11. Blake

CHAPTER 11

Blake

“ G et your fucking hands off of her.” My tone’s menacing enough that even over the deafening music the two younger men step away from Ginevra. She sways in place, her eyes glassy, and I catch her before she falls. Lifting her into my arms, I carry her through the club to the exit, where my car’s waiting.

Rage rips through my veins. Dimitri owns Riot , it’s his club. While, yes, he called me to let me know Gin was here getting sloshed on the dance floor, he should have put a stop to this, to her, before she got wasted. Places like this are full of predators who like to prey on drunk women–or worse, spike their drinks, drugging and abducting them.

What was Dimitri thinking to let Gin be this vulnerable? If I demand an answer, he’ll probably give me some shit about keeping an eye on her via his security cameras. But that’s not good enough for me.

Ginevra murmurs a protest when I slide her into the backseat of the town car and duck in after her. I buckle her in, then tell my driver to take us home.

She tilts in her seat, her head landing in my lap, and I tense. Nuzzling my dick with her face, I begin to harden.

“ Fuck ,” I mutter under my breath. “Gin, stop it. Sit up.”

She groans. “Fuck me. You know you want to.”

Her palms slide up my thigh and over my chest. The heat of her touch goes straight to my swelling cock and burns low in my stomach. I’m tempted to unfasten my slacks and feel Gin’s sweet, hot mouth around my dick. I want to thread my fingers through her blond curls and pump my release into the back of her throat, to remind her who she fucking belongs to now.

Witnessing her body moving against those two men still has me seeing red. She’s mine. She belongs to me, and I don’t like other people touching my things.

I twine my fingers through her hair and pull her up, off of me. My gaze finds hers, those gorgeous brown eyes unfocused, and I realize she might not even know it’s me. I could be any man right now. Just a cock to get her off. Fuck that.

Roughly, I shove her away. Disgusted.

She slouches in her seat, her head falls to one side, and she’s unconscious. Passed out drunk.

If I was a more depraved man, I’d take her right now in this back seat, fast and hard, then spank her ass in punishment for what she did tonight. For her disobedience, and for putting herself in danger. But I swore not to touch her until our wedding night, and my word is binding.

Why the fuck did I make that one of our terms? Oh right, because she seemed nervous and vulnerable during dinner. A kind of unexpected innocence shone in her eyes and I wanted to do the honorable thing.

But looking at her now? She’s the gold-digging, cum-slut that I know her to be. The first time I fuck her, she’s going to be sober, lucid, and screaming my name–no one else’s. She’s going to remember every single wicked thing I do to her body, then beg me for more.

In the meantime, she needs to understand that if she ever touches another man again, I’ll kill him.

I put a passed out Gin to bed last night, then left for work before she woke up this morning. That isn’t exactly the way I pictured our first night together going, but c’est la fucking vie . We have many more evenings ahead of us.

After a rough day of dealing with Yve’s bullshit at the office, the last thing I want to come home to is an angry blond in my living room, but… here she is, that fake smile she greets me with, barely concealing her rage.

With a weary sigh, I settle into one of the leather chairs because we sure as fuck need to talk. Gin’s perched on the sofa across from me, her hands folded in her lap.

“Speak your mind,” I prompt her, and it’s like setting off a bomb.

“How dare you send people to invade my private space and upend my life! We agreed I’d move into your home, but I am not sleeping in your bed–not again.” She throws a decorative pillow at me, which I catch and set on the Persian area rug. She huffs, clearly frustrated. “I’ll pretend every which way you want, but I draw the line at you dictating every second of my life.”

“Hm… Actually, that’s exactly how we’re going to do this.” I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, and catch her eye. “You are going to be a good girl and do as you’re told—or else our deal is off. After last night’s drunken debauchery, you should be grateful that I’m feeling forgiving right now. You crossed the line and you won’t do it again. Am I clear?”

“That’s not fair. All I was doing was dancing.”

“Bullshit. We both know you were acting out. That may have worked with your daddy, but you will not do that shit with me. Do you understand?”

She stares me down for five seconds before she nods. “Fine.”

“Fine, what?”

“Fine. I understand that you’re horrible and unfair.”

I sigh. “I loathe to explain myself, but the reason you’re staying in my bedroom is because when my step-mother comes around—and she will—we need to convincingly appear as a couple. Couples don’t sleep in separate rooms. And mark my words, she will sense anything if it’s off. So you will sleep in my bed, is that understood?”

Ginevra looks away, hopefully she’s taking a minute to consider what I just told her, and see the logic behind it. When she doesn’t respond, my patience wears thin.

“You will also answer me when I ask a question. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” her reply is barely audible.

“Good. Now come here.”

