On His Terms

by Jenika Snow

  The clock on the wall said it was barely six in the morning, but with Rian out of bed she couldn’t stay here and just wait for him to come to her. She went into the bathroom for a quick shower. The bathroom itself was the size of her kitchen and living room combined, and covered in glass and stainless steel accents. There was the massive shower enclosed in glass that could easily fit several adults, and three showerheads that would surround her once she was inside. She slipped the throw she had wrapped herself onto the ground, padded over to the shower, and turned it on. The room slowly started to fill up with steam, and the heat from the water started to make her skin damp. She turned and looked at her reflection in the mirror above the sink, and let her gaze travel down her nude body.

  Leaning forward and running her hand over the glass to clear the fog, she stared at the little fingertip-sized bruises that lined her hips. She ran her fingers over them, remembered how they had gotten there, and felt this tingle start to encompass her. God, she felt like a nympho. No, she wouldn’t think about this in any other context than she was fulfilling her end of the deal, and once it was said and done she could put this all behind her.

  You’re a fool to think you can, especially when you work for the man.

  That was true, but then again she could fake it like she had many times. She could hide her feelings for him, let her anger and hatred for Rian Hartford fill her instead of be buried beneath her desire to have him.

  All she kept thinking about was Rian walking in and joining her. The idea was tempting, arousing even, but she didn’t want to fall even harder for this man. Right now it was just about the sex and the pleasure she wanted from him, and she was sure it was the same way for him. Her thoughts went to when they had been together for the second time, how he had been slow, easy, and it had seemed like he was making love to her. He had whispered things in her ear that were endearments, how beautiful her body was, and how good she felt. It was like a completely different person from the man she loved to hate. If he kept showing her little glimpses of a decent man inside of the fuckwad he portrayed ninety-nine percent of the time, Sorcha had a feeling she might start to look at him in a different light.

  After her shower she grabbed the thick, white robe that was folded with the towels, and slipped it on. She had forgotten to grab her clothes, and although Rian had already seen every part of her last night, that didn’t mean she was comfortable with walking around nude. Sorcha was curvy, thick with plenty of flaws. What exactly had he been thinking when she was naked in front of him?

  Who the hell cares what he thought?

  Leaving the bathroom and heading over to her bag she dressed in a tunic style blouse and a pair of black leggings. She finger-combed her hair and then twisted the long, wet strands into a messy bun. Sorcha had never been one for primping, not even when she went into the office. If she was going to be with Rian for the next week then he’d need to get used to seeing her without the business dresses and skirts, without her hair curled or straightened, and with no make-up on.

  Heading out of the room and down the long, ornate hallway, she stopped in the entryway and stared into the living room. Everything was pretty still, and even with the view of the city right in front of her, the glass was thick and no sound penetrated it. Sorcha felt like this fish in a clear bowl, just waiting for someone to come up and start tapping on the glass. The kitchen was just as quiet as the living room, and a glance down the hallway again showed that there was no movement from the three open doorways. Was he gone? She would have assumed he would have told her at least. Rian didn’t have any appointments for a couple of days, and that was for a dinner gala for a charity organization.

  She slipped back down the hallway, glanced in the doorways, and saw the expensively decorated bedrooms. There were three in the apartment, two bathrooms, the kitchen and living room, and then one other door at the end of the hallway that was closed. Making her way toward it, she knew she should just wait for him to come back to her. This was his home, it was early, and maybe he wanted some alone time? She thought that, but still reached out and gripped the handle, turned it, and pushed the door open. Inside was another room, but this one was broken up into two levels. She saw the banister from the stairs as they descended to the lower level. She stepped inside, glanced around, and saw the hundreds upon hundreds of books. They lined the floor to ceiling shelves on either side of her. There were a few couches on either side as well, a reading nook pressed against the window, and a desk in the corner. Clearly this was his office, and she felt very out of place, almost like she was invading his privacy.

  The sound of something pounding had her moving toward the stairs and gripping the banister. The wrought iron railing was cold beneath her touch. She leaned forward, looked down at the lower level, and saw a weight bench peeking out from the corner. Should she go down there, or wait for him to come to her?

  “Screw it.” Sorcha moved around the banister and stepped down the stairs. The pounding noise came through even louder, more pronounced with each step she took. When she reached the bottom the view she instantly got was of Rian on a treadmill, his back toward her, and the early morning sun casting light on his broad shoulders, narrow hips, and sweat that lined his flesh. Was it humanly possible for a man to have a back that was this attractive? He was only in a pair of loose hanging track shorts, shirtless of course, and wearing running shoes. Even though his back was toward her she saw the earbuds he wore. Watching him unobstructed, and in his element, was still unusual to her. Even after seeing him relaxed and even after they had slept together, it was still so strange.

