Finally, I heard him toss the belt aside, and then he grabbed my wrists and flipped me over, climbing up on the bed and kneeling between my legs.
"You need to learn to think about someone other than yourself," he said, very quietly.
My jaw clenched. "All I do is think about you. I don't have much of a choice."
He shook his head, like he didn't understand what I was saying, or didn't want to accept it. "That's not what I mean." He was still holding my wrists down. I squirmed underneath him, no longer sure if this was just a game. Then again, I supposed I'd never been completely sure. "Not because I'm the reason you have this life. That's not how I want you to think about me."
I frowned a little. "That's not what I meant, either," I said. "I…"
I wanted to say it - I did - it was so easy, just three simple words. But after he'd gone so long without the words passing his lips, I didn't want to be the one to break the silence. He looked at me curiously for a moment. It was obvious I'd cut myself off mid-thought. But when he realized I wasn't going to finish it, he leaned down further, his weight coming down on my wrists. I winced a little, but it was nothing I couldn't handle.
"What were you about to say?" he demanded, softly. His hard exterior was beginning to crack - I could see his eyes that he was anxious to know, but he knew he couldn't actually force it out of me.
I blinked slowly, and swallowed. "I was going to say, I'm sorry."
For a moment, I swore I actually saw the disappointment pass over his face. "I'm not asking for an apology," he said. "Just try to be a little less self-centered."
"Fuck you!" I shouted, before I had a chance to think about what I was saying. I squirmed harder, trying to break free from his grip. He just kept staring at me, silently, not really moving. It was infuriating how little effort he needed to expend to hold my arms in place. It didn't seem to be taxing him at all, no matter how hard I strained. My heart was pounding in my ears, all the pent-up anger and frustration roiling in my blood. I kicked my legs, but there was no part of him that I could reach that way. And he just kept staring down at me.
"Do you want me to let you up?" he said, finally.
I swallowed so hard I could feel the tendons in my neck straining. I knew he wanted me to say yes. He just wanted to prove that I had to ask. That I couldn't break free from him - mentally or physically.
I just stared back at him, silently, fuming.
"It's so very telling," I said, finally, after I'd given up the fight and relaxed beneath him - sort of. My nostrils still flared with every breath. "That the only way you get people to stay with you is by playing mind games."
"All right, then," he said, standing abruptly, letting me go, his hands raised in the air like I'd just ordered him to drop his weapon. "Fine. Go."
I sat up, my hands clenched into fists. "You know I can't."
"I'm sure you can," he said. "I have faith in you." His deep, green eyes were filled with mockery - and anger - and something else entirely, that I couldn't quite read.
"All I wanted was for you to act like I existed," I said, feeling the tears well behind my eyes. "Just for a minute or two. When everything's going well, when you're happy, then I'm here - and you act like…" I took a deep breath. "…but then things go wrong, and suddenly it's like I don't matter anymore. I could help you. I want to help you. I want to be there for you."
"You want to be there for me, or for yourself?" He stepped closer to me again, so quickly that I flinched a little. I wasn't sure why.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" I shouted, no longer concerned if Lindsey overheard. "You think everything I do is selfish. Is it really easier to believe that, than to believe that I actually care about you?"
He was shaking his head, like he already wasn't listening again. "Did you ever consider for one moment what it might be like, to be me right now?"
I lifted my head up, fixing him with a tearful stare. "Did you ever consider for one moment what it might be like to be me?"
CHAPTER SIX
I couldn't tell if Daniel was angry, or sad, or both, or neither. He was just staring at me. Was I really the first person to ever ask him if he'd considered having a little empathy? He looked…stunned, almost as if I were.
Finally, he shook himself out of it, swiftly closing the gap between us and grabbing my hands out of my lap. "Everything has to come back around to you, doesn't it?"
"I think you might be projecting," I said, as he abruptly released my hands, grabbing me around the waist and tossing me on the bed.
I lay there, passively - it was the most defiant thing to do, it seemed like, at the time. I think he wanted me to fight him. Or maybe not. I watched him go to the closet - not his clothes closet, but The Closet, the one where he kept an ever-growing array of diabolical little things that only came out when he was in one of "those moods." I had no idea where he got them all. There always seemed to be something new, but I never noticed any packages arriving, either through the mail or under his arm. And I couldn't really picture him walking into one of those types of stores - especially not now. I could just imagine the Post headline - DANIEL THORNE, SEXUAL DEVIANT?
I giggled.
He turned, abruptly. "What's so funny?" he demanded, walking back over to me quickly and tossing something on top of me. Sitting up a little to look at it, I saw that it was a length of rope dyed in a deep, luxuriant purple.
"I was just trying to imagine where you buy all this stuff," I said, trying to look innocent. He climbed up on the bed again, this time trapping my legs between his. He picked up the rope and pulled a length of it taut, letting it slide between his hands. I shivered a little.
"I know someone who makes this," he said. "By hand. Every batch. It's hemp."
I had to giggle again.
He gave me a look. "It's the best material for the purpose," he said. "And I think you'll agree, it takes colors beautifully."
"Form and function," I said, flopping back down on the bed. "The best of everything. I should've known that's the only thing you'd settle for."
