Now I own her like I never realized I wanted to. I’ve conquered the sweetest part of her, but it’s not enough. I want more. I understand duty, fear. Obliterate, protect, conquer. I don’t understand anything outside these rules I live under. What I want is for her to be consumed by me like I am with her. Last night, I was the only thing in her mind, my name the only word on her lips. “I’m so close. Please, Calvin. Do it for me.”

She needs my protection. She needs me. I push the heels of my hands into my eye sockets. Why, then, am I having thoughts of freeing her? To let her out of my sight now, after I’ve had her for the past two months, would be like ripping my skin open to remove a bullet.

Because I’m lost in my thoughts, I don’t hear Cataline enter the room. Her tight black dress cuts across her mid-thighs, and her cleavage teases from a plummeting neckline. She’s done her makeup for probably the second time since arriving at the mansion.

“What is this?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“What?”

Jasmine drifts under my nose as she walks away from me to her seat.

“I told you not to dress up for dinner.”

“I thought you’d like it,” she says, lowering herself gracefully into the chair. Her back is straight as a rod, and her fingers are laced. “You don’t?”

Norman decorates the table with food as I stare Cataline down. He clears his throat. “For dinner, we have—”

“Leave us.”

He pauses. Though my gaze is still on Cataline, I know he’s watching me as he bows his head. “As you wish, sir.”

I stand and slowly walk the line of the long table. My footsteps echo through the hall, appropriately menacing. I’ve just come from a burning building but am back in my suit and tie to maintain appearances. And my ridiculous glasses, which I remove and toss aside. She’ll believe I’ve just returned from the office. When I’m standing over her, she tugs up the neckline of the dress and blinks at me. I resist smirking as she tucks hair behind her ear twice.

“Well,” she says, “aren’t we going to eat?”

“I’m going to eat.”

“I’m not?”

“As far as I’m concerned, there’s only one meal at this table, and it’s you.”

My ears pick up her slow swallow, my eyes, the curl of her hands in her lap. “That sounds like a threat,” she says quietly.

I lean in, flatten one hand on the table and wrap the other around the arm of her chair. “It’s not. This is a threat: if you’re not naked and spread out on this table in two seconds, I’m going to spank you so hard, you won’t know up from down.”

Shock widens her eyes. “Spank me?”

“One.”

She puts all her weight into scooting the chair out from the table, but I hold it secure. Her heart hammers so hard I can hear it, and just as she’s about to protest, I release the chair.

She jumps up, and I direct her to the center of the table. At the edge, she pulls one strap of her dress down and then pauses. Her chest pulses erratically. She glances around the room and then at me before dropping her hand to her side. “I can’t,” she whispers.

My blood begins to simmer at the surface of my skin. That she continues to see how far she can push me infuriates me. “I’m sorry?”

“Norman? Chef Michael? Everyone will see.”

I cock my head. The staff has always been a part of my landscape, and they know when to disappear.

She shakes her head. “I can’t. I’m sorry. You can hit me.”

I stride forward, and she does her best to curl into a ball against the table. I snake my fingers under the hem of her dress and fist the fabric in both hands. She yelps when it rips up to her belly button. Her black lace panties follow.

“If I want the staff to watch, they’ll watch,” I tell her. “You think you’re better than the whores I bring here?”

“I don’t—I’m not . . .”

I bring the ruined underwear up to her face, forcing her to look at them. “Open your mouth.”

Her eyebrows dip to the middle of her forehead, and she shakes her head frantically.

“Don’t you like the way you taste?”

“Please, no.”

She jumps when I swipe a spot clear behind her with my other hand. Food flies over the edge, and a tray clatters to the floor. My hips pin hers to the table, my erection digging into her stomach. I take her chin so she can’t look anywhere but at me. “What’s your game?” I ask, inches from her face.

“What do you mean?”

“The hair, the makeup, the dress.” I hover my lips directly above hers. “What are you trying to pull?”

“Nothing,” she breathes.

“Maybe you like what I did to you this morning.” When she doesn’t answer, I squeeze my other hand in between her clenched thighs and hold it there. “Maybe you want me to do it again.” Her surly moan, half protest, half pleasure, is enough to cut any remaining inhibitions free. “Get on the table.”

She looks up at the ceiling for a moment, a last-minute prayer to the Heavens.

“Get on, or I’ll put you on.”

She hoists herself up on the edge and looks me in the eye before easing back onto the wood. My legs spread her knees, and I watch her face as I slowly tear open the rest of the dress. One hand grabs her inner thigh, inching up until her wet heat teases my fingertips. For moments there’s only the sound of our breathing growing heavier. When I slide a finger up inside her, she gasps and I stuff the panties in her mouth. Instinctively, she reaches up to remove them, but I catch her wrist and shake my head at her.

My finger moves in and out at an easy pace, and I hold her wide-eyed gaze. I lean closer to whisper in her ear. “I can already tell you’re going to be the best thing I ever put in my mouth.”

Her hips flinch when I add another finger. She gasps and moans from behind her gag, her face distorting. I continue pumping, feeling her from the inside as her soft warmth greedily sucks me deeper. I feel behind me for her ankle and remove one shoe, dropping it as she kicks the other to the floor. When I crouch between her legs, her feet go to my shoulders. I like that and tell her so with a groan into her pussy.

I slip the point of my tongue from the top of her asshole up. Her every muscle tenses when I graze her swollen clit. When I can’t wait another moment, I cock my head and begin to eat her out, grasping her outer thighs and pulling her hard into my mouth. My tongue reaches for her, lapping up every bit of her perfect, Cataline flavor, sucking and kissing whatever I can. When I thrust it inside her, her hands dive into my hair, yanking me closer, her groans vibrating all the way down her body and into my throat.

Her fingers pulling at my hair ignites a need so deep in my stomach, my dick strains against my pants. I want to be inside her again, using my own saliva to fuck harder, faster, deeper than I ever have anyone.

I detach my mouth and untangle her hands from my head. “Take it out,” I say, nodding between us.

She swallows as best she can with her mouth full of lace. Sitting up, she touches the waistband of my pants. Her fingers push the button through the hole slowly and slide my zipper down. My hands fist in my hair to keep from rushing her. She doesn’t remove my pants but just lowers the band of my briefs enough to pull me out. My cock is so much in her hand. She just watches as I move my hips, thrusting it through her fist.

“Put it in,” I say, hating the pleading in my voice. Her eyes scan until she moves the few inches to close any space between us. Her legs circle my lower back. I don’t move. We’re both looking down as she presses my crown against her softness and scoots even closer. The night before did nothing to loosen her up, and I make small thrusts to get her to open.

“Come on, Sparrow,” I say. “Let me in that tight pussy.” I push her back against the table with my hand and grab her hips. I hold her there, impatiently pushing my way inside until I can’t resist thrusting hard, bouncing her as I go deep.