person going around leaving marks on women’s wrists, I doubt it’s that prevalent.”
I stared at him, satisfied. I expected him to give me a look of appreciation. I felt like I’d just won my case.
But he only looked amused, like I had a lot to learn about the world.
He didn’t say anything, and it was disarming. I wanted to look around for the waitress, but I didn’t want to look away from him. It felt like he’d be winning.
“Come here,” he commanded. “I’m going to tell you something.”
“Tell me from over there,” I said.
“Come. Here.” His voice was aggressive, commanding, with a slight undertone of something else I couldn’t put my finger on. It was almost threatening, like if I didn’t do what he said, there would be consequences.
I slid over until I was right next to him. Noah reached under the table and pulled my legs onto his lap. He took my hand in his, turned it over until he was stroking my palm softly with his fingertips. The pad of his thumb slid over my wrist, tracing the marks he’d left there last night.
“Do you know what these marks mean, Charlotte?” he asked me.
“That you like to tie people up during sex.” His touch was hypnotizing me, and I could feel that familiar pull toward him. The pull that made my skin feel like it was on fire, that got me wet, that caused me to be pushed to the floor of a limousine so that I could suck his cock. It was like a wave, pulling me under, and I was helpless to resist. But he’d invited me here because I’d told him I’d wanted to get to know him, and now he was turning everything right back to sex. And on top of that, he was evading my questions about the murders.
I pulled my hand back from his. “No.” I shook my head. “Noah, I came here because I wanted… I thought that…” I trailed off and looked at the table. I felt stupid, saying the words out loud. That I wanted to come here to talk to him, to spend time with him, to go on a date like a normal person. But whenever I tried to talk about those things, he acted like I was being a silly little school girl. And maybe I was.
He reached out and took my chin in his hand, turned my face back so I was looking at him. “Do you trust me?” he asked. His eyes were still burning, that same lustful look he’d been giving me ever since I met him. But I could see something beneath that. He wanted me to say yes, wanted me to trust him. It mattered to him.
I swallowed. “I don’t even know you,” I said weakly.
“Not the question.”
“I’m not…. I mean, I don’t…”
“I want to let you in, Charlotte. I want to show you things about myself.”
“Then why are we here?” I asked, frustrated. “We’re at some kind of pick-up bar. This isn’t the kind of place you take someone if you want to get to know them better.”
“And why is that?” He was still holding on to my chin, only now the pad of his thumb was making slow circles over my skin.
“Because this is the kind of place you go before you have sex.”
“Do you know what kind of club this is, Charlotte?”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?” I looked around, trying to see what he was talking about. “An exclusive one?”
He stared at me, not saying anything, and it reminded me of being in a law school interview, where the interviewee wanted you to figure something out on your own, without them having to give you hints.
I turned and looked around.
The music pulsed through the speakers hanging over the dance floor, men and women dancing in time to the beat. At the bar, I watched beautiful women flirt with beautiful and rich men. Were they hookers, maybe? Was this the kind of place you came if you wanted to pay for sex?
I watched as a man took a girl by the hand and walked her to a door on the far side of the room. The door opened and I caught a flash of black walls and a black staircase before they disappeared. It looked like some kind of basement, which was odd for a club of this caliber. Why would a fancy club like this, in such an exclusive part of the city, have a basement? My brain was sear
ching for something just out of its grasp.
And that’s when my eyes landed on the collar sitting on the table.
A cold shiver of fear went up my spine.
This wasn’t just a club.
It wasn’t just a sex club.
It was a BDSM club.
***
I didn’t know much about BDSM, except for what I’d seen in the movies. My roommate, Julia, had read a couple of novels about it. I’d seen them strewn around the apartment, pictures of handcuffs and whips on their covers.
I turned to Noah. “This is a BDSM club,” I whispered.
He nodded, waiting for my reaction.
That same fear ran up my spine again, and my arms broke out in goose bumps.
But the fear wasn’t because I was afraid.
It was because I was excited.
And that was frightening.
“How is this supposed to help me to get to know you?” I asked Noah, frustrated.
“Do you trust me?” he repeated. His hand slid down my neck, tracing a line over my collarbone, then dipping just inside the top of my dress, running over the top of my bra.
The goose bumps on my arms broke out all over my body, and I was afraid Noah was going to be able to tell.
“I’m not…I don’t know.”
“You need to trust me,” he whispered. He pulled me close so that our foreheads were touching. He smelled like expensive cologne and shaving cream and something else, something Noah.
“How can I trust you when you let me get to know you?” I breathed.
“This is how you get to know me,” he said. “This is who I am.”
“But how does this help me get to know you?” I asked.
“By understanding why I need this, you will start to understand everything about me,” he said. He kissed the side of my neck softly, his lips brushing over my collarbone, bursting my skin into flames.
“You’re not making sense,” I said. I could feel myself getting seduced, getting pulled under by his kiss, his touch, the way his body felt close to mine. I needed to keep my head clear, but it was impossible. He had a pull and power over me that I couldn’t understand, that I was helpless to resist.
