Page 45 of Pandora's Pleasure
Fucking her before we reached the house was still a possibility.Ifshe opened her big mouth again. If she made one complaint.
We were ten minutes away.
Enough time to get my heart rate below sixty. I fished around in my pocket for my smartphone.
My cock was rock hard.
“You may wear these again.” I handed the thong to her.
Pandora discreetly slipped her underwear on with the endearing shakiness of a novice.
Popping in my earbuds, I tapped the music app on my phone and selected Puccini’sMadam Butterfly, letting the agony of the soprano flow through my soul. I stared dead ahead, getting myself in the mood for when we reached home and I could torture the truth out of her.
The pleasure to come would be sublime.
This was the kind of progress I’d given up on.
Finally, I was standing inside Damien’s Foxhall home, despite our argument at the St. Regis an hour ago. We’d been tentatively dating for six months and in one brave move, I’d leaped all the way here to his private sanctuary.
His kitchen, to be exact.
This…the transformative effect of a simple pendant.
I’d also dragged him away from the event. There’d probably be repercussions for that later. The polls would be closing in just over three weeks, so every event mattered. Time was too valuable to waste.
I studied him now, in case that exact fact might have pissed him off, but I couldn’t read his expression.
I set my purse down on a barstool, my gaze shifting to the wide windows that would welcome the light in during the day. The dark wood paneling of the room complemented the open floor plan. Every time Damien took me to one of his homes, I dived deeper into his world and got to see another side to this mysterious man.
God, I still felt tingles downthere.
Still reeling from what he’d done to me in the car, I reminded myself why I was here—not to have him overpower me, but for me to keep the upper hand.
Wandering over to his kitchen table, I looked down at what appeared to be architectural designs. “What’s this?”
“The Fairfield Project.” He walked over and folded them, his body language changing as he gathered them up protectively.
Watching him carefully, I asked. “Can you tell me more about it?”
He turned to face me. “Want a drink?”
“No, thank you.” I slipped off my high heels seductively, grateful for the feeling of relief.
He leaned back against the wall and watched me take in the décor of the home he’d never before brought me to—because I’d always been a token and nothing more.
“Well?” he said, interrupting my musing.
“It’s beautiful.” I looked at him. “Do you have any staff?”
“No.” He shrugged. “A housekeeper. Once a week.”
“You cook?”
“Yes, Pandora, I am not helpless like some people we know.”
“Funny.” I looked around the kitchen, impressed with its simplicity. “I like it a lot.”
“I’ve been told I should sell it. The Secret Service hates all this glass. I have a wall around the property, but drones, you know. They can fly over.”
