Burning Offer (Trevor's Harem #1) (8 page)

He shakes his head. “Too many questions.”

“Ten thousand dollars isn’t enough.”
 

“Ten thousand dollars is just for going. Each day you stay is worth another ten.”

“Ten bucks?”
 

“Don’t be so fucking stupid.”
 

My head spins a little at that. Okay, a lot.
 

“I’d need to check with Brandon,” I say. Not with details, of course, because he’d never let me leave. But just to let him know where, roughly, I’m going. Maybe work out a system, in case I’m being abducted.

“No. You can’t tell anyone you’re going.”
 

“So you can steal me away? Murder me, maybe?”
 

“Nobody will hurt you, Bridget. I have too much I want to do to you instead.”
 

“I don’t even have anything packed.” I gesture at my decoy backpack.

“Everything you need will be provided.”
 

I bite my lip. I look out the window at the passing buildings.

“When?”
 

“Right now.”
 

I bark a laugh. “You’re insane.”

But instead of rebutting me, he takes my other knee and leans in. “Come on, Bridget. Do something crazy for a change. Once upon a time, you used to be
wild.”
 

Ten thousand dollars a day. For who knows how many days?
 

It’d solve all of my current financial problems. It’d move me to a better apartment, get me the equipment and studio I need to stop narrating audiobooks and start producing other narrators. It’d get Linda out of her bind, and punish those who are begging for punishment.
 

Technically, I lift right out. I have Brandon, yes. But other than that, I’m alone. I don’t have pets to feed or plants to water.
 

“Fine.”
 

He doesn’t act pleased. He nods as if this was all obvious.
 

“Let me see your phone.”
 

I hand him my iPhone. He sets it on the limousine floor and reaches for something behind the seat. It’s a hammer, and before I know what’s coming, he brings it down impossibly hard on the glass. I thought those things were tough, but Daniel must have done this before because it takes one strike to turn the thing into memory. The driver, behind the open partition, doesn’t even flinch.

As I gape, Daniel reaches through the scraps of metal, glass, and plastic then pulls something small from the mess. The battery. He lowers the window an inch and tosses it into the street.
 

I guess I won’t be returning that call I owe Grady Dade about the offer on his uncle’s house. Or any other call ever.

Daniel mumbles something to the driver. The limo turns, away from the town’s center.
 

He raises the partition between us and the driver, giving us unwanted privacy.

“We’ll be at the airstrip in ten minutes.” He looks me over from top to bottom, clearly licking lips in his mind, then nods toward the bag with my new gown and shoes. “So get dressed.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“You’re kidding,” I say.
 

Daniel crosses his arms and legs, leaning back as the limo’s vibration rattles through us. Like he’s waiting for the start of a show.
 

“You want me to change my clothes. Here. In front of you.”

Daniel says nothing.

“I said I’d go. And I’ll go like this.”
 

“You’re an attractive woman. But right now, you look homeless.”
 

“You came to me. Whatever this is, I didn’t ask for it.”
 

Daniel uncrosses his limbs and leans forward again. His eyes drop to my chest, where my shapeless shirt shows nothing at all.
 

“Do you know what your problem is?”
 

I laugh nervously. Because nothing is funny. I’m not sure I can change my mind now that Daniel’s smashed my phone and closed us in what might be a soundproof enclosure speeding down the highway out of town. But worse, even though I’m more frightened than I’d like to admit, I don’t want to change my mind. I can’t stand this man. And yet when he leans in, part of me wants him to keep right on coming.
 

“You’re so fucking stubborn, you get in your own way. You’ve got this hard exterior, but I know from experience how soft you are inside.”
 

It’s a metaphor about the nut versus the shell, but I can’t help hearing
soft inside
as the double meaning he surely intends. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable. Somehow tight. My nipples stiffen; a pulse throbs between my legs.
 

“You dress like a man. But I know you fuck like a woman.”
 

“You’re disgusting.”

“Trevor is interested in you for your mind, Bridget. Not
only
that, of course, but for your mind all the same. You’re a fringe-dweller. It looks like you don’t care what people think, but in truth you care more than anything. You already know where Trevor’s family made its fortune.”
 

“Porn.”
 

“Sex. And do you know what makes for hot, great sex? Do you know what it takes?”
 

“You?”
I say it to mock him, but fuck if my body doesn’t actually think it.
 

“Surrender. Abandon.”

“That’s convenient,” I say.
Men
.
 

“If you can’t let go, you can’t come. Last night, I tested you to see how hard your shell actually was. Today’s been a big test as well. A test you’re passing, but also a game I’m playing
against
you rather than
with
you. So why are you letting me beat you? Why are you letting me win?”
 

“You’re not winning anything.”
 

“We’ve arrived where we are. Yet I’ve had to coerce you every step of the way.”
 

“That sounds like
I’m
winning, not you.”

“Your stubbornness makes you say no every time, until I work to convince you.”
 

“So I get what I want,” I tell him.
 

“No. All you’re doing is giving me openings to insist you do things we both know you’re going to do regardless.”

