He smirks. “What’s that look?”

“Is this how all men are?”

He considers that for a moment, and then takes a step forward, his hand finding purchase on my ass and pulling me in to him until his erection presses hard against my stomach. “I don’t know other men. I know me, and I want to violate every square inch of this tight little body when I get back.”

He plants a contradictory peck on my nose, and then releases me. With a casual wave over his head, he heads out the door to meet the governor of Alaska. With an erection.

Leaving me with hours to kill.

~ ~ ~ ~

My eyes crack open to take in the low glow of the fire. It was burning bright when I made myself comfortable on the living room’s lush shag rug with a plate of squash soup and a raspberry mousse, courtesy of room service. How long ago was that?

Turning to check the clock on the wall, I gasp at the sight of Henry sitting in the armchair a few feet away, his tie undone, his shirt unbuttoned, his shoes kicked off, a crystal glass of amber liquid—alcohol, I’m assuming—balanced between his fingertips.

Simply watching me.

I move to rub my eyes, and then remember my contacts. That’s why my eyes are so blurry. Crap. I never planned on falling asleep. The rug was so soft, the fire so warm. “What time is it?” Darkness looms beyond the windows.

“Almost midnight.”

I allow a yawn to escape and then wince as I adjust my body. Every square inch of me is sore. “When did you get home?”

“An hour ago.”

I frown. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Because I like watching you sleep. And because I needed time to think.”

Something in his tone sounds ominous. Is he second-guessing us? Or maybe that’s just my paranoia infiltrating my mind, creating issues where there aren’t any. That this is going to end eventually is not so much paranoia as fact, though.

I just don’t want that ending to be now.

Swallowing my panic, I make to crawl for his chair.

He holds up a hand, staying me.

I don’t know what to do or say, so I say nothing and sit quietly, watching him stare first at me, then at his phone.

Finally, he turns it around and shows me the screen.

It’s my profile shot, with the weak gust of wind blowing a few strands of my vibrant red hair. I’m peering off into the distance below, a faint smile touching my lips. I’ve never seen myself look like that. “That’s from today?”

“Hachiro sent me the shots he wants to put forward for the magazine, for approval. He included this one as a gift to you.”

“That was nice of him.” I feel bad for rolling my eyes at the little photographer now.

“I know. Maybe I should have agreed to those nudes after all.”

We share a laugh, but the silence that hangs in the air afterward is deafening.

“Is something the matter?”

His lips purse, but he doesn’t answer.

So I throw his own words back at him. “If this is going to work, we have to trust and be honest with each other.”

“My father says I make too many selfish, reckless decisions. Sometimes I wonder if maybe he’s right.” He carefully sets his phone on the end table. “You are such a wholesome, innocent girl. You’re a people pleaser. And you came here highly vulnerable. I saw that the moment I watched that video of you. I’ve exploited it.”

I struggle to keep my composure, to not jump to conclusions. But this is quite the turn of events. He left here at dinnertime promising to violate me when he got home. Now it sounds like he’s regretting the last couple of days. My stomach tightens at the thought of him regretting it. I certainly don’t regret it.

“Did you know that you wanted this then?”

“To fuck you? No.” He pauses a beat. “I fuck supermodels and CEOs. Women who tell me they want my cock five minutes into a conversation, and who don’t give a shit whether others approve. You can’t even get through a five-minute conversation with your mother without feeling guilty. You took me by complete surprise. I shouldn’t have acted on it, and yet I was too weak to control myself.”

“I’m glad you were.” I can’t help the tremble in my voice. None of this is what I want to hear.

He opens his mouth but falters. Instead of answering, he reaches for his drink. How much has he had tonight? Is that what this is about? Is he drunk and pensive? He’s not slurring, but I don’t know him well enough to judge that.

“I don’t know if this is fair to you. I’m afraid of how I might taint you,” he says, adding softly, “more than I already have.”

“You haven’t tainted me.” I plead for him to see it in my eyes, if he can’t believe it from my words.

He settles his forehead against his fingertips, and closes his eyes. “I’m not so sure.”

I don’t want this to happen. I don’t want him to take away the intimacy that he just gave me. “Well, then maybe I want to be tainted.” I can’t believe I’m speaking so brazenly, but if that’s what I need to do to get this afternoon’s Henry back, I’ll say and do anything.

Nearly a minute passes where we face each other but say nothing, where he struggles with his internal conflict. I can see it in his eyes. He hasn’t veiled it behind his usual mask. Finally he sighs, his jaw tensing with his hard swallow. “Fine. Take off your clothes.” The demand is made in a soft voice, and yet his gaze is hard as he simply sits there, watching.

I inhale deeply, steeling myself for what I want—to give Henry everything he wants. Pinching the hem of my shirt between my fingers, I slowly peel it off and toss it to the floor next to me. Henry watches with dark, hungry eyes as I reach back and unfasten my bra, letting it fall to my lap. My breasts spill out, my nipples already tight with anticipation. My chest heaves with my breaths. Climbing to my knees, I hook my thumbs under the waistband of my leggings and slide them down all the way to my knees, taking my panties with them, until I can take a seat on the floor and wriggle out of them semi-gracefully.

Leaving me naked on Henry’s rug by the fire, my heart racing. Waiting quietly for him. Still, he makes no move, simply assessing me from his vantage point.

It reminds me of a television program I once saw, of a lone wolf that sat quietly at the edge of a meadow, watching a doe graze. It looked as passive as Henry does now, sitting in that chair.

The doe’s tail and ears twitched; she knew the wolf was there, waiting, calculating. She knew she was in danger. And she also knew that there was truly no running from that wolf; that run or not, the wolf would end up devouring her. So she simply tried to enjoy the last few peaceful moments of her life, grazing in that field.

“Lie back.”

I do, resting on my elbows so I can still see him, flutters stirring in my stomach as I spread my legs, hoping to entice him over. His gaze over my slit is searing, and I feel myself growing wet.

“Touch yourself.”

“What?” In front of him? Unease slips down my back.

There is no hint of a smile touching his lips. “You heard me. Touch yourself like you did that night you made yourself come in your room, thinking of me.” When I still don’t move, he adds a softer, “please.”

I don’t know why I’m so shy about this after what we’ve already done, and how much Henry turns me on. I shouldn’t be. He wants this and he’s asking me for it. Swallowing my nerves, I lie back until my head rests against the rug and drag tentative fingers over my navel, stalling at the small strip of pubic hair left.

Closing my eyes, my cheeks flaming, I finally let my index finger slip down to brush first my clit and then lower down to my slick opening. As nervous as I am right now, Henry’s eyes alone make me wet. Or maybe it’s the depravity of this act.

Like a stealthy animal, he slides off the chair to land on the floor in front of me on his knees, his eyes raking over my naked body beneath him on the rug. “Don’t stop,” he commands, when my hand pulls away to reach for him.