Chapter 6

Isabella

I hate him. He's a walking contradiction. He can go to the bathroom and hook up with some woman, but god forbid I grind on some dude's dick in my car.

He sure didn't last very long with his little lady, considering he was cock blocking me a few minutes later. The way Vance walks and talks, I thought I'd at least have a solid fifteen to get my rocks off and kick my date to the curb.

Vance has locked me in my ivory tower because of my little "stunt," as he called it. I sit on the couch, swirl a glass of wine, and watch TV in my living room.

He comes into the room with a beer and sits in the chair next to the couch. His dark eyes move to the television, and I'm given an opportunity to study him without notice. I fucking hate how handsome he is. If he wasn't so insufferable, he's the sort of guy whose leg I would grind on. He's bossy and rude, and no one has ever treated me like he does.

"What do you want, Isabella?" he asks, probably because he's caught me staring.

"I want to know why you took this job. Are you broke? If that's the case, I'll give you one hundred thousand right now to quit," I tell him, straightening my spine.

He takes a sip of beer and follows that with an infuriating laugh. "I don't want your money, little girl. I want your father's. Besides, I'm his employee, not yours."

I set down my glass, kick my feet out, and lean forward. "Vance, can I level with you?"

"Level away."

"I have less than two weeks until I'm forced to marry someone I despise. I'll become an object to own instead of a human being. I want this time to be my own, if you get what I'm saying."

Vance sets his beer on his thigh and turns his eyes to mine. "No, I'm not following."

"I want to have fun. Fuck around with someone, even if I can't have sex. Because once I'm married, I lose all control of my body. The rights to it will belong to my husband."

"What if one of these Prince Charmings of yours doesn't want to stop at some teenage grinding? What then? What will stop them from pinning your ass down and taking more? Oh, yeah, that's right. Me." He scoffs and finishes off his beer in one swig.

I cross my arms over my chest. "I'm tougher than I look, you know."

"I'm sure you're very tough," he coos.

I don't appreciate his mockery.

"My father's personal trainer also taught me self defense, so I kinda know what I'm doing," I say.

Vance sighs, puts down his beer, strides toward the couch, and towers over me. He leans closer, sending his warm breath over my chest. He sits beside me and pulls me onto his lap.

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask as I try to squirm away.

"I want you to show me."

My mouth flops open. "Show you what?"

"Show me what you'd do when you're done getting your pretty little rocks off," he commands.

I roll my eyes, drop my knees to either side of his thighs, and lean into him. "Thank you," I whisper.

I've played my part, so he plays his. "Thank you? That's it?"

I raise my eyebrow at his subpar acting. "Yeah, that's it."

Before I can climb off his lap, he grips my wrist and holds me in place. "Oh no, I'm not done with you. You can't tease me like that and just leave."

He throws me onto my back like I'm nothing. I kick and fight him, forgetting everything I learned as he leans his weight into me.

"Stop fighting me, bitch, and let me finish what you started."

I scream, kicking and flailing for what feels like my actual virtue. It feels so real. So scary. My fists make contact with his chest and face, doing nothing to stop him as he spreads my thighs with a rough grasp that makes me flinch.

"You think your father's little personal trainer really taught you how to defend yourself against someone my size who wants what's between your legs?" He pins my arms above my head, and I puff my cheeks. His eyes trail down my body and focus on the black shorts covering me.

"Well...I wouldn't fuck around with someone your size to begin with. Get off me! Fuck!" I yell.

He keeps his hold on me as a show of force for a few more seconds before he releases my hands and climbs off me. "See? You're playing a selfish and dangerous game, little girl. And that's why you need me."

He smirks as he picks up the empty beer bottle and goes into the kitchen.

As much as I believe I don't need anyone to protect me, he made his fucking point. Even so, it doesn't derail me from wanting to experience pleasure before the opportunity disappears forever.

He returns to the living room with another beer and plops down on the chair with a satisfied sigh. He's an asshole. He's maddening.

So why the fuck did his show of force make me a wet mess?

I cross my thighs and try to ignore the ache, but I'm almost willing to offer him a hundred grand to let me hump his leg so I can get some relief. I open my mouth but think better of it and close it. Instead, I flex the muscles in my thighs, sending a pleasurable rub of friction through my core with every rep.

My lips part enough to let a soft moan roll over my tongue. His eyes are on the television, oblivious to what I'm doing. Or so I thought. Right before I come, he reaches over with a powerful arm and tugs one of my thighs to part my legs.

"I told you, Isabella, no one aside from me will touch you, including yourself. Your body is mine for the next eleven days. Try to remember that."