Page 61 of Owned

I put my hand on his chest, his tawny skin warm and velvety, the muscles beneath it rock hard. His shoulders were wide and his hands on the pillow on either side of me making a delicious cage of his arms. The fierce heat in his eyes made my mouth go dry with want

But I ignored all of that as I stared fiercely back. “I don’t think it’s time to stop asking questions at all. We haven’t finished our conversation.”

His smile was slow and hot, and it almost made me reconsider, that perhaps we could continue the conversation after he’d put me on my back, but I knew myself. After he finished with me, I’d be a wrung out wreck, head empty, no thoughts. We had to discuss things now.

“Yes, we have,” he said, leaning in even more, pressing himself against my palm.

I continued to ignore him. “I want to know more about you.”

“I’ve already told you about me.”

Yes, his awful father and the tragedy of his mother, both of which must have made for a terrible childhood. I wanted to know more about that, but it was obviously a painful subject and one I didn’t feel I had a right to ask about. Still, I wanted to keep the conversation going, so I said, “Okay, fine. So you talked to Mom. What am I going to do about her if I’m living with you?”

“We,” he corrected. “What are ‘we’ going to do about her.”

I flushed. “Sure. ‘We’ then.”

“You leave her to me. I’ll deal with it. Put your hand on my cock.”

“No,” I said. “She’s my mother.”

“And my ex-wife. Do as you’re told.”

“Daughter trumps ex-wife,” I said tartly. “What does ‘deal with it’ mean?”

Atlas stared at me a long moment, that slow burn of a smile still playing around his mouth. “Disobedient, toy. What did I tell you about thinking?”

“Atlas,” I said firmly.

He sighed and the fire in his eyes banked, though the embers still glowed. “‘Deal with it’ means there are options for her. I know of a couple of facilities that are live-in and provide mental health support. I started donating to a few after Mom died.”

My heart tightened. All the time caring for Mom, I’d occasionally look up places where she might go if I needed some respite, that provided specialist care. But they’d always been far beyond my budget and so it touched me that he’d thought of that.

“Don’t look so surprised,” he said before I could speak. “Like I said, she was my ex-wife.”

“I’m not surprised. I’m touched.” I lifted my hands and gripped the heavily muscled biceps on either side of me. “You’re surprisingly sensitive for a narcissist.”

“You think I did it for you? Oh no, this is all to get Cait out of my hair so I can concentrate on making you my slave.”

I rubbed a thumb over his hot, smooth skin. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

He leaned in, his mouth brushing over mine. “And this lady is talking too much.”

His lips were warm and soft, and I wanted to kiss him back, harder and hungrier, but I still wasn’t done. “I haven’t finished.”

“Fuck’s sake.” He let out an impatient breath and lifted his mouth. “What?”

“If I’m moving in here, I’ll need to go home to get some work clothes for Monday and?—”

“You’re not going back to work,” he said in a flat tone. “In fact you’re not working for that creepy fuck, Jordan, ever again.”

I blinked in surprise. “What?”

“He’s the one who sent you to Arcadia with that bullshit excuse about a file, right?” Atlas’s features had hardened, the look on his face uncompromising.

“Yes,” I said. “But he was just?—”

“But nothing. You’re not working for him again and that’s the end of it.”

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