Betting on Fate (6 page)

Will whispered, “Come for me, Penelope.”

Her body obeyed before her mind had registered the command, her orgasm racking her body and forcing her to draw him closer. She’d clutched him to her at some point, though she was at a loss to say when, and her fingers dug into his sides. He gentled his movements, letting her drift down from that high place he’d driven her.

He kissed her forehead and pulled away. “Good girl.”

She watched him dispose of the condom and refasten his pants over that impressive erection.
He didn’t come
. While she was still trying to process
that
, he captured her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “If you pull a stunt like this again, you won’t like the results. Are we clear?”

Penelope nodded, not trusting her ability to speak.

“Good.” He walked around the desk and stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “I expect you at Luigi’s tomorrow night at seven. Do
not
be late.”

She waited until she heard the door close to exhale. What the hell had just happened?

Chapter Six

Will spent the rest of the Saturday and all of Sunday in agony caused by his own actions. As soon as he’d left Penelope’s office, he’d cursed himself. It had been a foolish power play that accomplished nothing but an aching case of blue balls. As soon as he hit the street, a part of him wanted to turn around and finish what he started. But no. Holding back was proof that he hadn’t lost the control he valued above all else. Control that felt dangerously close to slipping.

He swirled his scotch, staring at the amber liquid. He’d gone to her office with the full intention of punishing her for her disobedience. But seeing the desire written all over her face, and recognizing that she fought him so hard
because
she wanted exactly what he could give her… He never should have asked her what she wanted. He never should have called her
his
.

She wasn’t. Penelope wouldn’t stay past the seventh day she’d promised him, and he shouldn’t want her to. It was a longer assignation that he’d ever indulged in, for precisely this reason—it was nearly impossible to retain the distance he needed when spending such a sheer amount of time with a submissive.

The fact that it was
this
submissive
had nothing to do with it.

He checked to make sure she hadn’t appeared yet. He’d purposefully shown up early to allow time to ground himself, with the added bonus of creating an environment where she’d feel like she was coming into
his
territory.

Satisfied she was nowhere in sight, he dialed his phone and waited for the call to connect. Nolan answered in his usual, “What do you need?”

Will had always like that about the man—he never failed to cut straight to the heart of things. “I wanted to thank you for seeing my wayward sub to a cab the other night.”

“It was no problem. It’s my job to make sure there are no problems.” As manager of Serve, Nolan kept things in line and made sure the owner, Jonah, wasn’t bothered by the tedious day to day tasks that came with owning one of the predominant BDSM clubs in New York.

“I have another favor to ask.”

“What’s that?”

Will hesitated. He cleared his throat, annoyed all over again. This was a completely legitimate plan, and one he’d implemented with submissives in the past with no problems. He told Nolan what he wanted, and the man didn’t hesitate.

“I can make that happen. What night were you thinking?”

Tonight
. But what came out of his mouth was something else altogether. “Wednesday.”

“Will do.”

“Thank you.” He hung up, preoccupied with his impulsiveness. It wasn’t a trait Will normally had to deal with, and he wasn’t pleased with the new development. He needed to prove to himself that he wasn’t unduly connected with Penelope, and there was one surefire way to do so. But apparently his mouth had sprouted a mind of its own, because now he had three days to burn before he could put things into motion.

He looked up at the exact moment that Penelope walked through the front door. She once again wore white, this time a floor-length dress with a golden band around her waist. The dip wasn’t anywhere near as daring as the dress she’d worn at Serve the other night, but seeing the barest hint of the curves of her breasts made his blood rush south. She’d done something to her hair that replaced her tight curls with larger wavy ones.

He was surprised to find he missed them.

She made her way to his table, and he stood to pull out her chair. “You look exquisite.”

“You’re in a remarkably good mood considering how our lunch interlude ended.” She leaned forward, drawing his gaze down to her chest. “Have you been playing with yourself since I saw you last?”

So, the gloves were off. He sat back, feeling as if they were once again on solid ground. “Can’t stop thinking about that orgasm, can you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, sugar.”

“I don’t have to. I felt your screams against my palm as you came around my cock.”

She jerked back. “That’s déclassé, even for you.”

“You didn’t think it was déclassé when I was inside you.”

Penelope shook her head. “As delightful as this has been, I think it’s more than clear that we shouldn’t spend time together outside of our arrangement.” She moved to stand.

“Sit.”

She dropped back into her chair, glaring daggers. “What do you want, Will?”

That was the question of the hour. He almost wished he’d never made this bet because it’d changed things, even if he still wasn’t sure what was altered. All he knew was that, for the first time in years, he found himself looking forward to something besides closing an account and turning a business from a money pit into a success. It had to be the challenge Penelope presented that made him feel like this, because no other explanation made sense. He wanted to bend her to his will, to show her that if she’d simply stop fighting him for a while, he’d give her everything she ever wanted and more. He wanted
control
.

At the same time, he enjoyed Penelope’s defiance.

“Order, pet. You’re not leaving until we’ve finished dinner.”

“You,
Sir
, are an ass.”

“So I’ve been told.” He motioned to her menu, and waited for her to pick it up before he did the same. He’d been there enough times to know what he wanted, so he merely watched Penelope. She had been the bane of his professional existence for so long that it was strange to be sitting across the table from her. But now the memories of his various defeats were mingled with the events of the last three days. Her, naked but for her garters, bent over the spanking bench. Or spread for him on her desk, her body shuddering as he brought her to orgasm. He licked his lips, half sure he could still taste her there.

Perhaps she was right. They obviously fit well enough in the bedroom. Why was he pushing this dinner?

Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. He needed distance. It seemed like every time he touched her, he lost a little more of his hard-won control. By forcing them to spend nonsexual time together, he was effectively reinforcing the truth—he didn’t feel anything other than agitation for her outside the bedroom, and never would.

