Page 52 of His to Possess
It’s not really a question, and she doesn’t answer. Merely continues to stare out the window, as if the street below holds all the answers.
“Lilah—”
“Hey,” she interrupts, voice overly bright. “It’s getting late. Didn’t you say there was a lot you wanted to do here?”
I debate insisting that we stay a while longer, talk some more. But there’s something in the set of her shoulders that tells me she’s done talking about this for now. And I already know way more than I did ten minutes ago.
So I force a smile of my own and squeeze her hand. “You’re right. Let’s go see New York.”
Philip
The last place in the world I want to be is in this overly priced hipster eatery in SoHo with a tableful of strangers. The fact that all the men are openly leering at Lilah? Not helping my mood.
Yesterday was one of the best days I can remember having. Which was unexpected, because we didn’t actually do anything all that out of the ordinary. I took Lilah on a shopping spree, we did a little sightseeing, then ended our evening with a Broadway show. Pretty standard.
The company, however, was anything but. There was something about strolling through Central Park with my arm around Lilah’s shoulders that made me feel peaceful in a way I don’t think I’ve ever experienced. Waiting while a woman tried on outfit after outfit is not something I ever would have considered doing before. But that hadn’t stopped me from demanding Lilah show me each and every article of clothing she tried on. At first, she was reluctant—she seems to have a thing about me spending money on her—but eventually I could see the excitement win out.
And fuck me if taking care of her in that way didn’t make me feel like a god damn Olympic gold medalist.
I want to be doing more of that today. I want Lilah’s overly excited voice telling me all about the different movies and TV shows that had been filmed in the various locations we visited in the city. I want her navy eyes sparkling as we look down on the world from the top of the Empire State Building. I want that girlish giggle that had escaped her when I made her twirl for me in one of her pretty dresses. I want her falling asleep, her head on my shoulder, as we looked out over the dark city from the balcony of my penthouse.
Instead, we’re here. Listing to this little prick drone on and on about his plans.
Calvin Wynn is offering to put several million dollars into my fund. The arsehole is flush with cash after selling some ridiculous app or another—I will never understand Silicon Valley—and looking to start playing in the big leagues. He wouldn’t be close to my biggest investor but he wouldn’t be a slouch either. The kid has some serious money and he seems downright eager to give it to me.
But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to rip every fucking appendage from his body when I catch his eyes on Lilah’s tits for the third time since she sat down.
If she notices his lascivious glances, she doesn’t mention it. Instead she acts exactly the way I’m sure her socialite mother taught her to act in a situation like this—charming and engaged. The asshole brought along his financial advisor and an assistant and I swear to God, all three of them are head-over-heels for my girl before the waiter brings the bread basket.
“You could tone it down a little,” I grumble in her ear while the others are rattling off their orders to our bored looking waiter.
“Tone what down?” she asks, looking genuinely confused. That only makes me more irritated.
“The fucking flirting, Lilah.”
She jerks back, looking stung, and I immediately regret it. She isn’t doing anything wrong. She’s doing exactly what most men in my profession would want their dates to do—helping to entertain the client. She’s not being inappropriate, not flashing her cleavage or batting her eyelashes at the men. So why the hell do I feel so damn angry?
Wynn calls her attention to something on the drink menu and she turns to face him, her complexion a little more pale than normal. But if I expected her to cower under my unfair criticism, I’d be dead wrong. She keeps up the exact same level of engagement with the other men as she’d done before. In spite of my continued annoyance, I feel a low buzz of pride in my chest. Why do I like it so much when she doesn’t back down with me?
My anger flashes again when she places her order. A fucking salad. “No,” I tell the waiter, glaring at her. “She’ll have the ribeye.”
She narrows her eyes. “No, I won’t. The salad will be plenty, thank you.”
I shouldn’t be this angry—I know that. She’s allowed to order whatever the fuck she wants. But at dinner last night, she’d looked longingly at my steak after the waiter delivered our meals. I eventually convinced her I was dying to try the scallops she had ordered, and got her to agree to swap a few bites from our plates. The look on her face when she placed the tender morsel of ribeye in her mouth had made my cock hard.
It also pissed me off, because it was yet another reminder of how difficult her life has been recently. When’s the last time she was able to afford to eat something so decadent?
And sitting here now? I know she wants the steak and I want to give it to her, damn it. I don’t want her forcing down rabbit food because she thinks I’m angry.
“Ribeye,” I tell the waiter but I never drop Lilah’s gaze. “Medium rare. With the pomme frites.”
Across the table, the other three men are watching us, clearly confused by this seemingly pointless power play. Lilah must pick up on their gazes as well because she turns to the waiter with a tight smile. “The rib eye will be great, thank you.” I have to stifle a grin at her expression—despite her polite tone, it’s obvious she wants to argue with me some more.
With the matter of our orders taken care of, I turn my attention back to Wynn, trying to get my head back in the game. This is a multi-million-dollar deal. I can’t fuck it up just because Lilah Cartwright makes my dick hard just by breathing.
But I’m finding it more and more difficult to maintain any level of professionalism. He won’t stop fucking looking at her. He’s sitting on her other side and he seems to be slowly moving his chair closer. It’s everything I can do to keep from grabbing her chair by the legs and yanking it right next to me. Several times he speaks directly to her, instead of the table, leaning in close when he does. When she laughs at something asinine he says, I want to pull her over my lap in the middle of the restaurant to spank her.
This is why it’s stupid to let myself go any further with her. This woman makes me fucking crazy, and I don’t do crazy. I do controlled. Careful. I have a reputation for always keeping my shit together, never allowing my actions to be dictated by emotion. Dominants from as far away as Los Angeles and London have sent their subs to me for training. That shit only happens when you’re the best.
