“What? No. That wasn’t agreed—”
“Agreed or not you gave me your word. You’re bound now.” The way he spoke resonated with past emotion. As if he’d learned that the hard way. A contract was a contract. And in this case, unbreakable.
“I promise I won’t hurt you. Stop pissing me off by doubting me.” His eyes narrowed, delving deep into mine as if he could expose every lie I’d ever spun. I’d shocked myself when I told the truth about my ear. I hadn’t told anyone. But I had no choice. A man like Fox could smell a fib like a pheromone. He would’ve known.
Oh, God. That was another thing I’d suffer—not having the protectiveness of my lies. I couldn’t mask my sadness through fakery; I wouldn’t be able to gloss over the truth.
Sounds of flesh hitting flesh and grunts of violence rung in my ears from down below as a fight reached a pinnacle moment. The burst of noise stole me from the small world I’d existed in with Fox and reminded me he owned a place of fighting and encouraged blood to flow. If he loved to hurt others, how could I trust that he wouldn’t hurt me?
Regret and worry swarmed in my skull like angry hornets. There was no way out of this deal and no way I wouldn’t be stung.
Fox kept a careful eye on me and moved toward the wall to his right. He stepped elegantly through the shadows as if he was a shadow himself. Punching in a code on a keypad lock, he swung open a door I hadn’t seen, camouflaged by the black décor. Inclining his chin, he said, “Now that’s cleared up, shall we?”
The stairs were open and beckoning. I could run and forget tonight ever happened. But I’d never get an offer like this again. I’d always wonder just how alive he could make me—just how fierce he would make me become.
This was my only chance to help Clara—unless I wanted to rob a bank, or came up with some equally reckless notion.
Gritting my teeth, I stalked into his office with all the bearing I could muster. Fox didn’t move and his body heat scorched all my reservations to ash. My skin tingled as a slow curl of attraction rose. My nipple throbbed remembering his touch.
It’s been too long.
So long since I’d been touched and cherished. I shook my head. I was spinning lies—I’d never been cherished or adored. I’d been used and thrown away. I’d been shown the illusion of being desired for a very brief moment only to learn a valuable lesson: nothing was sacred, least of all my virginity.
Fox locked the door behind him and came toward me. I locked my knees together so I wasn’t tempted to step away. That would be a weakness, and I wasn’t weak. It also stopped me from doing something dangerous like demanding he touch me again.
He moved like a master—a man who knew how to fight and wasn’t afraid of forcing another to do his bidding.
What would he say if I told him I was a mother? Would he despise that I pretended to be a sexual creature, but really was practically a virgin? One prick to take away the title of inexperienced, and one prick to land me with Clara. Hardly counted as life-altering.
I captured my bottom lip between my teeth. I finally let myself be truthful. I was hungry. Really hungry for something true. A connection; a sexual awakening. My body wanted Fox while my mind wanted to fight him on every subject. The combination threatened to create an addiction that not even money could break.
“You’ve gone whiter than normal.” Fox leaned closer, nostrils flaring as if he could taste my panic. His eyes dropped to my throat. “Your heart is pumping wild, and your scent is stronger.” With a tentative hand, he brushed away the loose curls resting over my shoulder. The whisper of his skin against mine had me battling lust-heavy eyes, fighting the overpowering need. “What’s wrong?”
It didn’t matter if I was inexperienced. Sex was primal, instinctual, animalistic. I felt like a world-class courtesan. A woman who’d seduced men and been seduced in turn.
Fox was every erotic fantasy I ever entertained. And he’s paying to f**k you.
The thought should’ve turned me off, but it made me wetter.
Sucking in a breath, I whispered, “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”
Fox cocked his head, frowning. “Remember, I can smell lies.”
I met his gaze—the icy grey made me feel as if I stood in a hurling snowstorm.
The more we stared, the more my body heated, the more I wanted. Until coming to this cursed club, I’d been satisfied. I didn’t crave a man, or need a pleasurable release. I had too many things consuming me without the complication of romance. But the moment I set eyes on Fox, I knew he was different. He was a man I could lust after.
It wasn’t his looks, or skill in the ring, that drew me. It wasn’t his scar or element of ruthlessness.
It was everything.
Obsidian Fox was so much male it was terrifying. Not only handsome, he wore his flaws for the world to see and offered no apology.
Breaking eye contact, I glanced around his office. The only light came from small LED strips highlighting more metal sculptures and artwork. I’d joked about his office being a dungeon, but it was close to the truth. Black painted walls, carpet, furniture, even light fixtures.
All black.
A large graffiti artwork of a fox, hunting under the glint of the moon, graced one wall.
Peering closer, I noticed a nasty scar deforming one side of the fox’s face, just like its owner. He seemed to love symbolism. Either that or he took himself way too seriously.
Fox inched nearer until the hairs on my arm stood up. Being so close made me yearn for his touch and fear it at the same time
I stifled a shiver as Fox stopped beside me, staring at the same graffiti. From this angle, his left profile was untouched. Smooth cheeks, smooth neck, angry desolate grey-white eyes. He held himself tight and alert. Primal, untamed, yet so disciplined and remote.
“Admiring Oscar’s handiwork?”
Oscar. The blond idiot who spoke about me like I was hooker trash. I bristled, hating that the douchebag had talent. Every feather and sweep from whatever method he’d used spoke of a true artisan.
“It’s good,” I muttered. “Talented.” I glanced at Fox. He looked wild as if he didn’t belong in manmade rooms—they were cages, no matter how he decorated.
I wanted to ask why he had an obsession with black. His club name, his furniture, even his wardrobe. Did he believe he deserved no colour in his life?