Page 115 of House of Crimson Hearts
“Yes. But you’re not mine. And I only fuck things that are mine.”
My teeth grind against each other. My clit throbs between my legs, and I know she’s suffering the same intense need that I am.
“Fine,” I snap. And pull my top up and over my head. I unbuckle my trousers and yank the zip down until I’m standing there in my underwear.
“What are you doing?” she says, perching on the edge of her desk. Lazily, she takes a sip of blood from her goblet and pops it on the desk, folding her arms instead.
“I’ll make myself come instead. I’ll sit here and fuck myself in front of you until you’re all out of my system and I can focus.”
Her entire body is rigid, her nostrils flared wide. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
She shakes herself off, clicking her neck, then she eyes me hard. “When are you going to learn that you belong to me. You always have and you always will.”
“Prove it. Fuck me in front of your minions. That’s what this is about. Isn’t it? You want to own me? So fucking own me. Prove I’m yours in front of your club. No one in the city will touch me if they know you’re fucking me. Hell, maybe they’ll see you the way I do.”
“Oh? And how is that?”
“As more than a crimson-eyed monster, Octavia. As a leader, a woman with vision, as a woman who loves art and beautiful gardens. As a woman who, despite being treated like shit, has a heart of gold and is always willing to change and grow and try and give those that have hurt her a second chance.”
That last one takes her by surprise. I’m not sure if she’s going to cry or break something, but her knuckles are white where she grips the edge of her desk. There’s a crack and the ledge splinters off and drops to the floor, making her slip and have to stand.
There’s a flash and then I’m pinned to the window.
“What’s your safe word?” she says.
“Elysium.”
She reaches above my head and pushes a button. She speeds back to the desk and grabs her goblet and is back beside me as the wall judders. I yelp as she grabs hold of me. The floor rumbles and shifts and lowers as the glass comes away from the wall, music flares to life, the bass beats pounding around us.
The strip of floor we’re on detaches from the rest of the office. It lowers like a platform over the edge of the dance floor. It’s just us, the throne and a tiny balcony keeping us from falling over the edge into the crowd.
She slides into her throne, flicking a lazy leg over the arm of her chair as the platform grinds to a halt. She sips from her goblet, a little blood staining her upper lip. Every sip she takes irks me further. She knows it too as her eyes rake over my face, my every movement and expression.
“Take off your underwear,” she says, her tone completely different. It’s full of the power I know she has. The command. The control.
I do as she says, sliding off my briefs and pulling the sports bra over my head. My heart rate increases, there’s nothing hotter than being watched, than everyone knowing you’re swimming in pleasure. But this is an entire crowd. And I’ve never been watched by this many people. Adrenaline kicks around my stomach, and an idea forms. Octavia doesn’t get to control everything, two can play at this game. I fling my underwear over the side of the balcony.
Her mouth twitches. Her jaw flexes. I know what she was thinking. They were hers to keep. Hers to give away. Not mine.
It was unexpected. But I like that I can keep her on her toes.
“How do you feel about being watched?” she says.
“Like everyone can drool over what they can’t have… and no one will be able to tell a soul.” I lower to my knees and crawl forward.
Her eyes narrow. “That’s right,” she says over the beat of the music. “You belong to me, and everyone will know after tonight.”
“Submit,” she says.
I halt, and ease back, sliding my feet under me, and resting my hands, palm up, on my knees—the same way she did for me the other night.
She smiles, her fangs dropping. She drains her goblet and drops it to the platform floor. She stands, paces around me, examining me.
“Turn around, face your crowd,” she says.
I do. Inching around to face the dancers beneath us. She steps in front of me, peering down from beneath her long, dark lashes.
