Chapter 17

Ryker

I have no business being this possessive and protective over a woman. Let alone someone like Tara. She's using me the same way every client in my past has used me. She wants a good time.

Only I've paid her for her privilege to fuck me.

How shit-tastic is that?

Ever since this woman's been in my crosshairs, she's head-fucked me. I go from craving her, to wanting to kick her out, to fighting the urge to protect her at all costs, and even contemplating murder.

I wasn't kidding about that. No man should lay their hands on a woman in anger. That motherfucker's only still breathing because I wanted Tara safe and away from him first. Even now, the urge to take the elevator back down to the lobby and hunt him down is fucking strong.

But unlike my best friend, Dmitri, I have enough control left in me to table it for now.

If D was here, and this was his woman, the lobby would be soaked in blood and Dmitri would be on the news, getting hauled away to prison with a life sentence. I have people who need me, and I've hesitated because of it. Well, that and I don't know this woman at all.

Just like I don't know who that guy was downstairs.

Was that her husband? Lover? Friend? Enemy? Co-worker?

I hate not knowing the answer. Why does she refuse to give it to me?

Scrubbing my face with both hands, I familiarize myself with her apartment. It's swanky. Smells feminine. Most of her furniture is white with splashes of turquoise. Her kitchen looks like it barely gets used. In fact, the only thing that looks used is her desk positioned in front of an enormous window. Stacks of papers and folders litter the top. One drawer is half-open. Most of the letter keys on her laptop have all worn off.

It"s quiet in here. You can't hear the busy street below since the windows are high quality like the rest of the place. I can't even hear Tara in the other room. The silence makes my balls clench. I like noise. No, I need it. Chaos is very much my comfort zone, and this place makes me feel like I'm walking around a graveyard no one visits.

Knocking on her bedroom door, I hold back from barging in. "You okay in there?"

No answer.

"Tara?" Did she climb out the window or something? "Tara, answer me."

Still nothing.

"I'm coming in." Shoving the door open, I expect it to be locked, but it isn't. Her bedroom is white on white—from the cushioned headboard to the bedding, curtains, and rug. It's like an empty canvas. There are no photos or art hanging on the walls. No plants. Nothing that makes it seem personal.

It's a hollow shell.

"Tara?" Her closet door is open, so I head there first. It's not until I see her bare feet in the corner and hear sniffling when my heart falls out of my fucking ass. Jesus Christ. "Tara," I say softly, kneeling in front of her.

"Just give me a minute." She keeps her face hidden behind several thousand dollars' worth of couture.

I can't bear the thought of her huddled in the corner of her closet like this, crying, and me useless to fix it. God, I don't even want to know why I want to fix it. She's not my wife. She's not my lover. She's the club's Butterfly and nothing more. Still, I can't stand seeing her like this.

"Take all the time you need." I lick my lips and add, "I'm not going anywhere."

Tara lets out a slow breath and wipes her cheeks. "I'm sorry I left the club."

"Don't be." Fuck, how did we get to this? "Sorry I held your clothing hostage." If she'd had them earlier, a lot of humility and vulnerability could have been avoided. "I was a dick to keep them from you."

"Yeah, you were."

Tara eventually takes my hand and I lift her to her feet. She's no longer in the robe from the club, but what she has on isn't much better. Her dress hits just above her knees and the sheer sleeves hit mid-forearm. There's a belt cinched around her waist, showing off the flare of her hips.

She still hasn't let go of my hand. I've yet to stop staring at her perfect-for-me body.

Before I know it, I draw in closer until our bodies are flush against each other. Her eyes are a brilliant shade of blue that has me drowning. I wet my lips. Lean in.

Then catch myself.

Shit. Nope. Time to step back and take a breather.

Only when I do, she looks like I've just kicked her in the crotch. "Sorry," I say, rubbing the back of my neck. "I should give you space. You just had a scare, and the last thing you need is someone else in your face."

Cop out.

"It's fine." Tara scoops her hair up to put in a low ponytail. That's when I get a good look at her throat.

A clear red handprint marks the front of her neck where the skin's already bruising.

My anger flares to life all over again.

Instead of insisting she tell me who that was, I turn on my heels and head to the kitchen for ice. There's only a bag of frozen strawberries and a bottle of vodka in her freezer. I pour her a shot in case she needs it and smash the frozen bag of fruit on the counter so it's more pliable. Heading back to her, I stop when I see she's now at her desk, rummaging through papers.

"Lay down," I say, handing over the frozen berries. "Work can wait."

"No, it can't." She rifles through more of her folders.

I assume she's like me and dumps her energy into work instead of finding a better outlet for it.

"Who was that guy, Tara?"

"Just another asshole who thinks he owns the world."

