What He Demands (What He Wants, Book Three) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (2 page)

“For what?”

“For the fact that two dead women have
marks on their wrists identical to the ones you put on mine.”

“So what you’re saying is that you
believe I am the only person capable of putting marks on someone’s wrists, is
that correct?”

“Don’t talk to me like a lawyer.”

“Then don’t make me feel like I need
one.”

He took another sip of his drink.
 
I wanted to look away from him, because
he still had that look on his face, the conceited look of a man who is
completely in control of a situation and knows it.

“Fine,” I said.
 
“Yes, I think it’s a little suspect that you happened to
leave marks on my wrists that are identical to two murder victims who also have
a connection to you.
 
And while in
theory, yes, there could conceivably more than one person going around leaving
marks on women’s wrists, I doubt it’s that prevalent.”

I stared at him, satisfied.
 
I expected him to give me a look of
appreciation.
 
I felt like I’d just
won my case.

But he only looked amused, like I had a
lot to learn about the world.

He didn’t say anything, and it was
disarming.
 
I wanted to look around
for the waitress, but I didn’t want to look away from him.
 
It felt like he’d be winning.

“Come here,” he commanded.
 
“I’m going to tell you something.”

“Tell me from over there,” I said.

“Come.
 
Here.”
 
His
voice was aggressive, commanding, with a slight undertone of something else I
couldn’t put my finger on.
 
It was
almost threatening, like if I didn’t do what he said, there would be
consequences.

I slid over until I was right next to him.
 
Noah reached under the table and pulled
my legs onto his lap.
 
He took my
hand in his, turned it over until he was stroking my palm softly with his
fingertips.
 
The pad of his thumb
slid over my wrist, tracing the marks he’d left there last night.

“Do you know what these marks mean,
Charlotte?” he asked me.

“That you like to tie people up during
sex.”
 
His touch was hypnotizing
me, and I could feel that familiar pull toward him.
 
The pull that made my skin feel like it was on fire, that
got me wet, that caused me to be pushed to the floor of a limousine so that I
could suck his cock.
 
It was like a
wave, pulling me under, and I was helpless to resist.
 
But he’d invited me here because I’d told him I’d wanted to
get to know him, and now he was turning everything right back to sex.
 
And on top of that, he was evading my
questions about the murders.

I pulled my hand back from his.
 
“No.”
 
I shook my head.
 
“Noah, I came here because I wanted… I thought that…”
 
I trailed off and looked at the
table.
 
I felt stupid, saying the
words out loud.
 
That I wanted to
come here to talk to him, to spend time with him, to go on a date like a normal
person.
 
But whenever I tried to
talk about those things, he acted like I was being a silly little school
girl.
 
And maybe I was.

He reached out and took my chin in his
hand, turned my face back so I was looking at him.
 
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
 
His eyes were still burning, that same lustful look he’d
been giving me ever since I met him.
 
But I could see something beneath that.
 
He wanted me to say yes, wanted me to trust him.
 
It mattered to him.
 

I swallowed.
 
“I don’t even know you,” I said weakly.
 

“Not the question.”

“I’m not…. I mean, I don’t…”

“I want to let you in, Charlotte.
 
I want to show you things about myself.”

“Then why are we here?” I asked,
frustrated.
 
“We’re at some kind of
pick-up bar.
 
This isn’t the kind
of place you take someone if you want to get to know them better.”

“And why is that?”
 
He was still holding on to my chin,
only now the pad of his thumb was making slow circles over my skin.
 

“Because this is the kind of place you go
before you have sex.”

“Do you know what kind of club this is,
Charlotte?”

I frowned.

“What do you mean?”
 
I looked around, trying to see what he
was talking about.
 
“An exclusive
one?”

He stared at me, not saying anything, and
it reminded me of being in a law school interview, where the interviewee wanted
you to figure something out on your own, without them having to give you hints.

I turned and looked around.

The music pulsed through the speakers
hanging over the dance floor, men and women dancing in time to the beat.
 
At the bar, I watched beautiful women
flirt with beautiful and rich men.
 
Were they hookers, maybe?
 
Was this the kind of place you came if you wanted to pay for sex?

I watched as a man took a girl by the
hand and walked her to a door on the far side of the room.
 
The door opened and I caught a flash of
black walls and a black staircase before they disappeared. It looked like some
kind of basement, which was odd for a club of this caliber.
 
Why would a fancy club like this, in
such an exclusive part of the city, have a basement?
 
My brain was searching for something just out of its grasp.

And that’s when my eyes landed on the
collar sitting on the table.

A cold shiver of fear went up my spine.

This wasn’t just a club.

It wasn’t just a sex club.

It was a BDSM club.

***

I didn’t know much about BDSM, except for
what I’d seen in the movies.
 
My
roommate, Julia, had read a couple of novels about it.
 
I’d seen them strewn around the
apartment, pictures of handcuffs and whips on their covers.

I turned to Noah.
 
“This is a BDSM club,” I whispered.