He was winding one end of the rope around my wrist, carefully. He tied an elegant knot, then began looping it around the bedpost.
"You know, if I were as selfish as you think I am, I'd never let you do this," I said, softly.
He didn't look at me, drawing the rope across the length of the headboard and looping it around the opposite post. "Oh, right - I forgot. You don't get anything out of this, do you?"
"Only the exquisite pleasure of making you happy," I replied, with a grin. "But, hey. I'm a giver." He'd finished fastening my other wrist. I tested the knots halfheartedly, tugging on them without any real intention of trying to get free. They were solid. Of course.
"Did Little Miss Tantra teach you about this, too?" I asked, referring to the woman he'd once told me he hired to teach him the finer arts of pleasure. I was pretty sure he deeply regretting telling me about it, based on the faces he'd pull every time I brought it up.
"You're obsessed with that woman," he said, stepping back and taking a look at his handiwork. "Why don't you forget about her for a while, and start focusing on your own development?"
I arched my back, very consciously, watching how his eyes bored into my chest while I did. "Are you saying I need to be better developed?" I purred.
He was on top of me in a second, his whole body looming over me, his eyes like flint - but if I was being perfectly honest with myself, this was how I liked him best.
Without another word, he leaned down and kissed me fiercely. His hand slid under the back of my head, grabbing a handful of my hair by the roots and holding on. Not pulling; just possessing. His tongue was firm and demanding inside my mouth. I loved every moment of it. When he got like this, I couldn't help but believe it was because he was so overwhelmed, so consumed by his need for me, that he forgot how to be gentle. It was intoxicating.
He reached down and grabbed either side of my blouse, ripping it open in one swift motion. I squealed
in halfhearted protest. It was old - and besides, I was already dizzy with desire. He got up on his knees and pushed my skirt up over my hips. When he yanked my panties off and tossed them aside, I swore I heard him growl.
He unzipped, and then he was lifting me with both hands, positioning me right where he wanted. I bit my lip. Anticipation was buzzing through my veins.
Then, in one swift movement, he was inside me. I cried out, my hands tugging uselessly at the rope, not because I wanted to get free so much as that I simply couldn't keep myself still. I thrashed and moaned, and I wasn't really sure whether I was the one doing most of the moving, or if he was moving me. All I knew was that the bed was shaking, the headboard knocking against the wall with at least every other thrust, and I really, really hoped that our neighbors weren't home.
Not that they'd ever complained before.
Pleasure and tension were coiled inside me, tightly, like a spring that was ready to let go at any moment. I couldn't stop myself from whimpering every time I exhaled. His eyes looked like they had gone completely dark, but I wasn't sure if I was just imagining it.
The spring was tighter and tighter, quivering, and then it suddenly released. I screamed out his name, feeling my body convulse somewhere distantly in the back of my mind.
For a moment, I was lost. I came back slowly, blinking. My neck and head ached. Daniel was untying the knots, rubbing my wrists where the rope had left depressions in my skin. I curled up on my side and focused on my breathing, just the way he'd taught me.
In and out, in and out. Over and over again.
***
I woke up the next morning with a pit in my stomach. After how peaceful I'd felt last night, I supposed it was only a matter of time before it all caught up with me. No matter how seamlessly we managed to connect when we slipped into the roles of dominant and submissive, none of our problems were really solved.
Daniel was still asleep when I got up. I tiptoed down the stairs to avoid waking him, starting the coffee and poking at the basil's soil to make sure it didn't need more water. As I walked over to the living room to turn on the TV, I noticed something stuck under the door. I went and pulled it out, curious.
It was a copy of one of the popular technology journals, and on the front, of course, was Daniel.
It wasn't a picture of him that I had ever seen before. He was standing behind a podium, giving some kind of presentation, and they'd managed to catch him at a moment when he looked remarkably like a dictator. The headline said:
DANIEL IN THE LION'S DEN
And underneath was the tagline:
Billionaire in danger of losing it all?
Despite my better judgment, I flipped to the article and began reading.
Like many before him, billionaire tech mogul Daniel Thorne is being weighed, measured, and may be found wanting. Accusations of insider trading have brought the formerly private mogul into the limelight, and it's not very flattering…
So, more of the usual. Rolling my eyes, I skipped a few pages.
…the source, who insisted on remaining anonymous, says that she dated Thorne for several years before he became such a runaway success. But even then, she claims he was arrogant and self-righteous - and that he often hinted at beliefs that rules didn't apply to him the same way the did to other people.
Hurriedly, I crumpled up the magazine and shoved it into the little garbage compactor under the sink, burying it under some coffee grounds. I had no idea when it started coming, but he certainly didn't need to see that and find out that his utterly insane ex-girlfriend Flo, who'd once tried to ruin our lives, was out there talking about him.
I'd caught a few of the headlines that had been coming out since this whole mess exploded. I tried to avoid them as much as I could, for my sanity's sake, but I'd caught Daniel looking at a few of them online - stuff like THORNE IN DISGRACE from the tabloid rags, while the serious business outlets ran multi-page stories dissecting every aspect of his life history that they knew. But this was something different. This was so…personal. I had a horrible, crawling sensation on the back of my neck.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the door buzz.