The waiter appeared and took their orders, but was gone before he could be an effective distraction. Then it was just Will and Penelope again, staring across the table at each other. He asked, “How did your family end up here?”

Her eyebrows inched up. “Well, I suppose the same way other black folks—”

“Christ, Penelope, that’s not what I meant and you know it. You have a Georgian accent and you live in New York. Obviously you grew up in the South, so what brought your family north?”

“Why are we doing this? You don’t really care about the answer.” She picked up her wine glass. “Is this the punishment you were too distracted to give me yesterday?”

She thought spending time with him was a punishment. He shouldn’t be surprised. Hadn’t he just been thinking that they could barely stand each other? But some nameless emotion wormed through him, making him frown. “Answer the question.”

She sighed. “I was born in Savannah, and we lived there until I was ten. Around then, my grandfather decided he was ready to retire and pass the family business on to my father. So we relocated.” A shadow flickered
through her eyes, but she banished it almost immediately.

He wanted to know what caused that shadow. “Do you ever think about going back?”

“Trying to get rid of the competition?” She gave a mirthless smile. “No. There’s nothing for me in Savannah.”

Her tone seemed to indicate that there
was
something in Savannah—something she’d rather avoid. “So your father took over the business.” He hadn’t had much interaction with any Carson other than Penelope, and he was suddenly curious as to what kind of parents created a woman like her—strong and bold, with a take no prisoners attitude. “What about your mother?”

…

Penelope forced herself to keep her grip light on the wine glass. If she let Will know that he was dancing across forbidden territory, he’d never let the subject go. She wouldn’t cut herself just so he could watch her bleed. “My mother…” She trailed off, not sure what to say.

Her mother wasn’t a bad woman, but she’d never understood Dad and his need to carry on the success of Carson & Associates. Even at ten, Penelope had known her mother hated New York, hated being taken away from her family in Georgia. She’d lasted less than two years before she’d presented Dad with her ultimatum—the business or his marriage.

She’d moved back to Savannah within the month, and she’d never quite forgiven Penelope for only coming to visit during the summers, or for going to school in the North, despite the fact that it was
Harvard
. To Mom, she would always be Micah Junior.

A constant memory of the man who could never be enough for her.

Penelope took a sip of her wine, aware she’d been silent too long. “My mother and I have a complicated relationship.”

She expected him to pounce on her hesitation, to exploit it and force her to explain what she meant. But Will nodded as if he understood. It struck her that she didn’t know a single thing about him outside of his business and sexual reputation. “Are your parents from here?”

“Yes. My siblings and I grew up in New York.” He caught her questioning look. “I have a little sister, and you’ve already met Garrett.”

He and his twin were like something out of a romance novel, each too big and brawny and beautiful to exist, let alone for there to be
two
of them. And they had a little sister. Penelope paused to consider what it would be like growing up with Will as a brother. “Your sister didn’t date much, did she?”

He laughed, surprising her so much she almost dropped her glass. Two laughs in three days. That had to be some kind of record. “Sara has a mind of her own. She always has, despite every man in our family wanting to protect her.”

Penelope had always wanted siblings, especially during those lonely summers in Georgia, being carted around by her resentful mother. But she’d trained herself a long time ago to stop wishing for something that would never happen. “I like her already.”

“I suspect she’d approve of you as well,” he said, then sat back, like the very idea shocked him. She’d never meet his sister, or any other member of his family. This thing between them had an expiration date—which was a relief. Dating Will Reaver?
Falling
for Will Reaver? The very idea was laughable.

Penelope kept the conversation moving before things could get truly awkward. “And your parents? Are they still around?”

“My father and uncle.”

She was about to make a joke, but the expression on his face stopped her. She knew enough about old pain to recognize it when she saw it. Apparently she wasn’t the only one with mother issues. It was tempting to prod him, to see what other information she could learn. Was his mother dead? It would certainly explain a few things. Penelope had spent nearly two-thirds of her life without the tender loving care that came with a maternal relationship, but she’d seen her friends and their mothers. That kind of thing softened a person.

Really, she should be thankful her mother was such a resentful… God, she couldn’t call her names, even in her head. Her upbringing was too deeply ingrained. She showed respect for her parents, even at the times when they didn’t deserve it.

She stared at Will, wondering where to take the conversation from here. His favorite color? If he liked long walks on the beach before he took a flogger to his submissives? Maybe they could talk about the weather. She took another sip of her wine. “I—”

“You went to Harvard?”

He looked as strained as she felt. She stopped herself from asking him again what they were doing. He obviously didn’t know any more than she did. Someone needed to show up to put them both out of their misery. Except… She wasn’t completely miserable. This strange conversation wasn’t painful, exactly, just weird. “I had my pick of schools, but that was always the one I had my sights on.”

“Only the best for you.” He said it without any condemnation, as if she’d just confirmed something he suspected. “You’re a worthy opponent.”

She laughed. “Well, every hero needs a villain counterpart.”

“I agree. The question is, which of us is which.”

“Well, obviously I’m the villain. They always have a better wardrobe.”

He focused on her, searing her to the bone. “There is that. Your clothing is
inspirational
.”

There was no mistaking his meaning. She leaned forward, liking the way he seemed to drink in the sight of her. Now,
finally
, they were back onto solid ground. She knew how to verbally spar with this man, and she recognized how easy it was to take a half step sideways and turn that flirting into sparring. It was so much better to take that path than to find out more about him.

Because she wanted to know more. Even knowing it would be a mistake she may never recover from, she itched to put together the puzzle that was Will Reaver

She smiled. “If you think the dress is inspirational, you should see what I’m wearing underneath it.”