He nodded, waiting for my reaction.

That same fear ran up my spine again, and
my arms broke out in goose bumps.

But the fear wasn’t because I was afraid.

It was because I was excited.

And that was frightening.
 

“How is this supposed to help me to get
to know you?” I asked Noah, frustrated.

“Do you trust me?” he repeated.
 
His hand slid down my neck, tracing a line
over my collarbone, then dipping just inside the top of my dress, running over
the top of my bra.

The goose bumps on my arms broke out all
over my body, and I was afraid Noah was going to be able to tell.

“I’m not…I don’t know.”

“You need to trust me,” he
whispered.
 
He pulled me close so
that our foreheads were touching.
 
He smelled like expensive cologne and shaving cream and something else,
something Noah.
 

“How can I trust you when you let me get
to know you?” I breathed.

“This is how you get to know me,” he
said.
 
“This is who I am.”

“But
how
does this help me get to know you?” I
asked.

“By understanding why I need this, you
will start to understand everything about me,” he said.
 
He kissed the side of my neck softly,
his lips brushing over my collarbone, bursting my skin into flames.

“You’re not making sense,” I said.
 
I could feel myself getting seduced,
getting pulled under by his kiss, his touch, the way his body felt close to
mine.
 
I needed to keep my head
clear, but it was impossible.
 
He
had a pull and power over me that I couldn’t understand, that I was helpless to
resist.

“No,” I said, pushing away from him.
 
“This can’t all be sexual.
 
I just…I’m not okay with it.”

“This isn’t all about sex, Charlotte,”
Noah said, pulling me back toward him.

“How isn’t it?” I challenged.

“Seeing what I need, what I expect from
you, will be the only way you can possibly begin to uncover the reasons why.”

“And then I’ll understand you better,” I
finished.

“Yes.”
 
He put his hand onto mine, intertwining our fingers.
 

I reached out and touched the collar on
the table with my other hand.
 
It
was surprisingly flexible, with a fleece liner that was soft around my
fingers.
 
“Do I have to wear this?”
I asked.

“You don’t have to do anything,
Charlotte.”

I swallowed.
 
It seemed like a load of bullshit – that I needed to
do something sexual with him to get to know him better.
 
He was older than me, and more
experienced.
 
He was good at
manipulating situations, twisting them and turning them until they fit into
whatever little box he wanted them to.
 
This was the skill of a good lawyer.
 
He was extremely successful in his career, and I wondered
how much of this was spilling over into his personal life.

I looked down at the collar, imagining
him putting it around my neck, pulling it tight.
 
Would I be tied up?
 
Would he blindfold me?
 
Spank me?
 
Would he drip hot
wax on me?
 
I didn’t know the
rules.
 

I remembered that girl going down into
the basement with that man.
 
The
walls had been dark, the whole scene sort of foreboding.
 
I should have been scared.
 
But instead, I was intensely turned
on.
 
The thought of being at Noah’s
mercy, bound and gagged or blindfolded made me wet.

I wanted to give in, to let him do
whatever he chose with my body, to use me in whatever way he desired.
 
But there was something else, some
connection I felt to this man, even though I’d only just met him.
 
He said this would bring us closer, but
I wasn’t sure if I believed it.

I bit my lip, considering, my heart and
head locked in a battle, trying to find a way to meet in the middle.

In the end, Noah made the decision for
me.

He kissed me softly on the lips, and when
he pulled back, leaned his forehead back against mine.

I opened my eyes, staring right into his.

“Please,” he whispered.
 
He brought my hand to his lips, kissing
each one of my fingers soft and slow, his eyes never leaving mine.

It was so real, so raw, so
vulnerable.
 

In that moment, I felt so connected to
him, I would have given him anything he’d ask for.

I took his hand in mine and squeezed.

“Yes,” I said.
 
“Take me.
 
I’m
yours.”

***

The music pulsed around us, the rhythm
hypnotic as Noah reached out and picked the collar up from the table.
 
He placed it carefully around my neck,
being careful not to fasten it too tight.

There was a long chain hanging off the
collar, but he held my hand instead of the leash.
 
He knew I was nervous, knew I was a stranger in this new
world, knew I needed to be introduced to it slowly.

He led me away from the booth and onto the
dance floor.

A couple of men at the bar turned to
watch as I was led toward the basement door, and I was surprised to find that I
liked it.
 
It was a turn on, these
men knowing that I was about to be taken by Noah, that I was going to submit to
him, to allow myself to be completely vulnerable and at his mercy.

Noah pulled me closer to him, his hand
sliding around my waist, his grip tight on my hip.
 
“I don’t like the way they’re looking at you,” he said into
my ear.
 
“But I can’t blame them
because you’re just so fucking sexy.”

I blushed.
 
Were the men really looking at me with lust?
 
It didn’t seem possible, not with all
the beautiful women in this club.
 
But I liked that Noah was possessive of me, that he didn’t want anyone
else looking at me.