Hesitantly, she stands and approaches my chair, eyeing me. When she’s within reach, my fingers curl around her wrist and I pull her into my lap. She lands on my thighs with a sharp gasp. Immediately, my senses fill with the honey scent of her hair, my hands indulge in the soft dip of her waist, and her warmth presses against my skin.

All these years I have been fucking leggy, small breasted, athletic types—I’m not entirely sure why. Habit, I suppose. Or expectation. But I realize now that I was never fully attracted to those women. I didn’t salivate at the very thought of tasting their breasts or burying my face between their thighs.

But Ginevra and her delicious curves? I want to smother myself in her breasts, fuck her tits, mark them with my teeth. I’ve never been this feral in my attraction to a woman before.

She pissed me the fuck off last night, but nothing that’s happened has dimmed her allure. I can’t wait to fully claim her as my own little fuck toy. To use her the way I want.

Lifting her, I adjust her on my lap to make room for my growing erection. Her cheeks color and she licks her lips. There’s that vulnerable, naive expression again.

Lies, it’s all lies. It has to be because she’s no innocent girl.

“What are we doing?” Her pulse visibly flutters.

“Getting used to each other, and having a conversation that won’t be overheard by anyone else.” I wrap one arm around her waist and settle my free hand on her thigh. She stiffens, but only for a second. “You were out most of the day. Where did you go?”

She shoots me a glare. “That’s none of your business.”

“Don’t test me, Gin.” I lean down to speak into her ear. “I require monogamy. If you were with another man?—”

“I wasn’t. I was on my own.”

I squeeze her thigh. “Then you’ve dealt with the boyfriend?”

She swallows, her throat flexing. “There was never a boyfriend, only my ex. We’ve been broken up for a couple of weeks.”

So she has an ex-boyfriend. The thought of another man touching her makes my blood boil all over again. My hold on her tightens and I force myself to relax before I squeeze her to death. This ex better not come around or I’ll fucking kill him.

“He knows it’s over between you two?” I ask, needing assurance.

She nods. “I’ve made it clear.”

“Good girl.” Knowing she’s all mine has my cock growing painfully hard. It throbs beneath her shapely ass. “It’s time for bed.”

She sharply inhales. “I, um… Are you sure we have to share the same bed?”

“I’m not going to fuck you tonight, Gin, remember we aren’t doing that until we’re married. Even so, yes, we have to sleep in the same bed. Though I doubt we’ll see each other that often. I have several hours of work ahead of me tonight and I will wake up early.”

“But it’s already late.” Her confused frown sets off a tingling sensation in my chest. Is she concerned about my long hours? How sweet.

I shrug. “I’m a night owl. Don’t worry, I won’t disturb you when I come to bed.” Standing up, I set her on her feet. She’s so petite, the top of her head barely reaches my shoulders. “Off to bed with you.”

“Okay.”

She’s being obedient again, and I’m not sure if I should be suspicious or if the fight’s left her because of exhaustion. She’s obviously been fuming all day long, and probably nursing a hangover after drinking her body weight in tequila.

“Good night.” Cupping her face, I plant a delicate kiss against her lips. The urge to taste her, to plunder her mouth with my tongue, nearly overwhelms me, but I resist.

All in good time.

When I release her, she’s blushing. I have the strangest sense that she’s never been kissed like that before. But I must be wrong, this girl’s been kissed a thousand times, a hundred different ways.

I scowl. Possessiveness coils in the pit of my stomach. The urge to claim her mouth resurfaces.

“Good night,” she whispers and scurries from the living room before I can drag her into my arms and devour every inch of her. At least if I have to have a fake girlfriend, she’s actually someone I find attractive. Sexual chemistry won’t be a problem in our short marriage.

Willing my body to chill the fuck out, I head to my office, where I login to the dark web chat room that serves as my inquiry form. People post jobs they’d like me to consider, and I either accept or decline depending on my mood. I certainly don’t need the money like I used to, but this is the work I enjoy. This is how I gained freedom from my father and wicked step-mother.

Once upon a time, in high school and then college, I did need the money. Even then, I clearly saw what Yve was doing to my father, how she manipulated him at every turn. He was too weak, too infatuated to see what was happening. She slowly sank her claws into everything from our home life, to my father’s social circle, to Titan Enterprises.

Watching her ruin him solidified my determination to never fall in love, to never let a woman in that close. Vipers, all of them.

I realized then that I needed independence. Financial freedom.

Spending so much time locked in my room to avoid the step-monster, I discovered my talent for hacking into computer systems. What started as a game quickly became a way to earn an outrageous amount of money. My own money, untouchable, as I kept it hidden in off-shore accounts. Watching the balance in those accounts climb to astronomical heights also felt like a game.

