Chapter 6 On Your Knees

• Giovanni
• I don't like clutter or anything messy, not anywhere in my life.
• My eyes fall on that tartan again. Why have I kept it all these years? I need to talk to the maid. I don't want to have to see it every time I fucking turn around.
• Sienna lowers herself into the chair nearest her and farthest from me. She hangs her head and her hair falls forward like a veil between us, but I don't miss the tear that drops.
• She combs her fingers through the thick mass, sniffles and straightens her spine. She meets my gaze.
• "One night," she says.
• I nod.
• "And I'm free and you won't hurt Ciara."
• "Not a bad deal if you ask me."
• "You're not the one who has to fuck you."
• I chuckle at that. "You could do worse, sweetheart."
• "I'm not your sweetheart."
• I shrug a shoulder. I could give a fuck.
• "What are you, anyway? What's your accent?" she asks.
• She hears it? I wonder if others do too. I've worked hard to rid myself of it. Rid myself of the past.
• "Scots."
• "You're from Scotland?"
• "Born in the Highlands." I sip from my glass. I hear it now, too. Familiar and foreign at once.
• She scratches her head, studies me, then dismisses whatever thoughts are going through her head by giving it a shake.
• "What happens now?"
• I uncross my legs. Point to the floor between them. "You come here."
• Her eyes grow wide at the command.
• "I said come."
• She gets up, walks toward me like a condemned woman walking to her execution. She stops a few inches from me.
• "Kneel."
• I see fear in her eyes. Her breathing is short and uneven, and I notice how the light dusting of fine hair on her arms stands on end.
• "Kneel," I repeat.
• "No."
• I reach out, keeping my eyes on hers as I slip my hand under the tartan she's still clinging to and, before she can get away, grip the patch of hair between her legs and twist. I rise to my feet, holding her where she is by that handful of hair.
• Her face contorts in pain as I loom over her.
• "You really think that tartan will keep you safe from me?" I ask, my voice low as, with my other hand, I drag it off and let it fall to the floor. "I said kneel."
• "I said no." Her voice is high, and trembles and her pupils are dilated either with arousal or fear. A combination of the two, I'd say, considering the musky scent of her.
• I walk her backward, still holding onto that patch of hair between her legs. "You want me to make you, Sienna?"
• "You will anyway. It's what men do, isn't it?"
• My jaw tightens. "You've dealt with the wrong kind of men, then."
• Her eyebrows knit together, and she studies me.
• When her back hits the wall, she swallows, slaps her hands to my chest. "Stop."
• "I change my mind," I say, leaning down inhaling her hair, her skin. "Don't shave your pussy." I press my chest against her as I curl my fingers.
• Her mouth opens and she makes a sound, something like a squeak.
• I slip my fingers between her folds and when I do, I cock my head to the side and grin.
• "Oh, Sienna," I say, drawing her name out slowly.
• She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, lowers her head. She pushes against my chest like she's trying to move me, and it's cute that she tries, but I don't budge.
• "Are you wet for me, sweetheart?" I ask, tilting my hips, making sure she can feel my erection against her belly. "Because I'm hard for you."
• "This is a devil's bargain," she mutters.
• I lean my face down, kiss her jaw, cup one heavy breast with my free hand, weigh it like I wanted to from the first moment I saw her naked. I rub her pussy.
• "Are you going to come on the devil's hand, then?" I ask.
• She fists her hands, punches my chest. It doesn't hurt. I wonder if she meant for it to. Probably.
• It's quiet, the only sound that of her wet arousal.
• "I want to be clear," she finally says, her body giving a little jerk when I take her clit between thumb and forefinger.
• "Yes?" I ask, not bothering to try to keep the grin from my face.
• "I don't want this," she says as that involuntary jerk comes again.
• "No. Clearly you don't want me to touch you," I say, pinching her nipple.
• "I mean it."
• "Noted."
• I rub that swollen nub and watch her. It won't take long for her to come. I can see it on her flushed face, see it in the dilated pupils of her pretty whiskey-colored eyes, in the panting, open mouth.
• But then I draw my hand away, up toward her belly, wiping her own arousal on her as I step backward.
• "You don't want it," I confirm, giving her a wink like we're co-conspirators. "Get on your knees," I tell her, undoing my belt, the buttons of my pants.
• She looks down at my length pressing against the slacks, then back up at me. She gives me a one-sided grin.
• "Do you usually have to pay women to suck your dick?" she asks, tilting her head.
• I smile. Study her. "You're poking a bear, sweetheart."
• "That's sad, really, a man like you, having to pay women to fuck him."
• "On your knees. Let's put that mouth to the use it was intended for."
• "Are you always such a jackass?"
• "You bring out the best in me. Kneel."
• "I'm not putting that thing in my mouth."
• "Do you prefer to take it up your ass?" From the look on her face, it's not what she expected. "We'll get to that, I promise, but I was easing you in, sweetheart."