Page 48 of Rubies and Revenge

“How long’s it been?” she asks, too innocent.

“Longer.” I press my hand into my pocket and slouch into nonchalance.

She pouts into the mirror, her eyes on mine. “Poor baby. Can’t survive without me, hm?”

Without conscious choice, my feet carry me further into the bathroom until I’m arm’s length from her. “You said you’d behave.”

She smirks. “I didn’t.”

“That was the deal.” My teeth grind.

“I don’t keep promises I don’t make, Tamayo.” She snaps her purse closed and finally twists to face me, wearing that imperious look she learned at her father’s—no, likely her mother’s—knee. “You told me to behave. I took it under advisement.”

I crowd closer until the distance between us could be closed with a deep breath, my chest expanding to brush the silk of her dress. My voice drops to a rumbled whisper. “Why’d you come to the bathroom, princess?”

“To use it, Tamayo.” Condescension coats each syllable.

I tilt my head. “With the door unlocked?”

She shrugs, and it makes her dress tickle my shirt. “I forgot. Pat usually stops the trash.” She looks me up and down, heavily implying I’m said trash.

My hand rises of its own volition, my body acting as if it’s separate from my mind, and yet I have no objections when my fingers brush hair. And neither does she. “We’re in the belly of the beast, as you put it. You shouldn’t be unarmed and alone behind unlocked doors.”

“I don’t know if you heard”—her voice hardens to steel—“but I can take care of myself.”

I drop my hand, and it smacks against my thigh. “Fuck’s sake, Zarina, can you set aside your pride for one goddamn minute?”

“Oh fuck you, kettle,” she scoffs.

“Would it make you fuckingbehave?” I growl.

“Excuse me?”

“Logic doesn’t. The threat of violence doesn’t. What will it take?” I unbutton my suit jacket and rub at the back of my neck. The memory of Zarina pliant in my lap won’t stop running through my head. It was the only time she’s softened, stopped butting heads like a bull charging the matador. “Is that what it takes?” I murmur to myself. “Will a good fuck help you behave?”

Zarina rears. “Jesus Christ, fuck you, Tamayo?—”

“I could pin you against the vanity.” I press forward until she backs into it with a jolt. The basket of complimentary products wobbles. My gaze rakes over the flush of her cheeks, down to her neck, her heaving chest. Her body reacting without her permission. “I could pull your pretty straps down, watch your nipples harden.”

“Tamayo.” She tries to warn me, but it’s more breath than censure.

I lift my gaze to hers and let a smirk slink over my lips because it makes her eyes dilate. Every time. “I could lift you onto the counter, put your legs around my waist. Make your skirt ruck up just right.” I rest my hands on the counter on either side of her, our noses millimeters apart. “You’d play with the hair at my neck that you like. And I’d play with your nipples until you arched real pretty.”

She swallows too loud. “The door isn’t locked. This is inappropriate.”

I chuckle, more breath than sound, my mouth at her ear. “That’s what you like, though, isn’t it? Somewhere a little public.Someone on the other side of the door, of the partition.” I drag my nose down her neck and pull back to look her in the eye again. “Maybe I’d turn you around, make you watch in the mirror as my fingers skimmed your dress. Hold your throat tight as I fucked you. Right here. In the belly of the beast. All those men outside who wish they could have you but never will.”

Her breath hitches, eyes blown black and skin flushed red.

“Do you want that, princess?” I ask. Because fuck, I do. My hands tighten on the marble countertop with the force of the desire coursing through my muscles. “Want me to fuck you pliant?”

Zarina’s narrows her eyes. “It won’t make me behave.”

My smirk only widens. “I’d like to test the theory.”

“What changed your mind?” she asks. I know what she’s referring to—the end of our last tryst. When I told her to find me when she figured out what she wanted.

And I could provide a litany of reasons, not least of which is her in that dress and my own frustration. But I bite my tongue. I’m not sure I did change my mind. I’m not sure I’ve made a conscious choice since I let the bathroom door closed behind me. I’m running on instinct and desire and the throbbing ache pulsing under my skin. We stand quiet, my thumbs brushing the silk over her ass and her fingers playing with the lapel of my jacket. Both waiting for the other to move first. To choose.

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