Page 91 of Only the Wicked
Is this his way of acquiring control? Is he testing me?
Did Crawford say something to him that set off insecurities? David is such an insecure prick I wouldn’t put it past him to brag about his sexual conquest.
And if that’s what happened, has Rhodes dismissed my value? Determined he can treat me however he wants because I’m no longer his perceived equal?
Fuck that.
But remember, none of this is real. You’re playing a role Syd. Red Sparrow 101.
Still, you have to be believable, and the best way to be believable is to wrap the lie in honesty.
“I don’t think I like your tone.”
He leans back on the sofa, thighs spread, as he palms his crotch. I follow the movement, the outline of the bulge, mesmerized by the subtle movement over his length.
My skin prickles and heat pools between my legs.
My mind reels, spinning. We’ve gone from my sharing something deeply private to sex.
Whiplash.
“Clothes.” His low, gravelly tone churns through any remote restraint.
If this were real, I might tell him to fuck off and I’d block his number on the way to the lobby.
But it’s not real.
You’ve shared so much of the real you. How would he expect you to behave right now?
“What’s going on? Is this how you think you can treat me?” There’s a rawness to my tone, a vulnerability that I both hate for its existence and applaud for the authenticity.
He blinks. His fingers stretch wide, the space between them allowing air, stretching corded muscles.
“Dammit, Sydney.” His jaw flexes, but otherwise, he’s impassive, cold. “I had a shit afternoon. And that was before I walked into the lobby and had it thrown in my face I don’t know you well.”
The raw truth grates.
I swallow, my gaze locked with his, my heart racing so fast there’s an ache beneath my breast bone.
“I hate the idea of you with a putz like Crawford. That’s pretty cave man of me, huh?”
“Obviously.”
The new Prada heels I tried on earlier come into view, and in two strides, I’m slipping into them.
“You’re leaving?”
He spits out the words but his expression tells me he’s too arrogant to believe I’d actually do it.
And he’s right, but for the wrong reasons.
“If I’m going to strip for you, I might as well wear these sexy as fuck heels you overpaid for, don’t you agree? I mean, these shoes cost what? A thousand dollars?”
If he wants to play power games, I’ll give him exactly what he thinks he wants. Control the narrative, Syd. Make him think he’s winning while you figure out your next move.
With the swiftness of the Santa Ana winds, his glower transitions from cold to heated.
“Whatever those shoes cost, they’re worth it.”
