Page 8 of Desperate Measures
To keep her under his thumb, more like.
I have no high horse to stand on when it comes to that. I want Yasmina confined, too. My collar on her neck, its chain never far from my hand. I want her on her knees in subservience. I want to fucking ruin her.
If there’s a good guy in this scenario, it’s not my part to play.
I let the silence drag out as we pass through the streets. This time of night, Carver City is far from empty, but the traffic that plagues the streets during rush hour is long gone. It barely takes us an hour before my driver pulls into the parking garage that is our destination. He stops the car and waits, as he’s trained to do. I own the building. The security here is above reproach, but I prefer it to be understated. Cameras and tech instead of burly guards reminding a person that they constantly have to watch their words, their actions, their tells.
Better for my purposes that they forget themselves.
I climb out of the car and take a step back, waiting for her to follow me. I should know better by now.
Yasmina crosses her arms over her chest and glares. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was I supposed to heel?”
“A good pet would.”
Her dark eyes flash in anger, and fuck if I don’t enjoy it. She’s beautiful in a fierce way that demands the attention of any room she enters—long wavy black hair, light-brown skin, and a mouth made to wrap around my cock. Those lips form words that have my blood heating in response. “Fuck. You.”
“I. Did.” I bend down and snag her ankle, towing her across the seat. She tries to kick me in the face, her first show of spirit since I put my shirt on her. It soothes something in me that I refuse to examine too closely. She’s no good to me damaged. No matter what narrative she uses to attempt to rewrite what happened, we both know the truth.
I pull her out of the car, spin her around, and bend her over the trunk. “Yasmina,” I say mildly. “Tell me your safe word.”
The slightest of hesitations, as if she wants to refuse me this. Finally, she spits it out. “Rajah.”
I lean over her, letting the weight of my body pin her in place. “You wanted me to save you from the deal your father made. I did. This is my price.” I could take her here, like this, and she’d curse me to hell and back, but she’d thrust back on my cock and scream my name as she comes.
It’s not the time for that. I’m dancing on the edge of reason with her already, and any more tonight is a mistake.
It takes several precious moments to reclaim control of myself. “We can stay here all night and fight if you want, but there’s a meal, a bath, and a bed upstairs. The only person your resistance hurts is yourself.”
“You’re crazy if you think I’ll sleep in your bed.”
I chuckle, knowing it will make her see red. “A place in my bed isn’t punishment, Yasmina. It’s a reward. A reward you haven’t earned. Not by half.”
Her indignant huff makes me smile, though I smooth out my expression before I take a step back and allow her to turn around. She shoves her hair out of her eyes just so she can shoot me a glare. “You’re a dick.”
“And you’re a brat.” I motion to the elevators. “Want to continue to trade insults, or do you want to go up?”
I can actually see her weighing her options before she turns and marches toward the door, every inch of her as regal as a queen. It’s only then that I realize she’s walking in this fucking place with bare feet.
I scoop her up, ignoring her curses, and move quickly to the elevator. Once we’re inside, I set her on her feet.
She immediately tries to punch me in the throat.
I laugh as I catch her fist. I can’t help it. The woman never ceases to fight when she should flee or to mouth off when she should shut up. True to form, she gives a snarl worthy of any predator. “Touch me again and I’ll rip your fucking throat out.”
So it’ll be like that, will it? I use my hold on her hand to yank her against my chest, and then I band an arm across her lower back. She fights me, but there’s no winning. Not with our size difference. Not when I’m so much stronger.
I wait for that realization to wash over her, for her to go still. It takes her longer to stop fighting than most, and even then she glares up at me as if I’m a bug she’d like to squash.
“You have the ability to stop this. One little word, Yasmina, and the game ends. That’s all it’s ever taken with us.”
She clamps her mouth shut, though her anger doesn’t appear to abate.
“Now that we have that settled…” The elevator doors open, and I walk her backward into my penthouse. I wait for the doors to shut behind me, closing off the exit unless one has the key, and then I release her.
She takes several large steps back. Though I can tell she wants to rip another strip off me, her curiosity gets the better of her. Yasmina turns in a slow circle. I follow her gaze, seeing the place through her filter. Wide open space with luxurious furniture, the color scheme minimalist in its extreme. Black furniture. White walls and pale wooden floors. The windows stretch the entire length of the penthouse, going from room to room, offering a view of Carver City.?2
That’s where she heads.