He doesn't own Tara. I do. That motherfucker will pay for what he's done to my girl. But that look she's giving me is pleading for me to drop it, so I will for now. I've got plenty of time to wear her down about it later.

"Look…" She says after a heavy sigh. "I know the rules of the club state I can't have outside contact while I'm the Butterfly. But that's not going to work for me. I have a business to run and shit to do."

"The rules clearly state—"

"That the Butterfly and her Dom or Doms will be locked in for a month together. Yes, I'm aware." She tosses the bag of berries onto the desk. "But you've already left me three times to run your club. You'd be a hypocrite to make me follow the rules you, yourself, are breaking."

Where is this coming from? Five minutes ago, she was crying in the corner of her closet. Now suddenly, she's ready to pick a fight and get back to business? "If you don't like it, you can always relinquish the title and honor, Tara."

"Honor?" She stands up, seething. "It's supposed to be an honor to be treated like I'm just a chore? I'm not something on your to do list."

Ahh, I get it. She doesn't swing punches like I do, but she still knows how to pick a fight so she can unleash her anger. "That's not at all what I—"

"Oh, it is, Sir." She gets all in my personal space. "You act like you can just make me come until I crash, and that should be good enough. You keep me locked and naked like a prisoner."

She wants a fight? Now she's got one. "I've never locked you in that goddamn room."

"You might as well have," she tosses back. "And you took all my clothes!"

"I said I was sorry for that." Shoving a finger in her face, I add, "You said you knew what you were getting into by being the Butterfly. And you fucking chose me as your Dom. Don't get shitty with me now just because you suddenly have buyer's remorse."

"Buyer's remorse!" She tosses her hands up. "I'm not the fool who paid two million and change to make me the Butterfly, asshole. You are."

"Tell me about it," I roar back. "You're just a spoiled little princess who swindled me into a deal. I should have never made that bargain with you the other night."

"Then nix it," she says. "Give me back the rights to buy that property, and I'll cease to be your Butterfly."

My heart stops beating. In fact, my entire body freezes. There's no air in my lungs. There's no thought in my head. I just stand there like a goddamn stone.

"In fact, I'll sweeten the deal." Tara crosses her arms. "I'll never step foot in your club again if you let me out of our deal and give me a chance to bid on that property."

My hackles raise. She went from not giving a shit about that old ass building, to suddenly making it sound like she's desperate to get it.

Her offer is perfect. It gets me out of my bind and still allows me a chance to purchase that building. But since she works for one of the largest firms in the city, her pockets are, and always will be, deeper than mine. I can't risk it. I'm already going to have trouble bidding against the other investors for it at auction. Besides, I may have hated the idea of Tara being my Butterfly, but I'm not ready to let her go yet.

And that might just be the most fucked up thing about us to date.

"You want to walk out? Fine, Miss Reed. Walk. But I'm not voiding our deal. That building is mine." And so are you.

"Why do you want that stupid thing so much?"

"Who was that man in the lobby?"

We both know we're not willing to give up our secrets, so it's a standoff that will get us nowhere.

Finally, she caves a little. "He's not my husband, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm not worried. It doesn't matter if he's your husband or not."

"Then why ask?"

"Because I like to know what kind of person I'm fucking."

She scoffs, and it makes her face twist with an ugly expression. "You haven't fucked me yet, Ryker."

"Sir," I correct her. "You will call me Sir."

"Not in my house, I won't." She closes the distance between us and cranes her neck to look up at me. "You might be king of the Monarch Club, but that's not where we are now."

Her defiance turns me on. "You will address me how I say, whenever we're together, Butterfly."

"I just told you I'd walk. I'll give up being Butterfly."

"But we both know you won't." If she wants to play games, I'm down. Being a Butterfly comes with rewards she can't get easily elsewhere. Tara was desperate enough to ensure the title was hers before. There's no way she'll just give it up so fast now. "You need this."

"Like Hell I do." She rolls her eyes. "I've never been so fucking insulted and humiliated in my life. And your oral game is not that spectacular."

She and I both know that's a lie.

Getting down on my knees, I trail my fingers up her thighs and hook her underwear with my thumbs, peeling them down slowly to give her time to tell me to stop, which she doesn't.

"Let's make another deal." I can't believe I'm doing this. "I'm going to eat your cunt until your knees buckle. If you can stand longer than five minutes, I'll let you bid on the building. If you collapse, you will call me Sir wherever we are, and you will obey my every command until your month is up."

"I hope you like shopping, Ryker." Tara lifts her dress and rests her foot on my shoulder, as if showing off that not only will she stay standing, but she'll do it on one fucking foot. "Because I intend to snag that property and turn it into a goddamn strip mall."

Arching my brow, I stare up at her and ignore the glorious scent of her pussy that's mere inches from my mouth. "Is that a deal, Miss Reed?"