  “You’re up,” he said between panting breaths, but didn’t turn to look at her or stop running. He removed his earbuds and ran for another few minutes before slowing down to a walk, and then stopping altogether. For a few moments all he did was brace his hands on the treadmill handles, breathed in and out, and then grabbed the towel hanging beside him and wiped off his face. When turned around she took in his sweaty chest, all hard, perfect muscles. He was lean and toned, not bulky like a bodybuilder, but still very powerful. He stared at her while he dried off his chest, and she found herself watching as he moved that towel lower, took in the defined V of muscle that disappeared beneath his low hanging shorts, and then snapped her gaze up to his face again.

  “You already took a shower?” His breathing was returning to normal, and even though he asked a question he turned from her and grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge on the granite countertop. This place was set-up like a mini gym she’d find in New York. Several different pieces of workout equipment were scattered around the generous room, the same incredible view lined one wall, and he had a small kitchenette off to the side.

  She nodded even though his back was to her, and then licked her lips. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep.”

  He looked at her over his shoulder. “Can’t sleep without me, huh?” he said with a straight face.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and breathed out. “You’re conceited.” Although he was right.

  He smiled widely, ran the towel one last time over his face, and then tossed it aside.

  “Yeah, I can be, but I think deep down you’re into it.”

  Sorcha didn’t even give him a response to that.

  “You hungry?”

  She shrugged. “Kind of, but I’m not really a morning person, even when you request my presence at the office at the ass crack of dawn.”

  He chuckled deeply. “How about I take you to get some breakfast at a little bakery, and then take you shopping for a gown for the party in a couple of days?”

  She was a bit taken back by what he just said. “You want to take me shopping?”

  “Is it hard to believe that I want to make you look nice for when I take you out?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  She would have been a little girly at the prospect that he wanted her to look nice, but she knew under that saccharine intent that he didn’t want her wearing her “rags” to his high-class and rich and
elegant events. “I brought some dresses that I can wear. No need for you to spend unnecessarily on me.”

  He was silent for a second and then moved closer to her. The scent of his clean sweat filled her nose when he was just a few feet from her. He reached out and grabbed her around the nape, pulled her forward so she stumbled right into his chest, and claimed her mouth. For several seconds he kissed her, stroking her with his tongue, and making her taste the saltiness of his perspiration. She grabbed his biceps, loved the heat and wetness that covered his skin, and couldn’t stop herself from moaning. She moved her hands over his chest, felt the bumps and ridges of his muscles under her palm, and continued her downward path. But before she could let her need and strength at the moment take control he was pulling away from her.

  “I want to dress you up, Sorcha.” He stared at her. “I’m sure what you have is fine, perfect for the evening, too, but I want to do this.” There was this flesh of something that moved across his face, covered his eyes, and made her feel … special to this man. How could being with him for such a short time make her blind to who he really was? “I want to make you look stunning, want to have everyone else know you’re mine—”

  “You want to dress me like your doll, make me look like I have just as much money as you do.” She stated it without question. She saw the way he clenched his jaw, but Sorcha wasn’t about to bite her tongue with him, or take back what she had just said. It was the truth.

  He was silent for a moment, and she knew she’d struck a nerve with him. “You don’t have a choice, Sorcha. I’m already getting tired of you not realizing or understanding that.”

  “Oh, I remember just fine. I signed the contract, right? But then again you like my mouthy little attitude.”

  He turned from her, and she felt that euphoric feeling she had inside of her leave. “I’ll be ready to go in thirty minutes.” He looked at her again over her shoulder. “You can watch television upstairs and wait for me.”

  And just like that he dismissed her.

  The asshole.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sorcha looked at herself in the mirror of the department store and cringed. Rian had taken her to this little bakery and coffee shop on the outskirts of town, one that was quaint and not a place she’d think he would frequent. And she meant that in the best way, because it resembled a mom and pop establishment, and one that she would have gone to alone. The Dutch style pastries had been fresh and homemade and the coffee bursting with flavor. They had sat at this little wooden table with an uneven leg, and it had wobbled anytime they had leaned on it. It had been nice though, and she had liked watching Rian interact with Ingrid and her elderly husband, Petre. He had even greeted them in Dutch, and she wondered if he spoke the language fluently, or if he had picked up the language from coming here a lot. She hadn’t asked though, because the silence that had been between them had been comfortable, and … nice.

  But now she was at the small boutique that had closed up for Rian’s appearance strictly. It was weird being in this ritzy part of the city, going into a shop and seeing clothing more than her bi-weekly paycheck, and weirder yet that she was trying them on. The dress she had on in specific was this deep green one that was cut low, showed off her breasts, which looked huge by the way, and was short enough that she knew that if she bent over she’d give everyone a crotch shot.

  The knock on the dressing room door had her heart racing and her hands sweating. “Yeah?” She cleared her throat when her voice cracked on the end. She was nervous and felt fat and ugly in this skin-tight dress. It was a no-go for her, but then again Rian had the last say.

  “Let me see, Sorcha.” His voice was deep and filled with authority, and she found herself closing her eyes and saying a little prayer.