It all sounds like double talk to me. More mind-games bullshit that started with that stupid website filled with links to psychological mind fucks. I’ve heard of Ross’s company, of course, and I’ve the rumors of what’s behind it. They don’t just want to sell sex to willing buyers. They want to change the sexual culture to something more salable, and that begins with data and usage statistics. Fucking turned into cold numbers, crunched to build the perfect (pricey) orgasm.
 

“I won’t volunteer to change clothes in front of you.”

“You’ll do it anyway. It might as well be your idea.”
 

I shake my head. I’m not the kind of woman who gives guys a cheap show. I’m not the kind of girl who dresses slinky, with my tits half out. I’m not the kind who accepts rides from strangers. Who takes trips with strangers. Who fucks strangers in alleys and rattles the lights with my pleasure-filled screams.

“I’m going in my own clothes if I’m going at all.”
 

“It’s a free dress. And you’ll look breathtaking in it.”
 

“Then I’ll change in the plane.”
 

Daniel sighs and taps the partition. I think the driver will lower it, but he stops the car instead.
 

Daniel opens the door.
 

“Deal’s off.”
 

I look out the door. I think of the ten grand.
 

“I’ve agreed to everything else.”
 

Daniel shakes his head.
 

Cars pass. My heart flutters. And my pussy throbs, knowing what I’m about to do.
 

“Close the door,” I say.

Daniel closes the car door then taps the partition. We roll back into motion.

“Look the other way.”
 

Instead, he pulls a small plastic water bottle from the limo’s bar and cracks it open, pressing his back into the leather.
 

I turn as much as I can. I pull off my shirt first. The air is cool, but I’m wearing a utilitarian and rather unsexy bra. My nipples are rock hard and my heart is beating like a drum, but really it’s not much worse than a bathing suit. I reach for the bag, planning to handle the gown’s lower half once under cover.
 

“The rest,” Daniel says.

I consider arguing. Then I turn a bit farther and reach back to unfasten my bra. I cover up with my hands, but now I have no way to dress myself.

I let my hands drop. Let him get a good look at my girls. What the hell; they were in his hands yesterday.
 

I have the dress out of the bag and am about to drag it on when he says, “I said ‘the rest.’”
 

I unbutton my man’s pants and slide them off. The exposure and shame are intense. I’m
never
this vulnerable. I don’t go to swimming pools. Men tell me I look nice, but I prefer not to be noticed like a girl. Men think girls are weak. I’d rather be strong.
 

“Now your panties.”

“I don’t dress commando.”
 

“There’s a new, nicer pair in the bag. And besides.” He gives a dead-sexy laugh. “You’ve ruined those.”
 

I follow his eyes and see with horror that the entire crotch is one big dark spot. I’m not just wet. It looks like I’ve had a dozen orgasms.

But just thinking that, watching the hungry way he’s eyeing my sex, makes my pussy flush. The sensation ratchets up with each pulsing heartbeat as if my finger is on my clit, counting down.
 

“I’m not — ”
 

“Do it, Bridget.”
 

Dear God, I don’t know if I’m more mortified or excited. Even the thought of removing my underwear in front of this hateful but fuck-hot man makes me want to come.
 

When my thumbs hook under the waistband, I take a sharp little inhale of breath. I shudder while peeling them down. It’s like handling a delicate vase. One sudden movement, and it will all be over.
 

I’m totally naked. Curiously, what preoccupies me most is the fact that I don’t know where to look or what to do with my hands. Should I cover up what I can? Should I fold them in my lap and wait for him to finish eye-fucking me? Should I —

His hand returns to my knee. And now it’s inching higher. Rolling down to the inside from the top of my thigh, to the sensitive flesh, goose bumps rising.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”
 

I want him to stop.
 

And I don’t want him to stop at all. I’m fighting every urge to squirm — not with disgust but with a curious blend of uncomfortable pleasure. He’s still a foot from my pussy, but I find my legs sighing apart, inviting him closer.

His trailing fingers come within three inches of me before leaving my skin, skipping my pussy entirely to touch my other thigh. Then they move away, back up the opposite leg. I can’t suppress a moan. I’m so hot right now, I want to
beg
him to touch me in all the right places. To rub my clit. To release the pressure that’s been building all day. Hours of reluctant foreplay, an encore that I now realize I want badly to happen.
 

Despite the fact that I hate him.
 

And despite the fact that right now, I hate myself, too.
 

“Tell me what you want, Bridget.”
 

My eyes close. My head falls back. I won’t fight it anymore. Permission is given. My legs flop open, and he’s staring right at my soaking-wet sex, inches from pleasure.

His hands go to his belt. He unbuckles, unzips, and pulls himself out. I didn’t get a good look at his cock last night, but as I lift my head with my legs apart and my juices evaporating in the limo’s recirculated air, I can’t look away. It’s tall and thick, and the tip is already glistening with precome.
 

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he says, fisting it. Moving up and down.
 

How is this happening? How the hell did I get into this? It doesn’t matter. I desperately want him to touch me. To touch myself, if I must. But I want to watch him, and watching him watch me while pumping his dick is arousing me more than I can take.

“Suck my cock, Bridget. I want to come down your throat.”
 

It should piss me off, the way he said it. But holy fuck, it turns me on more.
 

I’m on my knees, carefully avoiding the remnants of my smashed phone.