By the time I graduated college, I was a multi-millionaire and had a sizable investment portfolio. In the years since then, I’ve turned my millions into billions, all under the guise of a tech services company that runs a multitude of shell companies around the world. I pay enough in taxes that the IRS shakes my hand and doesn’t look too closely into my business. Not that they’d find anything if they did.

To this day, Yve doesn’t know how I became independently wealthy. The fact that I am, frustrates her to no end. When she realized she couldn’t control me with money, she turned to blackmail–and my only weakness: my love of my siblings.

I scroll through the encrypted messages. There’s everything from requests to hack into a banking system to steal money, to pyramid schemes, to political sabotage. A couple of personal vendettas where they want me to destroy their rival’s career.

Boring . All of it’s boring.

Until I run across one that wants to sabotage a certain import-export company… De Luca Global Trades. Seems like someone wants to fuck with Roman.

Not on my watch, even if he did punch me in the face the last time I saw him.

I accept the job and start a chat with the client. He’s happy to pay a cool million for the job. All I have to do is hack into the company’s systems and install a virus that will incapacitate their communication and scheduling operations. Easy.

Except, while I have this guy in the chatroom, I run a program to pinpoint his location and get into his system. It takes a while, jumping around the globe until I finally have him. But I do find him. I always find what I seek. Then I upload my own virus onto his devices. It’s stealthy, quiet, its job is to watch and listen and record every email and text he sends, every webpage he browses. I want to thoroughly know this fucker before I destroy him.

Now this is a fun game.

He pays me half up front, the rest to be collected when I complete my task. Though that’s an ending we’ll never arrive at. I think when I’m done playing with him, I’ll empty that bank account he just logged into to wire me the down payment, his username and password safely tucked away for future use.

He signs off and I go onto my next order of business. It seems my little birdies were busy today. I have six thousand snippets of gossip and information that’s come in over the last twenty-four hours. My program has already sorted it all into relevant categories, flagged priority messages, and added everything to my searchable database.

I have eyes and ears everywhere that matters, and many places that don’t. My little birdies upload everything from photos, to sightings, to general gossip of celebrities, criminals, the wealthy, and the underdogs. Because of them, I have my fingers on the pulse of sports, politics, and the underworld–and honestly, everything in between. They give me information and I pay them in bitcoin for each little piece.

This is my empire. How I work from the shadows.

I finally glance at the clock. It’s two in the morning. I pour myself a scotch and head up to bed. Quietly opening the door, I’m greeted by Ginevra’s steady breathing and a sliver of silver light peeking through the curtains.

I stop short, amusement curling my lips as I take in the barrier of pillows she’s constructed down the middle of the king size bed. Her message reads loud and clear. Stay away.

It’s going to take more than a few pillows to keep me away from her, but for tonight I’ll leave her be. Quickly undressing in my closet, I neatly hang my clothes for dry cleaning, then slip under the covers on what’s clearly been designated as my side of the bed.

Sleep pulls me under like a riptide.

M y alarm buzzes, waking me at six in the morning, and I instantly freeze. There’s a warm body pressed against mine, a honey scent permeating the air. I glance down to find Ginevra wrapped around me like an angelic boa constrictor, her arm embracing my chest, her leg resting over mine. She’s tucked into my shoulder, peacefully asleep. So much for the pillow barrier.

I stay there, holding her as she sleeps for a couple of minutes, as a series of slightly uncomfortable sensations wash over me. I’ve never actually slept next to a woman before—certainly never cuddled . I’m pretty sure this qualifies as cuddling. It feels… strange, intimate. More intimate than sex.

I’m undecided on whether I like it or hate it.

Gently, I untangle myself from her limbs. Gin softly murmurs and rolls over, fast asleep. She sleeps like the dead. Obviously she cuddled with me by accident. That was never her intention.

With a heaviness in my gut I don’t dare to try to explain, I get ready for my day. Falling back into my established habits.

As the days go by, we keep to a certain routine. Ginevra wakes many hours after I do, and is asleep by the time I turn in around two or three in the morning. While we hardly see each other, I do notice the growing amount of discarded clothing draped on my bedroom furniture. My bathroom counter has become a cosmetics display, swallowed up by an alarming number of scented products, makeup, and nail polishes. The living room looks like a girls slumber party descended, leaving destruction in its wake. It’s chaos.

If this keeps up, I’m going to have to move out. Which I suspect is Ginevra’s endgame. The little vixen is trying to drive me crazy with clutter and messes everywhere.

My housekeeper cleans twice a week, but I might have to up that schedule to once a day at the rate this is going. How can one adult woman cause so much chaos? I have this ominous feeling that she’s slowly taking over the entire house. Soon I’ll be buried in high heeled shoes, takeout containers, and heaps of laundry.

I’ll drown in it all. Ginevra’s clutter will be my demise.

It’s time to set some more rules.