  “Hold on,” she said and opened her eyes to look at herself in the mirror. Her tits looked good, but she had too many bumps and dips that were being amplified by the silky material for her to feel comfortable at all. She turned around and opened the door, and used all of her reserved strength not to cover herself up. Rian stood on the other side, his hands in the front pocket of his dress slacks, and his gaze raking over her body.

  “Well, what do you think of it?” he said and lifted his blue gaze to her face again. The front of his slacks started to tent his pants, and she felt her face heat. The man was insatiable.

  “Does it matter what I think of it?”

  He was silent for a moment. “Yes, it does. Stop being dramatic, Sorcha, and tell me what you think of the dress.”

  “I hate it,” she said without hesitance. “It makes me look even fatter, and I so don’t need that. I honestly didn’t even think they made a size sixteen in this place, and besides, it fits like a ten.”

  He scowled and took a step forward. “You’re not fat.”

  She was the one to scowl now. “Seriously? Okay, take your pick then: voluptuous, curvy, thick, chunky, chubby.” She lifted an eyebrow, an act that she had seen him do so many times before. “I hate the damn thing, Rian.” Sorcha knew she was a “bigger” girl, knew that in this society a size sixteen was flat out obese. But she had never been so self-conscious of her looks until this moment when she was trying on these clothes. Heck, she hadn’t even thought twice about being naked in front of him when they had had sex.

  “Okay.” He turned and faced the sales associate. Sorcha didn’t miss the way the young, very thin and svelte woman eyed Rian like he was a fine wine she wanted to get drunk on. He took the dress the blonde handed him and then faced Sorcha again. “I think this one will make you feel more comfortable. I picked it out.” He handed her the dress, but before she could close the door he stopped her by placing his hand on it. “And just for the record, I happen to like your body.” He leaned his face in close to hers. “In fact, I like that you’re thick, curvy, voluptuous, whatever name you wish to associate yourself with.”

  She was having a hard time breathing, especially with the scent of everything that made up Rian filling her head. He glanced down at her lips, licked his own, and exhaled roughly.

  “I could fuck you right now, just close the door behind us, rip this dress off of you, and plunge my cock into your pussy.”

  Her heartbeat filled her head, and she grew dizzy.

  “I like that you’re not all skin and bones. I like that I have more to hold onto when I’m deep inside of your cunt.”

  Her mouth went dry, and she parted her lips, not knowing how to respond.

  “Put the dress on, and stop thinking you’re so fucking unattractive.” He snatched her wrist in one of his big, powerful hands, and put her open palm right over his straining erection. He leaned toward her face again, pushed her hair aside, and said in her ear, “If I didn’t find you so damn attractive, I wouldn’t get this hard just looking at you.”

  The stubble on his cheek scraped along hers, and she turned her head slightly to look at him.

  “You make me hard, make me nearly burst through my pants, and make me want to fuck you right here without caring who saw.”

  Sorcha exhaled, not realizing she had been holding her breath.

  “Now, try on the dress, and if you like it take it off, put your regular clothes back on, and then we will head back to the apartment.”

  “You don’t want to see if you like it?”

  He grinned. “I like whatever you wear,” he dropped his voice to a husky whisper, “but I like it best when you wear nothing at all.”

  And then her heart did that damn fluttering thing, because one minute he was this very, very charming man, and the next he was the very devil sent to tempt her.

  He handed her the dress and turned away. But in all honesty she was too aroused probably to say anything anyway. She was wet between her thighs, uncomfortably so, and arguing with Rian proved pointless. Sorcha shut the door, put the new dress on, and instantly felt better. It was loose, delicate, and feminine. The black material hinted at sexuality, but the lace gently overlapping the hem of her bust was also innocent
in nature. It also made sure to keep all of her bits and pieces hidden properly. Under the bust was a thin line of crystals, and she knew it wouldn’t be the cheap ones she could get at the local craft store. Hell, the price tag alone was more than what her apartment cost for three months, and that was saying something given the prices of living in this city.

  After she was in her tunic blouse, leggings, and ballet flats again, she took the dress up to the front counter, saw the sales girl still eyeing Rian, and refrained from gritting her teeth. This stab of jealousy filled her, but it was so misplaced that Sorcha felt ridiculous and childish for even having it.

  “Hi there,” she said to the young woman, but instead of a greeting in return Sorcha got a roll of the eyes. It was almost laughable the disgust that came from the saleswoman. Maybe this was what she had looked like at first when her jealousy had reared its head? Sorcha chose to ignore the clear brush-off, and Rian was in his own little world with whatever message he had just gotten on his phone, that he hadn’t even noticed the silent exchange.

  “Here is your total, Mr. Hartford,” the blonde said in a very singsong voice that made Sorcha sick. This woman was as fake as they came, right down to her Botox injected forehead and lips, implanted breasts, and tummy tucked stomach.

  Rian grabbed his Amex Black card, handed it to her, but was still reading whatever was on his phone.