I advanced towards it cautiously, finally reaching the peephole and peering out. There was a young woman standing in the hallway. I hardly recognized her at first, until I realized that it was the same girl from his last interview - but with her hair pulled back severely, and wearing a sharp suit and standing with her shoulders drawn back. I was determined to turn and walk away, but a part of me was morbidly curious to find out how much she knew - and how. And besides, she was reaching for the buzzer again, and I didn't want to find out what was going to happen if she woke Daniel.
I yanked the door open. The girl was taken slightly aback.
"Oh, hello," she said, looking me up and down. I was wearing some baggy yoga clothes I'd pulled on after rolling out of bed, no makeup, and hadn't bothered to brush my hair. I couldn't wait to see how they'd describe me in the inevitable sidebar blurb.
I just had to make sure the visit didn't warrant an entire article.
"What brings you here on this beautiful morning?" I asked, with the most wan smile I could muster. She kept standing there, a few feet away, looking at me like she thought I must smell bad.
"I…is Mr. Thorne home? I was just hoping to get few comments from him on the recent events."
"And he'd love nothing more than to relive the nightmare for your readers' entertainment, I'm sure," I said, smoothly. "But Daniel's sleeping at the moment, so you'll have to come back some other time. Or, better yet, don't."
Her eyes were sharp and unforgiving. Part of me was thrilled that I was right about her previous behavior all being an act designed to put Daniel off his guard, but I had to admit - if only to myself - that there was something a tad bit intimidating about her. Maybe it was just the complete transformation from innocent young reporter to the hard-nosed journalist I now saw in front of me.
"Well, that’s just fine." Her lips were slightly pursed. "I'm going to write the story either way. I just thought it would be better to get it from the horse's mouth, but I can fill in the blanks on my own."
"That sounds an awful lot like a threat," I said. She was peering over my shoulder, like she thought she was going to see him lurking behind me.
"Oh, it's not a threat at all," she said, finally retreating. "It's just a statement of fact. Thank you very much for your cooperation, Mrs. Thorne."
I slammed the door in her face.
***
A few days passed, and I'd almost forgotten about the encounter. So far, she was the only one who actually had the proverbial balls to come to the apartment. Daniel's phone had stopped ringing off the hook since he put his tech guys on the task of blocking the numbers of every single journalist he had in his contacts, which made things almost preternaturally calm. If I let my mind wander, I could almost forget for a moment that we were a household in crisis.
But just for a moment.
As I walked into the living room one day, Daniel actually looked up at me. That was either a good sign, or a bad sign. Probably bad.
"You didn't tell me someone came here."
The statement was vague enough that I could have played dumb, but there wasn't any point.
"I didn't think it was worthwhile," I said. "You were asleep and I wasn't going to wake you up. I didn't tell her anything."
He silently spun his computer around so I could see the screen.
It was a gossip blog, an offshoot of one of the big papers. It was headed off with a giant picture of me, obviously snapped from the other side of the street while I was headed home from yoga. I looked like a complete mess, of course.
Underneath was the text - not long enough to qualify as an article, really, as I'd suspected. But they still managed to spin it into something. I couldn't bring myself to read the whole thing from top to bottom, but the words that jumped out at me were bad enough:
…disheveled and disgruntle
d, refusing to wake Mr. Thorne for a comment on the current events. She slammed the door in our reporter's face…
"Oh my God, are they serious?" I shook my head at the screen, turning away when I couldn't stand to read anymore.
"I wondered the same thing," said Daniel, flatly. "Did you really slam the door in her face?"
"She wouldn't leave," I said, frowning. "Are you really going to blame this on me?"
"You have to treat these people with kid gloves," said Daniel, in a tone that suggested I was just a bit stupid for not already knowing this. "They can destroy you. It doesn't matter if they're rude to you, you can't be rude to them."
"Sure I can! People do it all the time," I insisted.
"Yes, but you're not Russell Crowe. And neither am I, for that matter." He slammed the laptop shut and got to his feet. "In the future, just let me deal with the journalists, all right?"
"She came to the front fucking door!" I found myself shouting. "Of the place where I live! I'm supposed to just what, ignore that? Or wake you up, when you're finally sleeping peacefully for the first time in weeks and weeks? I just thought you should get a good night's sleep for once!"
"Once again, just let me handle it. Whatever 'it' is. Don't try to figure it out yourself, don't question whether or not it demands my attention. Just assume that it does."
"Yeah, okay, sure. I'll make sure to do that." I turned and stormed out of the room, retreating to my studio and slamming the door. I didn't know what the hell he expected me to do. I had no idea how to handle any of this, and it was all being dumped in my lap at once, and quite frankly, I still thought I'd handled the situation with that journalist pretty well.
I wasn't about to start playing nice with these people - for what? So they could just turn around and write more lies to suit whatever they wanted their headline to be? I couldn’t believe that Daniel still thought there was a way to reason with them - after everything they’d said about him, how could he?
I Married a Billionaire: Lost and Found (Contemporary Romance) Page 6